Children’s Story

Children’s Story – The Open Door

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“Mama! Nellie’s head is on fire!” I screamed in absolute terror. My mother turned and dashed for the kitchen where my beautiful, thirteen-year-old sister was running back and forth, her long, heavy hair now in flames, her screams piercing the air.

Mama grabbed some kitchen towels, threw them over Nellie’s head, and began beating ineffectually at the flames, turning her own fingers into raw meat as the flames licked through the thin towels.

“Get me a blanket!” she screamed, and my fifteen-year-old brother, Bruce, dashed to the nearest bedroom to grab one of Mama’s heavy, homemade comforters, which was thrown over Nellie’s head, finally smothering the deadly fire.

I stood in mute horror as the scene unfolded in front of me. My sister’s screams pierced my consciousness, until she collapsed, moaning and twisting, on the cold linoleum floor.

She was no longer the sister I knew. Her hair was gone, as were her eyebrows and the tops of her ears. The smell of burned flesh rose sickeningly from this heap upon the floor, this heap that was my sister. Her hands and fingers were charred because she had thrown them in front of her face as a shield from the hungry flames licking at her cascading hair. Her dress had been burned from her shoulders and lay in a heap on the floor, exposing her raw, seared shoulders, which were already beginning to blister.

We lived in the Wisconsin hills, and we did not have a phone. Mama instructed Bruce to run to the landlord’s house for help. And run he did, leaping a four-foot chain-link fence that encircled our yard as though it was not there, he streaked for the valley below.

As Bruce ran for the landlord, my older sister, Clairece, ran the other way, up the hill to our nearest neighbor, an old, spinster lady who lived about half a mile away. She had a phone, and surely Clairece could use her phone to call for help.

While we waited at home, the hushed silence broken by Nellie’s sobbing and incoherent moans, another sister, Ruth, told Mama what had happened.

You would have to understand the time and the place, the hills of Wisconsin in the early 1940s. A child in the little country school we attended had come to school with head lice. She loved my sister’s long, flowing, blond tresses, and had asked if she could comb Nellie’s hair. Of course, Nellie agreed, not knowing that this child had lice. In those days, not only did finances prevent us from seeking medical help for something as common as lice infestation, but also, people just did not go to the doctor unless it was a life-threatening situation. The old-fashioned method for getting rid of lice was to wash your hair in kerosene. It was very effective. Mama had already rinsed my hair with kerosene, then shampooed the kerosene out with our regular shampoo, leaving it clean and fresh smelling—and lice free. It was an old, country remedy, but I am sure it is still used in some areas of the hill country today.

Nellie was preparing to rinse her hair the same way, when Bruce lit a cigarette. As he had done many times in the past, he handed the match to our two-year old nephew, Billy, to blow it out. But this time, instead of blowing the match out, Billy innocently toddled over and dropped the lighted match into the sink containing the pan of kerosene where Nellie was rinsing her hair. Her head exploded into flames.

Mama wrapped her now unconscious daughter in a clean, white sheet and I know in her mind she was calling out to her God for strength and healing.

Arthur, the landlord, and Bruce arrived with a pickup truck, and with Mama’s assistance they lifted Nellie into the truck bed and left for the hospital. The house was quiet; no one dared voice the fears that came rushing in to torture our minds, but we knelt and prayed, placing Nellie in the hands of God.

It was very late when Mama returned home. The news was not good. “If she lived,” the doctors said, “she would be blind, possibly deaf, and she most certainly would never be able to use her hands again.” But those doctors did not know the God that my Mother and Father knew! We did not know it then, but Nellie would spend almost a year in the hospital.

To be Continued…

Children’s Story – The Open Door Part II

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Last month we read how Nellie had been badly burned, The doctors said if she lived, she would be blind, deaf, and unable to use her hands.

The news of our tragedy quickly spread through the little farming valley where we lived, and the following day the true story of God’s miraculous working in our behalf was told.

Arthur had been out working in his fields. It was only mid-morning, but he felt a strong urging to return to his house. It did not make sense to him, so he shrugged it off. He had planned to be out in the field until dark, and had even packed a lunch so he could work straight through the day. But the feeling to return home persisted, so he stopped work, climbed into his pickup and drove home.

“What am I here for?” he mused. Perhaps his old Aunt Kate needed him. So, impressed by this thought, he picked up the phone to call her.

Meanwhile, Clairece had reached his Aunt’s house and knocked on the door. No answer! She knocked again, pounding upon the door. Still no answer, so she reached down and turned the doorknob. Finding that the door was not locked, she walked into the kitchen, picked up the phone to call Arthur at the same instant that Arthur was picking up his phone to call his Aunt. They were connected without either of them ever dialing the phone.

