Coincidence?

My husband had been looking for a 'new', older vehicle for several months, but hadn't found anything that pleased him.  Since he was working and I was not, he asked me to check out a car that he'd seen advertised.  I called the woman who was selling it and made arrangements to go see it.  It was a decent car, but one I knew my husband wouldn't particularly enjoy.

After inspecting it, the young woman and I struck up a conversation.   She told me she worked as an in-home representative for 'Incredible Homes' (see below), a building company in town.  "Oh!  That's interesting.  My sister also did the same job for a builder, but she was just laid off a couple of weeks ago."  Andrea, the young woman, mentioned that 'Incredible Homes' had a job opening in London and suggested that my sister apply for it.  I was excited to hear that because Sharmaine (see below) had been very depressed since her lay-off and was sure that she wouldn't find a job. Confidence has never been her forte.  I immediately called her and told her about the job opportunity.  "I've already applied to all of the builders in town," she said.  "What about 'Incredible Homes'",  I asked. "Yes, I applied there, too," she replied.

Several days later, I was visiting my sister and tried to encourage her about her prospects of finding work. "Anybody would be happy to have you working for them. You're hardworking, serious, friendly, knowledgeable, and loyal."  Sharmaine is mostly unaware of her talents and is quite insecure about her strengths and abilities. Suddenly, as we were sitting there at her kitchen table, a strange feeling came over me.  I felt very strongly, that God was prompting me to tell her something. "You'll have a job within a month."  I blurted. After I said it, I thought, "Where did that come from?  That was crazy. But, it felt so right when I said it!  What's going on?"

Three and a half weeks later, to my surprise, Sharmaine was offered, and accepted the job with 'Incredible Homes'.  I was sure she'd be thrilled, but she was still unhappy about her situation. She'd learned that when her training was complete, she was going to be, in her words, 'stuck out in the boonies', just outside of London...quite a drive from her house.  She'd heard that the houses in that area weren't selling well. Winter was also coming and housing sales slump in the winter.   She would be working on a commission basis and was already projecting that she wouldn't make enough money. The thought that she would need to look for a different job was very stressful.  Again, I felt God compelling me to say something. "Someone will be fired or will quit and you'll be offered another subdivision."  What the heck was going on? This was so weird!  But, somehow, I KNEW that the words I'd spoken were true.

About two weeks passed.  Sharmaine called me one day and said, "Well, you were right." I waited for her to continue.  When she didn't, I asked,  "About what?"  "You told me someone would quit their job or be fired.  Well, someone quit in order to go back to school."  Thankfully, when her training period was over, my sister would be taking over this particular person's subdivision...which happened to be located very close to her house.

There are more than 350,000 people in London.  Who was the person who quit her job, giving my sister a better subdivision close to her house?  It was Andrea, the young woman whose house I'd visited by chance, looking for a car for my husband, that's who!!! Of all the homes and all the people in London, Ontario, and there are a great many, I just happened to visit the VERY home in which lived the VERY person who in the future, would leave her job for my sister!

What a perfectly orchestrated situation!  God?  Coincidence?


* The name of the company and my sister's name have been changed to protect the....uh...company and my sister.

One Rubber Glove

My husband needed to get away.  Who could blame him?  He'd given up his country and his family to move to Canada for me.  He'd stayed for his son.  From time to time, he yearned to visit his family in Europe for an extended stay.  I had to let him go even though I wished he would have a change of heart.  He left that July.

Everything was fine for a short time, but after a couple of weeks, I noticed a weakness in my left elbow and wrist.  My cousin had been stricken with Multiple Sclerosis, so I imagined I might have the beginnings of the same illness.  Thus began my first experience with depression.

When I visited my doctor, I told her about my arm and confided,  "I've been feeling depressed and can't sleep. My husband went back to visit his family, so the depression has been more difficult without him here."  She prescribed sleeping medication.  Even with the pills, I would fall asleep for a few minutes, only to jerk awake, panic-stricken.  The lack of sleep began to take its toll.

School began in September...the teacher the students had always known to be fun-loving and 'high-spirited', had been 'spirited' away and replaced by one who cried and often had to leave the class.

