Looking back now I can see several small miracles. Granted, each one of us may define miracles in our own way.
The first miracle was the fact I even entertained the thought of wanting to find the small town in Georgia where my friend was dying of a brain tumor. When it comes to directions I get lost driving out of my driveway. I knew the town was out there, but which way and how far it might be off another highway I couldn’t tell.
The second miracle was a sign pointing to the ramp ahead of me. Two towns and the one I wanted was one of them. From the time I had left Atlanta I knew I wanted to see my friend, but thinking of my scheduled time to be at Shocco and not knowing where the town was seemed to indicate that I should give up.
Another plan
God had opted that I think differently, however. Off the ramp I went, only to find my destination 13 miles away.
I sat by my friend’s bedside and held his hand, his dear wife on the other side.
We communicated through a squeezed hand and a forced smile. As a young man, I had been his teacher on many occasions. My joy was hounding him when he stayed away from church for some reason. Indeed he was a favorite. Because of God’s direction, I had found my place to this point in time. My memory bank recalled all the past years and the meaning of never giving up on a young person.
The next miracle. His wife shared he had requested I do his funeral. His first choice was my beloved deceased husband. In the stillness of that room fear gripped me. I kept it to myself and said I would help any way I could.
I was driven once before to call my friend to talk about God, about healing, Jesus Christ, the Holy Spirit, why God heals in His own time and not always in this world. I allowed her invitation to me to soak in, as I wondered how I the world I could do what this family requested.
The next morning the call came – heaven’s gates had opened wide for him.
All the way to the funeral home on Sunday there was a peace. It mattered not that I had never presided over a funeral. From afar, I had taken lessons from a master. It mattered not that emotionally I would be strained to be of any help. The unseen hand of God guided my every mile along the winding roads from Opelika to my destination, God and I made it.
To be able to share that only by the grace of God could I, a novice, with such a scared trust, stand there and say, “Some months ago I sat where you are. My heart was breaking as yours. But today, because of the provision God has made for each of us, there is power in life and power in victory over death. God never conducted funeral services. They were always resurrection services.” It really matters not what I said and to share it in this column is very personal. But I hope to those of you who grieve it will give hope.
I did what I did for Bob and I used his Bible. No need to look up Scripture. They were all marked. My actions were for the beloved family and my friend. But, most of all, in my hear t I knew that I had joy in the fact that the opportunity was mine to express to many people the supernatural power of God. He helps us rise to the occasions of crisis in life.
I have a new appreciation for all you ministers. To conduct a funeral and bring peace, I salute you.
I thanked God all the way home. The peace in my car cannot be described with words. How can God use somebody so unworthy? How can God help us to do the impossible? How God uses us, if we let Him to become a part of the lives of others.
To give me the greatest experience e of my life and to know that now He takes care of my friend, who has been given eternal life.
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