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THE WEDDING DRESS
by Pamela Blaine |
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I remember so well how we all were sitting around the
dining room table that evening. We were resting a few
minutes and talking about the arrangements for the sale.
It seemed like Mom should still be there with us, that she
should come walking into the room with that familiar,
cheerful airy whistling sound that wasn't quite a whistle
and yet there was a tune. Mom always whistled her own
unique whistle whenever she was preoccupied with what
she was doing.
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We comforted ourselves in the knowledge that Mom had
lived a long life of more than 84 years. One of the things
that she loved was to travel and she was very proud that
she had been in 49 of the 50 states in the USA. She had
only recently made her biggest trip to Alaska on a tour
with her friend, Margaret. I think she would have visited
all 50 states except she had not yet overcome her fear of
water and of flying so that made Hawaii a little difficult to
visit. She had outlived two husbands, and many close
relatives and friends, which calls for a great inner strength
which came from her Christian faith of many years. Most
of all we remembered how she had been a wonderful
mother to my brother, Jerry, and I.
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When you lose your last parent, there is something akin
to the feeling of being orphaned. Even though I didn't
live close to Mom, I had the habit of picking up the phone
when I wanted to and giving her a call. I would find
myself many times later thinking of a question, heading
toward the phone, and thinking, "I'll have to ask Mom
about that". Then reality strikes and then the pain of
realizing you can no longer make that phone call.
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I guess I was sitting there at the dining room table feeling
a bit desolate that evening. Everyone was talking about
which things went into the sale and which things we were
keeping in the family, when suddenly my eyes focused on
an old battered opened suitcase in the corner. I jumped up
as I said, "Where did that come from?" Everyone just
looked at me, not quite understanding what was going on
in my head as there were all kinds of things laying around
that we had been going through, so what was the big deal
about an old suitcase. I went over and grabbed up the
material that I saw laying there. It was a dress, a very nice
dress. It was a dark navy blue with tiny white polka dots
and the material was of excellent quality, even after all
those years. I felt my whole body tremble and I must have
been covered with goose bumps because this was
something special. You see, I remembered, I was only four
or five years old but I remembered! Mama said, "Pamy,
this is my wedding dress. This is the dress I wore when I
married your Daddy."
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I've wondered so many times since, where did that dress
come from and how did it get there in the dining room
that night. I only remember seeing it that one time when
Mom was cleaning a closet. No one remembered putting
it there or seeing it there before and we had been going
through everything together. However it got there, I do
believe it was there for a reason. It brought those
memories back and somehow comforted me.
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I brought the dress home and had it cleaned. Just recently,
my daughter Jeanna had her engagement picture taken
wearing her Grandmother's wedding dress! I wonder if
her Grandma is looking down and whistling a wedding
tune.
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Pamela R. Blaine
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About my Mom: "My mother was a school teacher. She
taught in several one-room schoolhouses that used to dot
the countryside. Later, she taught high school English. She
was a great teacher and had a lot of love and compassion
for her students who often came to her with problems.
Her own mother died on her first birthday and she was
given to her Aunt Laura (her mother's sister) on her
death bed. She was raised with two little boys, her first
cousins, who had also lost their mother. These three
became very close."
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"The reason for the simplicity of her wedding dress was
because she was married at the time the Great Depression
was nearing it's end, so there was little money for
wedding dresses. Mother was also secretly married for two
years before anyone was told, but that's another story.
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About Pam: I've been married to Michael for thirty-three
years and we have four children and three grandchildren.
We live in West Virginia and part time in Missouri. I like
to write stories and poems but I especially like writing
songs. I have loved music and writing ever since I can
remember. One of my goals is to be able to write things for
my children and grandchildren and also to be able to
encourage and help other people. You can see some things
I have written on my webpage:
PamyPlace
http://members.aol.com/mblaine/pamy/PamyPlace.htm
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THE LITTLE RUBBER SHARK
by Sharon |
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When my son was only 4 years old, he carried in his
pocket a little rubber shark about 3 inches long. Everyday
when he put on his new britches for the day, the little
rubber shark went into his pocket. When he was almost 6
years old, he had his shark in his jeans pocket when he
died in an accident. The hospital gave me his clothes, and
inside the pocket nestled in the corner was his shark.