My husband didn't seem to be in any great hurry to return...my arm grew weaker and weaker.  I couldn't lift it without extreme effort. The depression grew steadily worse.  In late October, I went back to the doctor who told me she would make me an appointment with a specialist.  Late November came and my husband, bless him, returned.  He was without work, but would begin teaching again in January.  Even though I was so relieved to have him back, the depression didn't lift.

In mid-December my nephew, who knew my situation, called.  "There's a man in town from Texas.  He's supposed to be a healer.  They say he's prayed for and helped a lot of people. Would you like him to pray for you?" I would have tried anything to feel normal again.  "Yes!"

The healer prayed over me, but much to my disappointment, nothing changed. "Do you pray?" he asked me.  "Um, well, not often."  "Can you pray in the spirit?" (see note at the bottom of the page) "I can, but I don't like to...it makes me feel uncomfortable."  "Do you read the Bible?"  Once again, I answered in the negative. "YOU ARE FAT AND LAZY IN THE SPIRIT!  Go home and pray in the spirit for at least forty-five minutes without stopping and then read your Bible," he commanded. At that point, if he'd told me to jump off the roof, I would have!  I was desperate....willing to try anything!  More than five months of heavy depression were more than enough for me!  I longed to be my optimistic self again.

Back home I went, sat in my father's old chair, and thought about praying.  I really didn't want to....but  suddenly my head fell back against the chair, and I started crying out to God in a language I didn't know...sputtering and sobbing....gasping for breath.  I don't know what I said, but I know what was in my heart...I was beseeching Him, begging for mercy.  I could not stop even if I wanted to...a force beyond me had taken over.  At least forty-five minutes passed. Finally the storm blew over.  I did as told, and picked up the Bible.  For the first time in months, I felt calm.

My duty done, I went to say goodnight to my husband.  As I was brushing my teeth, I looked in the mirror. My weak arm hung, almost completely useless at my side. Thinking back to the calm I had just experienced, I decided I would pray a bit more before I tried to sleep.  I got into bed, used my right hand to raise my left arm, lifted my right arm and arms raised, started to pray in the spirit once more.  Again, I cried out to Him in a tongue I didn't understand.  I prayed and sobbed....and after about 10 minutes, I felt it.  The tiniest of touches....soft as butterfly wings...4 or 5 sweet taps on my left arm, midway between my elbow and wrist.  I just had time to think, "What is that?"  That's when I heard it....a soft, male voice, gentle as the butterfly wing taps..."Your arm is healed."

My God....I heard a voice!  I threw my arm up into the air and shouted, "MY ARM! MY ARM!"  I ran to my husband shouting, "MY ARM!  I HEARD A VOICE!  HE HEALED ME!  HE HEALED ME!"  "What?  What are you talking about?  What happened?"  I explained what had taken place to my husband, laughing and praising God.  "He healed me!  My arm!  Look!"  I raised my arm over my head.  My husband who was trained in the Sciences and was, to all purposes, a sceptic, looked at me as though I had lost it!  

"How many years have we been together," I demanded...and then I answered my own question. "Twenty years!  And when was the last time I heard a voice?"  Again, I answered, "NEVER!  Do I lie to you?"  
"No," he admitted, "But why would God heal you when there are so many sick children in the world; children who are dying of hunger?"  
"I don't know, but He did!"

I left him there pondering my sudden seemingly lunatic behaviour and bounced back into the bedroom, praising God and giving thanks, so amazed and overwhelmed by this miracle.  Suddenly it  struck me.  I ran back to my husband and said, "I know why He healed me!  He knows I have a big mouth and will tell everyone about it!!" My wonderful husband still doubted.  Suddenly I was filled with knowledge.  I told him, "God loves us so much!  He loves YOU so much!  He is going to show YOU His love." I KNEW that He was going to do something special for my husband.  

God is our Father in heaven...those words we all know from the Bible had suddenly come to life for me. I KNEW at that moment that He really was my heavenly Father and that He loved me. They weren't just words in a book for me any longer....for the first time in my life, they were TRUE!

Two days later, my husband and I were back to the banalities of life and were discussing, of all things, our bathtub.  It was badly in need of painting, but to have a company come do it would cost at least three hundred dollars.  Since my husband hadn't worked for months, we thought it unwise to spend so much.  He suggested that we go to a store to look at the paraphernalia required to paint a bathtub.  He's very handy and thought he could do it himself.  We drove to a store and learned that because the paint fumes are toxic and can't be inhaled, we would need a gas mask. That in itself, cost more than $100. We then checked the cost of the paint and the brushes and the rubber gloves that we would need. It would still be an expensive endeavour.  He thought there might be an old gas mask at home somewhere and suggested that we go look for it.

