[Faith-talk] Daily Thought for Saturday, December 7, 2013

[Paul]

Good morning, afternoon or evening to all my precious saints of the Most High God, no matter where in this world you happen to reside.  I hope that your day is going well, by God's matchless grace and His providential care.  I know that in a good part of our country that the local authorities are battling some nasty pre-winter weather, so those of you who are fortunate enough not to be in the path of the snow, sleet and freezing rain storms, please pray for those who are.  They will thank you, and God will bless you for your faithfulness.  On behalf of those affected, thanks for the prayers.

Here's a Christmas article that I don't think I've shared with anyone yet, though I may have done so last year.  It's a story by Shirley Hope Waite, an author from the state of Washington, and the title of her article is "No More Lonely Christmases." So, pull up a chair while I get you a proverbial mug of hot tea or whatever you like to drink on a cold day, and let me relate her story in her own words.

Bah! Humbug! Christmas was a mere two miserable weeks away.  But what was there to look forward to? None of the children could come home, due to either work schedules or distance.  I saw no sense in putting up decorations for just two of us.  However, my husband insisted on a tree (despite his yearly complaint of wrestling with tree lights).

Four days before Christmas, I received a phone call from a friend in a neighboring city on the other side of the mountains.  A four-year-old boy, Peter, had been in a freak accident.  The youngster along with his mother and older brother were attending a party at their local church.  During a game of hide and seek, Peter crawled behind a heavy folding table propped against the wall.  The table slipped, catching the child in the throat.  Nobody knew how long Peter was pinned against the wall with no oxygen supply.

The boy was immediately transferred to a neurosurgeon in our city.  Maxine, Peter's mother, hastily made arrangements for her eight-year-old son, Jerry, and drove across the mountains in the worst road conditions of the season.

I dashed to the hospital, totally forgetting Christmas preparations.  I found Maxine by the bedside of her unconscious son.  She was distraught with guilt.

"I heard a crash when the table fell.  Why didn't I check right away?" Then, as she fell into my arms, she sobbed, "The doctors don't expect Peter to live.  But if he does ... if he does ...?" She could hardly speak.  "He may be blind ... or brain damaged."

I didn't know what to say and just continued to hold her.

"And Jerry! He's so scared and wants to be with me." A pause, and then she exclaimed, "I'm scared too!"

I don't know how long we embraced but suddenly she gasped, "Oh, dear God! What am I going to do about Christmas?"

I put Peter's name on several local prayer chains and contacted my prayer group.  Members came to sit with Maxine and pray with her.  Gifts began to arrive, not only for mother and son but for big brother too.

By December 24, doctors assured Maxine that Peter's life was no longer in jeopardy, and she felt she must spend Christmas Day with Jerry.  I assured her that our prayer group would take turns at Peter's bedside.

After Christmas Eve services, I headed for the hospital.  Maxine had left word that I was "family" while she was gone.  Tears stung my eyes as I stood by the precious towhead, hooked up with wires and plugs.  Then I caught sight of a stuffed animal.  Earlier that week, one of our prayer group members shared a dream about a musical teddy bear and asked for prayers that she might find one.  I wound it up and held it close to Peter's ear.  It played "Jesus Loves Me." Was it my imagination, or did I see Peter's eyes flicker?

As we talked with each of our children on Christmas Day, I asked them to pray for Peter and for Maxine's safe journey back across the mountains.

Maxine returned to find Peter transferred to pediatrics and the good news that his sight was not impaired.  Beyond that the doctors were silent, except to tell her, "Get your son some tennis shoes."

"Why would they want Peter to have shoes unless--unless they think he'll walk again?" I took Maxine downtown and no gift I've ever purchased gave more pleasure than those pint-size tennis shoes.

And no gift I've ever received thrilled me as much as one that arrived New Year's Eve.  A daylong blizzard kept me home from the hospital, but that evening Maxine called.  She was so excited, I could hardly understand her.

"Shirley! Peter said three words today--Hi, Bye, and ... and Mom!" Then she added, "Thanks, my new friend, for being family to us over these rough holidays."

After six weeks in our community, Peter spent time in several rehab centers in California and Oregon.  His coordination slowly came back.  We had occasion to drive through Maxine's community when Peter was eight years old.  He showed off a new bike by doing wheelies!

We then lost track of Maxine and her family for over twenty years until recently.

We were delighted to learn that Peter is now gainfully employed as an advocate for one of the social services.

And me? Well, I've never complained about a lonely Christmas again!

And there you have Shirley's article which I hope was an inspiration for and to you.  For those of you who are members of the audio internet chat group, when the occasion comes up I'm going to read this story as part of my Christmas story contribution on that site.

Before I close I have a similar story to that of Peter's that actually happened to me.  I was about his age and playing with a neighbor's dog when it turned on me and bit me on the hand.  It turned out that he/she was rabid, and so there was nothing for it but to undergo those painful rabies shots.  For two weeks after the bite I was totally deaf, hence my advocacy on Braille issues.  Mom and Dad transferred me to the Johns Hopkins Hospital here in Baltimore, but after doing all the doctors could do to restore my hearing without success they advised my parents to take me home and make the best of my then double handicap, which they did.

After two weeks our family had a visit from a couple that Dad knew from his working days, Adrian and Juanita Snider.  Mrs. Snider was a Native American of mixed Blackfeet and Cherokee, and she remembered a similar incident that her grandmother told her.  Going into the kitchen she made a concoction of herbs and water, heated it on the stove and came back with the mixture.  She blew it into each of my ears and, what do you know, my hearing was restored, for which I praise God.  I was born blind, and still am.  The only residual effect today from that incident so many years ago is that I can't distinguish any notes above high E as played on either keyboard or string instruments.  Needless to say, we had a truly merry Christmas that year 1952.

And now may the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob just keep us safe, individually and collectively, in these last evil days in which we live.  Lord willing, tomorrow another daily thought message will be presented for you.  Your Christian friend and brother, Paul