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Afterwards, I put the shark in his top drawer with all his
socks and underwear. His room was off limits to anyone
who came into the house. Alone, daily, I would go into
his room, touch his bed, his toys, and always open the
drawer and look at his little shark.
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It was about three months after the accident. I was having
a terrible day crying, missing him. I was washing clothes. I
went to get the clothes out of the washer, and as I pulled
out the last garment, there was the little rubber shark in
the bottom of the washer. No one else lived in the house
except my husband, our dog and myself. I know my
husband never went into Andy's room. And I know our
dog did not open a drawer or a wash machine and put the
little shark into it.
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I never found out how that shark got into that washer.
But I'd like to think it was Andy's way of saying, "I'm ok,
mom, here's proof of it!"
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Sharon Bryant | |
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MY FATHER'S STAR
by Debi |
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When my Father was first diagnosed with cancer it was as
if my world had been destroyed in a split second!
CANCER! The word alone makes one think of death!
How could this happen? He is the rock of the family. The
strongest man in the world! This couldn't possibly be
happening! I would wake up in the mornings, was I
dreaming? Was it a nightmare? I'd cry knowing the truth
yet not wanting to believe it.
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For twenty-six years I've had Dad. My beautiful baby sister
Bobbi has only had him for almost 5 years! How unfair it
is to take him away from her! I was angry with the
Doctors. I was angry with God. I would shout at God,
"How can you do this!?" I would pray with anger.
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One day I took my mom and sister to the store and when
we returned my Dad told us, "I had a visitor this
afternoon." My Mom started naming off friends. My Dad
just sat there with a little smile on his face. "Who was it
Bob?" she asked two or three times. Finally, my dad said,
"Jesus came to see me." My dad said that Jesus stood in the
living room as real as we were. Dad said that he asked
Jesus for more time. My mom and I did not doubt my
father for one second. If he said that Jesus was there then
Jesus was there! My anger eased.
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My Dad died on June 5, 1985. Two months longer then the
Doctor predicted. I believe that those two months were a
gift from God through his son.
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My Dad was gone and my Mother was lost. I would call
Mom on the phone because I couldn't bear to visit the
house. I just couldn't stand on the porch and look out to
what should have been one of my Father's wonderful
gardens. All that was there was overgrown weeds. I
couldn't sit at her kitchen table. My Father was supposed
to be there.
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I was calling Mom like usual when one afternoon about
two weeks after my Dad died my baby sister answered the
phone. She told me she thought Mommy was sick because
she wouldn't get out of bed. I told her not to worry.
Mommy was just tired. After about the tenth phone call
and talking to my sister, hearing that Mommy was still
"tired" I knew I had to go there and find out what was
wrong.
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I was shocked when I walked into my Mother's bedroom.
Who was that in her bed? My mother looked as if she had
aged ten years! She was burning up with fever. I told her
that I had to get her to the hospital.
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She was suffering from exhaustion, and Pneumonia.
Pneumonia in June? The doctors believed that stress had
cause her resistance to drop tremendously and left her
body open for all kinds of infections. After a week in the
hospital she still wasn't getting better. The Doctors told me
that she had given up and that there was nothing else
they could do. She had no will to fight. I tried to talk to
her but all she would say was "Just let me die. Let me go."
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I took my baby sister to the hospital and helped her get up
on the bed and I told "Mom, Tell Bobbi what you've been
telling me. Tell her that you don't want to be here." Bobbi
snuggled up close to Mom, laying her head next to hers.
Bobbi so innocently said "Just like Daddy right Mommy?"
Then Bobbi started to cry. My Mom held her tight and
told her that she wasn't sick like Daddy and everything
was going to be okay.
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Four days later Mom was out of the hospital and getting
her life together. A life shared with a five year old little
girl.
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Not too long after my Mom was home from the hospital I
was standing on her porch crying. Bobbi came outside and
put her hand on mine and asked "Why are your crying
Sister?" I started sobbing and told her I was crying because
I missed Dad so much. Bobbi pointed to the sky and said
"Look up at that star." I wiped my tears and looked up.