We started off for home, my husband in the passenger seat.  After about two kilometres, I saw it there, in the middle of the road.  I pulled over to the side and said, "Quick!  Go get it!"  He jumped out of the car, grabbed it and ran back.  He was holding a brand-new, never-been-used GAS MASK!  I laughed.  "Is God amazing? Doesn't He have a great sense of humour?  When did you ever see a gas mask in the middle of the road?  That was for you...not for me.  He already had me!!!"  My husband, ever the sceptic, thought about it for several seconds and then said the six words that I'm sure God put in his mouth, "He didn't send the rubber gloves!"  I laughed, and started to drive again. After approximately three hundred metres, there it was in the middle of the road....ONE RUBBER GLOVE!

Romans 8:26-27

New Living Translation (NLT)

 ²⁶ And the Holy Spirit helps us in our weakness. For example, we don’t know what God wants us to pray for. But the Holy Spirit prays for us with groanings that cannot be expressed in words. ²⁷ And the Father who knows all hearts knows what the Spirit is saying, for the Spirit pleads for us believers in harmony with God’s own will.

Who is that?

My dear cousin Maddy lived with her family in Michigan.  With the approach of summer, Maddy's family often made arrangements to send her to visit the Canadian side of the family in Ontario.  Her favourite cousin, Lydia, lived in Stratford, Ontario, so naturally Maddy's preferred vacation spot was that charming, small town.  Maddy often visited and stayed with Lydia and her family, but sometimes bunked out at Aunt Violet's house. Aunt Vi loved having her niece visit her and treated her famously!  Maddy got to know Aunt Vi very well....very, very well, in fact.

Aunt Vi had, as do we all, some quirks.  To put it delicately, her bathroom habits set her apart from the crowd and made a definite and lasting impression upon little Maddy. The inevitable noises that often accompanied Aunt Vi's 'rituals' were, shall we say, above and beyond.  She wasn't shy, our Aunt V, and did not hesitate to discharge, rather audibly, various bodily vapours wherever she happened to be.  As she aged, she often had to excuse herself when visiting others, and retreat to the comfort station where she would entertain the troops with melodious trumpeting. Those in nearby rooms, on the hearing-end of said discharges, would squirm uncomfortably in their seats, feeling extreme distress for her, but she would emerge from the water closet as if nothing unusual had taken place.  No hint of embarrassment coloured her countenance.  She was unaware of their discomfort and would just continue on where she had left off in the conversation.

Many years passed.  Dear cousin Maddy now had her own grown-up family and lived in Chicago.  She hadn't seen Aunt Vi, who was by then quite elderly, for many a year. One summer found Maddy in London, Ontario at a well-known rummage sale. After doing the rounds, the urge to visit the W.C. overcame her and she made her way down the stairs to said room.  As she was seated in one of the stalls, some very familiar-sounding groans and distinct reverberations shattered the silence.  Maddy hesitated several seconds and then whispered, "Aunt Vi?"  From the cubicle beside hers she heard, "Yes?  WHO IS THAT?"

TIPS???

It was 3:20 a.m. and we were in a panic.  The shuttle-bus was to have picked us up at 2:45 a.m.  We'd called once before but no one at the bus station had answered. I'd already gone outside, up the long flight of stairs, to the front of the building at least four times, hoping to see the van waiting for us.  At 3:20, I decided to call once more. The dispatcher picked up.  Thankfully he spoke English.  I explained that we had reservations, that the shuttle hadn't arrived, and that we were very anxious that we would miss our flight.  He asked me to wait.

In a matter of seconds, I heard an angry exchange in Hebrew between him and who I assumed was the shuttle-bus driver.  The dispatcher came back on the line and said, "Madam Arlene, not to worry.  He is coming now."  We grabbed our bags and ran outside where we waited for several minutes.  At last!  An elderly Israeli man pulled up in an over-sized van.  He got out and met us at the back to take our luggage.  He didn't look at or speak to us and because he looked unwell and quite feeble, I helped him load my bag. I thought it strange that he didn't say a word, not even 'shalom', but was just happy that we were on our way to the airport in Tel Aviv.  We boarded the bus, which was already quite full, and found two seats together.