“Please come quickly,” Clairece begged, “my sister has been seriously burned and we have to get her to the hospital.”

“I’m on my way!” he responded, bounding out the door and jumping into his truck. He met Bruce on the way to our house, picked him up, and heard the rest of the story as they drove back.

The following day, Aunt Kate came to call. After hearing the story of Nellie’s accident, she turned to Clairece. “How did you get in my house to use the phone?”

“The door was unlocked, so I just walked in, made my call, and left.” Clairece replied.

“But, that is impossible!” the old lady sputtered, “I locked that door before I left for the fields yesterday, and dropped the key right here,” she said as she patted her apron pocket. “That door was still locked when I got home. I know, because I had to use my key to get in!”

My Mother smiled and softly quoted a verse from the book of Acts, “But the Angel of the Lord—opened the door.”

Although Nellie’s struggle was long and difficult, and though there were times we were not sure she would make it through another operation, God was with her. She was not left blind, however, her eyebrows never grew back and she has had to use a pencil just to create eyebrows. Although the tops of her ears were burned off, she can still hear. And those hands that the doctors thought would never be used again; although badly scarred, still play God’s praises on the piano. She continues to use her beautiful, soprano voice to praise a loving Father who walks beside us, even through the valley of the shadow of death, and leads us into green pastures of safety.

Children’s Story – The Clock That Struck Thirteen

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It was midnight in the town of Plymouth, England. Two men stood by the town’s great clock. As it finished striking the hour, both men, strangers, remarked that it had struck thirteen times instead of twelve. One of these men was a gentleman by the name of Captain Jarvis.

It was not long after this that Captain Jarvis awoke early one morning, got up, dressed, and went down to the front door of his home. As he opened it, he saw, to his surprise, that his groom was standing there with his horse saddles and bridled, ready for him to mount.

The groom explained, “I had a feeling that you would be wanting your horse, sir.” He said the feeling had been so strong that he couldn’t stay in bed, but had to get up and get the horse ready.

This was strange. It had never happened before. But, since the horse was ready, he mounted and rode off. Not having to go anywhere in particular, he let the horse choose where he would take him. Soon they were down by the river, close to the spot where a ferry took passengers across. Imagine his surprise, at this early hour, to see the ferryman there with his boat, waiting to take him across. What was going on?

“How are you here so early, my man?” he inquired.

“I couldn’t rest in my bed, sir, for I had a feeling I was wanted to ferry someone across.”

The Captain and the horse got on the boat, and soon they were on the other side. Now what? Again he let the horse direct the course he would take. After some time they came to a large country town. And seeing a passerby, the captain inquired if anything of interest was going on in the town.

“No, sir. Nothing but the trial of a man for murder.”

So, with no other destination in mind for this strange trip, he thought he would see what was going on. He rode to the place of the trial, dismounted, and entered the building.

As he walked in, he heard the judge saying to the prisoner, “Have you anything to say for yourself—anything at all?”

And the prisoner said, “I have nothing to say, sir, except that I am an innocent man. There is only one man in all the world who could prove my innocence, but I do not know his name nor where he lives. Some weeks ago we stood together in the town of Plymouth when it was midnight. We both heard the great town clock strike thirteen instead of twelve, and we remarked about it to each other—how strange it was that the clock should strike thirteen at the midnight hour.”

“I am here! I am here!” the captain shouted from the rear of the room. “I was the man who stood at midnight beside the great Plymouth clock and heard it strike thirteen instead of twelve. What the prisoner says is absolutely true. I identify him as the man. On the night of the murder, at the very time it was committed, that man was with me at Plymouth, and we remarked to each other how strange it was that the clock should strike thirteen at the midnight hour!”

The condemned man, proved innocent by the captain’s testimony, was immediately set free!

Think of it! Only one man in the world could prove that prisoner’s innocence. And angels, by awakening a groom and a ferryman and impressing them with an urgency they could not understand—and by leading the horse—had brought that one man into the courtroom at the precise moment he was needed!

How the angels must have loved it!

Taken from “It Must Have Been an Angel” by Marjorie Lewis Lloyd

Children’s Story – When A Buffalo Attended Bible Class

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Hello, Children! Summer is too severe in India, especially in a remote, tribal, upland area as ours!

We have a lot of monkeys, mosquitoes, a thousand varieties of flies, snakes, and birds in our forest. Most of our villagers have herds of buffalo and goats. Indian buffalo are very black and huge! They have a long fixed face and two strong horns. The tribals make beautiful ornaments, combs, and decorations with these horns.

Every morning these buffalo go into the forest for grazing, and come back in the evening. Many times the tribal children sit on the backs of the buffalo and drive them into the streams of water to give them a good wash. They sing a thousand songs as they bathe together in the stream with the buffalo.