"You see that real bright star? The one that's winking at
us?" she asked. "Yes, I see it" I told her. "That's our
Daddy's star. He's always here with us. Don't you know
that?" I picked her up and hugged her so tight. I gave her a
ton of kisses and I thanked her. Then I looked up at that
"winking" star and said "We love you Dad!" Here I was
the "adult" being schooled by my baby sister! Oh what a
lesson she taught!
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After all these years, some days it seems as if my Father
died only yesterday.
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I look at my sons that he never had the pleasure of
holding them and think of how happy they would have
made him.
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Thanks to Bobbi I know that he is ALWAYS with us and
to this day, when I look up to the night sky I talk to my
dad. He's as bright, shining as ever!
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Debi Bartow
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Debi lives in Norwalk, Ohio with her wonderful husband.
They have been blessed with five children and her
husband is a truck driver for Norwalk Furniture. Send
Debi an email!
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Debi tells me she has a son called Preston. While Preston
was young he began talking to a person named Stephanie.
He said she was his Guardian Angel. Debi says. " Since my
husband and I knew no Stephanie's we thought it was a
little strange. Preston talked to Stephanie ALL THE TIME.
We'd hear him at night when everyone else was
asleep. He'd be chattering away. I finally asked the Doctor
about his "Make Believe" friend. You will definitely enjoy
the Doctor's answer to this! He said "PROVE HE'S NOT
TALKING TO HIS ANGEL!" Makes me smile thinking
about it."
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Preston is 15 years old now. But Debi said, "if you ask him
about his Guardian Angel he'll tell you her name! "
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Also concerning the death of her Dad Debi said that her
father died at 1:27 p.m. She says, "I know you probably
won't believe this, ALL the clocks in my parent's house
STOPPED at 1:27!
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Actually I do believe Debi, for I have recorded numerous
stories similar to this.
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GOD KNOWS WHERE I AM
by Joan Wester Anderson |
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It had always been Ken Gaub's goal to help those who
were hurting. "Some people just need a little boost, and I
wanted to influence their lives in a positive way," he says.
He became a traveling missionary and, with his family,
conducted crusades not only throughout America but in
many foreign countries. He established a magazine, a
radio and television ministry, a youth outreach program.
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But sometimes even preachers get drained and
discouraged, and they wonder if they should consider
another line of work. That was how Ken felt one day in
the 1970s as he, his wife, Barbara, and their children drove
their two ministry buses down I-75 just south of Dayton,
Ohio. God, am I doing any good, traveling around like
this, telling people about You? He wondered silently. Is
this what You want me to do?
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"Hey, Dad, let's get some pizza!" one of Ken's sons
suggested. Still lost in thought, Ken turned off at the next
exit, Route 741, where one sign after another advertised a
wide variety of fast food. A sign, Ken mused. That's what I
need, God, a sign.
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Ken's son and daughter-in-law had already maneuvered
the second bus into a pizza parlor's parking lot, and they
stood waiting as Ken pulled up. The rest of the family
bounced down the steps. Ken sat staring into space.
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"Coming?" Barbara asked.
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"I'm not really hungry," Ken told her. "I'll stay out here
and stretch my legs."
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Barbara followed the others into the restaurant, and Ken
stepped outside, closed the bus doors, and looked around.
Noticing a Dairy Queen, he strolled over, bought a soft
drink, and ambled back, still pondering. He was
exhausted. But were his doldrums a sign of permanent
burnout?
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A persistent ringing broke Ken's concentration. The
jangle was coming from a pay telephone in a booth at the
service station right next to the Dairy Queen.
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As Ken approached the booth, he looked to see if anyone
in the station was coming to answer the phone. But the
attendant continued his work, seemingly oblivious to the
noise. Why didn't someone answer it? Ken wondered,
growing irritated. What if it was an emergency?
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The insistent ringing went on. Ten rings. Fifteen...
Curiosity overcame Ken's lethargy. Walking to the booth,
he lifted the receiver. "Hello?"
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"Long-distance call for Ken Gaub," came the voice of the
operator.
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Ken was stunned. "You're crazy!" he said. Then, realizing
his rudeness, he tried to explain. "This can't be! I was just
walking down the road here, and the phone was
ringing."