Immediately after we got on, the driver gunned the motor and tore down the street, not slowing one bit for the many speed bumps, taking the curves at break-neck speed. I reasoned that he must have been angry about his recent argument with the dispatcher and because he had to return to pick us up, he was now running late. Tel Aviv was a forty-five to fifty-minute drive.  Maybe he had to have people at the airport in a hurry?

There was the highway!  I breathed a sigh of relief, thinking that now we could relax a bit.  He had made it safely out of Jerusalem; there was no traffic to fight because it was the Sabbath, so surely he would slow down now. 

Rather than slowing down, he laid rubber.  The bus swerved to the shoulder of the road and back again toward the middle, crossing the centre line, swinging back again to the shoulder, back and forth, getting dangerously close to the metal guard-rail each time. Whenever he veered off course, there were audible gasps and a few of us cried out, "Hey! What are you doing?  Hey!!!  Slow down!" Some of the passengers began shouting, asking him if he was all right.  At one point about fifteen minutes into the journey, the man beside us said that the driver was sleeping, so several of us yelled even louder, "Are you awake?  Hey, Hey!!!  Wake up!".  The driver, however, said absolutely nothing and pushed the pedal to the metal. Faster and faster.  We were flying down the road...an out-of-control missile....helpless... nothing anyone said to him had any positive influence on his driving.  Silence greeted every shout.

What was most astonishing was that during this terrifying ride from hell, the majority of the passengers seemed completely unaffected by the peculiar driving and bizarre behaviour.  It was, to all appearances, an everyday occurrence for them. They sat silently, their bodies jerking violently from side to side, hanging on to the backs of the seats in front of them.  The maniac kept driving, also eerily silent...back and forth...back and forth...throttle to the floor. It was like something out of the Twilight Zone.   At one point, the expected happened; the van banged hard into the guard-rail and bounced back onto the highway.  That got the attention of even the most complacent passenger. "Hey!!! What's going on?  Are you crazy?  Stop the bus!!"  Some now started yelling at him in Hebrew. The fear became overwhelming and I started shrieking hysterically, "Stop the van!! Stop the van!!  Let me out!! I want to get out!! Pull over now!!  I want out of here!!" I tried to stand up but was unable to maintain my balance because of the extreme shifting.   I fell back hard into my seat.  J.P and I locked eyes, held hands tightly and said goodbye to each other without words.  We were both absolutely certain that he was going to roll the van and that we were going to die, but there was nothing we could do except pray.

We arrived at the airport, I'm sure due miraculous intervention, shaken and upset. We almost fell in our haste to exit that van.  We couldn't believe our good fortune; safe on beautiful terra firma! 

There was no conversation as the passengers gathered at the rear of the van to wait for the driver to retrieve the luggage.  His door opened.  He struggled to get down from his elevated seat.  Once on the ground, he staggered very slowly and unsteadily in our direction.  He tried to place the key in the lock, but missed several times before he made contact.  I wondered if his drug of choice was amphetamines; it was obvious that he was 'on' something.

Then the unimaginable happened.  As the driver from hell was wrestling with the bags, several passengers TIPPED him!

Putt-Putt

The night before their great adventure, the two young Canadians found themselves in the small, back streets of Iraklion, Crete.  After wandering a bit and trying to find the best place to sit and people-watch, they settled on a small taverna with tiny tables and chairs placed decoratively outdoors.  There they sat and proceeded to get smashed on the local raki.  Everything was beautiful to begin with, but after three or four shots each of the extremely potent brew, everything was even lovelier.  The smell of the ocean breeze, the stars a’twinklin’ in the black sky, the sound of the bazouki music, and the fact that they were on the other side of the ocean; all this lent an air of wonder to the night. The following day would however, bring a most unpleasant change to their circumstances.

The next morning, bright and early, they donned their tourist apparel; jeans and hippy blouses, brushed their long hippy-locks, hoisted their excessively heavy backpacks on their not-quite-strong-enough backs, and headed for the highway.  Once there, they joined the queue of other hippies with long hippy-locks, dressed in jeans and hippy blouses or shirts, and stuck out their thumbs.  The passers-by had their choice of many a young hitchhiker that day, but evidently the blond hair of our girls did the trick, and very soon they found themselves comfortably ensconced in a vehicle headed in the direction that they were determined to go. 