As it is summer, we have a Vacation Bible School, and many of the children from the neighboring villages attend our Bible school. They are all excited to attend and learn about the Bible as it is explained by using the flannelgraph. They learn nice songs; memory verses, and color Bible pictures. We have fixed time periods for each of these activities. It is really a very exciting experience when time passes like a flying horse!

On one such day, when every one of us was very busy in our own way during the Bible class, we had a strange guest! None of us had noticed it until it straight away walked into the center of our little room. It opened its mouth and started to brawl! Oh! It made all of us jump to our feet and we all broke into peels of laughter! The buffalo looked at all of us with its serene eyes, lifted his tail up and ran away before we could drive him out.

This incident delighted all of us for awhile. Especially, I felt really good to share the simple joy of my gleaming little ones. I said, “Well children, Jesus too is very happy now because a buffalo has attended our Bible class. It has come all the way here to sing a song in his own native tongue, and when the job was over it walked out. How much more should we praise Him, sing unto Him, thank Him, and always be ready to share the news of what a wonderful Saviour we have! When a buffalo, who does not have a hat or a pair of slippers could attend a Bible class in this hot summer—how about you?”

Needless to say, I had full attendance during the whole week!

Children’s Story – Nondis: A Boy of New Guinea

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Then a messenger burst into the village of Papua with word that the government patrol was approaching, the people fled in terror. They had never seen white men before, and they were taking no chances. Mothers scooped up their babies, and everybody, young and old, disappeared into the bush or up the mountain. Everybody, that is, except Nondis. He couldn’t go, because he was crippled with leprosy!

So when the patrol officers trudged wearily into the village, they found houses empty, cooking fires still burning, and Nondis. Imagine, if you can, his absolute terror as a strange white man in a big hat bent over him and examined him.

Within a week the boy, who knew nothing of the rest of the world, was put aboard a strange aircraft and taken to a leprosarium on the coast. There he was operated upon and sealed in plaster from the soles of his feet to the top of his hips. Think of the trauma of it,—no friends, no one who could understand his language. He sat alone on his bed day after day, unable even to feed himself because his arms were so deformed.

It was in this condition that a Seventh-day Adventist pastor found him and became his friend. He brought him food and clothing, and slowly Nondis learned to speak pidgin. Now the pastor could tell him about Jesus and how He restored the paralytics and healed the lepers. He told him that Jesus is the same today. And the boy believed!

Three months after the plaster was applied, it was cut away, but his joints were still weak and twisted. His leg was badly ulcerated. It was a terrible disappointment. Now he must be encased in plaster again, this time for six months. But the pastor encouraged him to keep trusting. He told him Jesus still could heal him. Nondis believed it was true and kept on praying.

On the second Monday night after Nondis was sealed in plaster the second time, he had a dream. In his dream a tall Man in shining white stood by his bed and said to him, “Nondis, it’s time for you to get out of bed.”

He said, “I can’t. Look at me!”

But the Man said kindly, “You can! Give Me your hand.”

Nondis held out his wasted hand, but the Man said, “No! Open your fingers like this.”

“It’s not possible. You see, my motor nerves have died, and my hand is permanently disfigured.” That’s what Nondis had heard the doctors say.

“If you take My hand, your own will straighten.” And, in the dream, it was so.

Then the Man in white said kindly, “Now come, get out of bed.”

So, in his dream, Nondis swung his legs over the side of his hospital bed and stood up.

“Go for a walk.” And he strode off down the ward. When he came back to his bed, the Man in the dream said to him, “You have been sick a long time since you first believed, yet your belief in Me hasn’t wavered at all. Tonight I have taken away your leprosy and have restored your movement. Now I want you to work for Me.”

Nondis said he would, and thanked the Man profusely as He turned and left the room.

Not long after that the boy was awakened by the sound of a patient down the ward calling out. A nurse turned on the light. It was almost dawn anyway, and Nondis decided to say his morning prayer. In the midst of his prayer he remembered his dream.

Nondis opened his eyes and could hardly believe what he saw. His fingers were straight. He opened and closed both hands several times. It was easy! He examined his formerly twisted arms. He could move them!

Next he felt for his legs. He was happily shocked to discover that the plaster had all crumbled away. The sores were healed, and his joints were strong and firm. Overjoyed, he slipped out of bed and fell to his knees. How could he thank his Lord enough?

When a male nurse passed by, Nondis called him and showed him his hands and his legs. The nurse was astounded at the sight of Nondis standing. The nurse called the other patients to come and see. Excitedly they crowded around him. Some said he shouldn’t have removed the plaster. When the doctor came, he cleared that up, however, telling them it was utterly impossible for Nondis to remove the plaster when he couldn’t even feed himself.