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The operator ignored his ramblings. "Is Ken Gaub there?"
she asked. "I have a long-distance phone call for him."
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Was this a joke? Automatically, Ken smoothed his hair
for the "Candid Camera" crew that must surely appear.
But no one came. His family was eating pizza in a
randomly selected restaurant just a few yards from where
he stood. And no one else knew he was here.
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"I have a long-distance call for Ken Gaub, sir," the
operator said again, obviously reaching the limits of her
patience. "Is he there or isn't he?"
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"Operator, I'm Ken Gaub," Ken said, still unable to make
sense of it.
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"Are you sure?" the operator asked, but just then, Ken
heard another woman's voice on the telephone.
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"Yes, that's him, Operator!" she said. "Mr. Gaub, I'm
Millie from Harrisburg, Pennsylvania. You don't know
me, but I'm desperate. Please help me."
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"What can I do for you?" Ken asked. The operator hung
up.
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Millie began to weep, and Ken waited patiently for her to
regain control. Finally she explained. "I was about to kill
myself, and I started to write a suicide note. Then I began
to pray and tell God I really didn't want to do this..."
Through her desolation, Millie remembered seeing Ken
on television. If she could just talk to that nice, kindly
minister, the one with the understanding attitude... "I
knew it was impossible because I didn't know how to
reach you," Millie went on, calmer now. "So I started to
finish the note. And then some numbers came into my
mind, and I wrote them down." She began to weep again.
Silently Ken prayed for the wisdom to help her.
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"I looked at those numbers," Millie continued tearfully,
"and I thought--wouldn't it be wonderful if I had a
miracle from God, and He has given me Ken's phone
number? I can't believe I'm talking to you. Are you in
your office in California?"
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"I don't have an office in California," Ken explained. "It's
in Yakima, Washington."
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"Then where are you?" Millie asked, puzzled.
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Ken was even more bewildered. "Millie, don't you know?
You made the call."
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"But I don't know what area this is." Millie had dialed the
long distance operator, making it a person to person call,
and given the numbers to her. And somehow she had
found Ken in a parking lot in Dayton, Ohio.
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Ken gently counseled the woman. Soon she met the One
who would lead her out of her situation into a new life.
Then he hung up the phone, still dazed. Would his
family believe this incredible story? Perhaps he shouldn't
tell anyone about it.
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But he had prayed for an answer, and he had received just
what he needed--a renewed sense of purpose, a glimpse of
the value of his work, an electrifying awareness of God's
concern for each of His children--all in an encounter that
could only have been arranged by His heavenly Father.
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Ken's heart overflowed with joy. "Barb," he exclaimed as
his wife climbed back into the bus. "You won't believe
this! God knows where I am!"
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Joan Wester Anderson. All rights reserved.
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Angel's On Earth send a special thank you to Joan for
sharing this story with us from one of her books.
Visit Joan's Web site at
www.mcs.net/~angelwak/home.html
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THE POWER OF PRAYER
by Billie Timmons |
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My first child was born perfectly healthy. As any mother-
to-be, I worried constantly that he wouldn't. By the Grace
of God my father had eleven healthy grandchildren.
Throughout my pregnancy I was thinking that it had to
start somewhere. I would probably be the one to have a
child with a disability of some sort. Not that I would love
that child any less, but every mother wants a perfect baby.
One more grandchild came after my son. She was perfect
as well.
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My second pregnancy was just as my first. I still worried
that our luck would run out. Again, I had a perfectly
healthy baby girl. The worry was over...or so I thought. My
daughter, Abbi, at six months of age was so sweet and
happy. As I was catching up on my "month-by-month"
baby progress book, I noticed that at four months of age
my daughter should recognize my voice and turn to look
for me. My daughter wasn't doing that yet. I excused the
thought by reminding myself of the reassuring comment
at the end of each chapter "Not all babies reach milestones
at the same time."
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She did, however, smile at me and even laugh out loud
when she was looking at me and I was talking to her in
the very animated way adults talk to babies. That must
mean she could hear me, I thought. I did not mention my
observations to my husband. He dismisses every fear I
have as being "nothing to worry about."