Now, they had learned by experience that when hitchhiking, the one who sat in the passenger seat was invariably molested, while the lucky one seated in back was relatively safe.  They'd had many a close-call leading up to this moment. In Switzerland, there was the young man who had ‘pleasured’ himself as he was driving them toward Bern.  In Germany, there were the two men who didn’t want to let the girls out of the car to relieve themselves…something they desperately needed to do. The many attempted 'gropings' that they'd suffered in Amsterdam, Austria, and mainland Greece had become commonplace. And this particular ride would turn out to be no exception.

The travellers had worked out a fair system…they took turns sitting with the driver, hence the one in the back seat had a respite from the inevitable mauling.  Girl A…let’s call her Angelina…had the good fortune, or so she thought, of being in the back seat of the car.  Girl S…we can call her Sharmaine, was in the hot seat.  Off they went, barrelling down the road.  The driver spoke no English…except for several necessary words, which will go unmentioned.  He obviously liked our maids, looking first at the one seated to his right and then turning full in his seat to stare at the one behind.  Alas for our friend in the rear, he seemed to like her more.  He reached a hairy arm back and tried to cop a feel, but our girl, by now the seasoned traveller, grabbed the proffered appendage, dug the nails of her left hand deeply into it, and threw it away from her with her right hand.  The not so affable driver made as if to strike her, and then said, looking at her in the rear view mirror, “You, me, Agios Nicolaos, sleep.”  With this he put his hands together in the prayer position and placed them beside his ear. “No!” she retorted and indicating her companion said, “She, me, Agios Nicolaos, sleep.” Mimicking him, she placed her hands beside her ear. The two sidekicks had often found it necessary to feign homosexuality to avoid situations similar to the one in which they now found themselves.  With that their chauffeur pulled quickly to the side of the road, slammed on the brakes, and said, “Exo!”  Since he was pointing to the door, they rightly assumed he wanted them to get out.  They did just that and their ride took off. 

They looked around at the desolate scene that confronted them.  To the rear, mountains and more mountains, and in front of them, the sea crashing noisily against the rocks…the highway, devoid of cars, stretched endlessly in both directions.  Before you could say 'Agios Nicolaos', lightning ripped through the now dark-grey clouds and water gushed from the leaden sky, soaking them completely.  They looked at each other in stunned amazement, and as if of one mind, dove into their backpacks and hastily retrieved their rain-capes.  Angelina picked up Sharmaine’s backpack and helped her put it on, then Sharmaine returned the favour.  On went the capes, large enough to cover our friends and their bags, transforming them into deformed-looking mutants.  And there they stood, in the deluge, on the desolate highway, waiting…..and waiting…and hoping against hope that someone…anyone…would come along to give them a ride.  They waited, and waited some more.  An hour passed...an hour and a half.  Not one car appeared.  They remarked to each other that even if a car were to pass, it would do just that…pass them.  No one would ever stop for the unsightly, androgynous beings stationed at the edge of the road.  Their lovely, blond locks, hidden under the army-green tents, would attract no one.  Their slim bodies, now looking like the Hulk’s, would garner no positive attention.  They were obviously destined to wait there until the rain let up and they could finally remove their charming slickers. 

“But wait!  What’s that?  That noise.  Can you hear it?  Shhhh….listen."  Putt-Putt….Putt-Putt…Putt-Putt.  "Can you see anything?  Look!”  Putt-Putt.  “A speck on the horizon, coming closer…very slowly.  See it?  What is it?”  Ten minutes passed and they could finally make out what it was….a tiny three-wheeled covered motor-scooter tugging a minuscule flatbed.  Afraid that it would pass them by, they walked quickly into the middle of the road, got down on their knees, clasped their hands together as if in prayer, and faced the oncoming saviour.  He stopped.  HE STOPPED!!!!  HALLELUJAH…HE STOPPED!!! Never mind that they could probably have walked faster than the 'vehicle', he had stopped.  They jumped up in unison, yelling "Efharisto, Efharisto, Efharisto", mounted the flatbed, and with the rain pelting them, putt-putted very, very slowly toward Agios Nicolaos.