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Six weeks later my sister was taking her picture in the
front yard at my mother's house. She called Abbi's name
several times and couldn't get her attention. Abbi finally
looked up only after I waved my hands in front of her
face. My sister made a very innocent comment that
slapped me in the face like a pitcher of ice water. She said,
"I can't believe Abbi doesn't recognize her name yet." I
just said, "No, not yet..." but I wanted to scream, "NO, MY
BABY CAN'T HEAR!" I thank God that she made that
comment because I don't know how long I would have
pretended that everything was fine.
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I gathered my things as fast as I could and went to the
safety of my own home so I could let the tears flow freely
without having to explain why they were there. My
husband came home from work several hours later. I told
him that I knew he was going to think I was crazy but I
really thought something was wrong with Abbi's hearing.
He made the comment that I was expecting, "You don't
know what you are talking about. She hears just fine!"
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I sat my daughter in my lap with her back to me and I
yelled her name as loud as I could. She never looked
around. He said she just wasn't paying attention. He acted
as if he was not bothered by what he had just witnessed.
Minutes later he got up and walked out the front door and
immediately came back in and slammed it. Nothing. He
sat back down for a few minutes more and then got up
and went to the kitchen. He came out with a pot and a
spoon. He banged on it as hard as he could. I was watching
him and I jumped. One foot behind Abbi's head and she
never flinched. He knew then that I did know what I was
talking about.
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We called the doctor's office the next morning and told
them of our suspicions. They scheduled her an
appointment for the following week. The stress and
tension was building day by day. I cried constantly,
especially at night. It was so very quiet and all I could
think was, "This is all my baby hears...nothing." My
husband, on the other hand, looked at it as "why cry over
something that you can't do anything about." Three days
later he called the doctor's office and begged them to
please work her in that day. We needed an answer.
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Our fears were confirmed, profound nerve deafness. My
husband, again, showed no emotion and I cried like a
baby. For three weeks I cried day and night pleading with
God to let my baby hear. "Heal her, Please!" was all I could
pray. Area churches of all denominations were adding her
to their prayer lists. One in particular devoted an entire
service just to pray for her healing. She was anointed with
oil and had laying on of hands. Still nothing.
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After three weeks, I lay in bed crying. I finally prayed the
prayer that I was too selfish to pray from the beginning.
"Dear God, Please heal my Abbi...if it is Your will. If it is
not, then please give us the strength to deal with and
accept our daughters deafness. In Jesus' name I pray,
Amen." Immediate peace. I stopped crying. My prayer was
answered.
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So many people, including myself until that night, think
that God doesn't answer every prayer. He does. God, like
our own parents, knows what is best. Just as when we
were children, our parents said "No" to a lot of our
request and we didn't understand why but they did. Just
because God doesn't give us what we want doesn't mean
He doesn't answer. His answer is sometimes "No."
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My Abbi is still deaf and may be for the rest of her life. He
may decide to heal her next week, next month, next year
or who knows when. But right now His answer was, "No,
my child, I will not heal her but I will give you the
strength to deal with and accept your daughter's
deafness." And He did. Prayer answered.
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Billie Timmons
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I am the stay-at-home mom of E.J., 3 years old, and Abbi,
now 18 months old. I love to write but it has to be true
and from the heart. I have written several poems about
my daughter with intentions of having them published in
a children's storybook. A friend of mine put them on her
webpage at:
http://www.geocities.com/kaz_pooh/abbi.html
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LISTEN TO WHAT ABBI SEES
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If you listen very closely you can hear lots of little things. | |
Like the sound of others laughing or when your mommy sings. | |
You can hear a puppy whimper when he needs a little hug. | |
You can hear the sound a bee makes and other little bugs. | |
Abbi cannot hear these things, but, oh, what she can see. | |
She doesn't miss a thing...her eyes are busy as can be. | |
If you listen very closely you can hear what Abbi sees. | |
She sees laughter in a smile...she sees love when mommy sings | |
She can see a puppy's whimper in his sad little eyes. | |
She can see the sound a bee makes when he is buzzing 'round his hive. | |
Now put your hands over your ears and close them up real tight. | |
Now that's the sounds that Abbi hears. She hears them with her eyes.
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Billie Timmons
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