The doctor examined the boy and said, “I think your God has had something to do with this.”

X-rays of his legs were proof of his remarkable healing. Blood tests were negative. Nondis was cleared to return home. But he said to his doctor, “The Lord said I should work for Him, but I really don’t know what kind of work I should do. Can you give me some work?”

So Nondis was put to work in the physiotherapy department. That was the beginning. Soon he was transferred to a Seventh-day Adventist hospital, was baptized, and married a lovely, Christian girl named Rebecca.

Yes, angels are often sent on missions of healing, but sometimes the Healer is so moved with compassion that He takes charge Himself!

Taken from “It Must Have Been an Angel” by Marjorie Lewis Lloyd

Children’s Story – Red Marbles

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During the last few years of the depression, a time when many men were out of work and food was scarce, in a small town in southeastern Idaho, I used to stop by Brother Miller’s roadside stand for farm-fresh vegetables as soon as they came from the gardens. Food and money were still extremely scarce and bartering (or trading) was used constantly.

One particular day Brother Miller was bagging some early potatoes for me. I noticed a small boy, delicate of bone and feature, ragged but clean, hungrily looking at a basket of freshly picked green peas. I paid for my potatoes, but I was also drawn to the basket of fresh green peas. I am a pushover for creamed peas and new potatoes. Pondering the peas, I couldn’t help overhearing the conversation between Brother Miller and the ragged boy next to me.

“Hello Barry, how are you today?”

“H’lo Mr. Miller. Fine, thank ya. Jus’ admirin’ them peas—sure look good.”

“They are good, Barry. How’s your Ma?”

“Fine. Gittin’ stronger alla’ time.”

“Good. Anything I can help you with?”

“No, Sir. Jus’ admirin’ them peas.”

“Would you like to take some home?”

“No, Sir. Got nuthin’ to pay for ‘em with.”

“Well, what have you to trade me for some of those peas?”

“All I got’s my prize marble, here.”

“Is that right? Let me see.”

“Here ‘tis. She’s a dandy.”

“I can see that. Hmmmm, only thing is this one is blue and I sort of go for red. Do you have a red one like this at home?”

“Not ‘zackley—but almost.”

“Tell you what. Take this sack of peas home with you and next trip this way let me look at that red marble.”

“Sure will. Thanks, Mr. Miller.”

Mrs. Miller, who had been standing nearby, came over to help me. With a smile she said: “There are two other boys like him in our community, all three are in very poor circumstances. Jim just loves to bargain with them for peas, apples, tomatoes or whatever. When they come back with their red marbles, and they always do, he decides he doesn’t like red after all, and sends them home with a bag of produce for a green marble or an orange one, perhaps.”

I left the stand, smiling to myself, impressed with this man. A short time later I moved to Utah, but I never forgot the story of this man, the boys and their trading. Several years went by, each more rapid than the last one. Just recently I had occasion to visit some old friends in that Idaho community. While I was there I learned that Brother Miller had died. They were having his viewing that evening and knowing my friends wanted to go, I agreed to accompany them.

Upon our arrival at the mortuary we fell into line to meet the relatives of the deceased and to offer whatever words of comfort we could. Ahead of us in line were three young men. One was in an army uniform and the other two had nice haircuts, wore dark suits and white shirts, very professional looking. They approached Mrs. Miller, standing smiling and composed, by her husband’s casket. Each of the young men hugged her, kissed her on the cheek, spoke briefly with her and moved on to the casket. Her misty light blue eyes followed them as, one by one, each young man stopped briefly and placed his own warm hand over the cold, pale hand in the casket.

Each left the mortuary, awkwardly, wiping his eyes. Our turn came to meet Mrs. Miller. I told her who I was and mentioned the story she had told me about the marbles. Eyes glistening she took my hand and led me to the casket. “Those three young men, that just left, were the boys I told you about. They just told me how they appreciated the things Jim “traded” them. Now at last, when Jim could not change his mind about color or size, they came to pay their debt.

“We’ve never had a great deal of the wealth of the world,” she confided, “but right now, Jim would consider himself the richest man in Idaho.” With loving gentleness she lifted the lifeless fingers of her deceased husband. Resting underneath were three, magnificently shiny, red marbles.

Moral: We will not be remembered by our words, but by our kind deeds.

Children’s Story – The Water

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It was one of the hottest days of the dry season. We had not seen rain in almost a month. The crops were dying; cows had stopped giving milk and the creeks and streams were long gone into the earth. It was a dry season that would bankrupt several farmers before it was through.

Every day, my husband and his brothers would go about the arduous process of trying to get water to the fields. Lately this process had involved taking a truck to the local water rendering plant and filling it up with water. But severe rationing had cut everyone off. If we did not see some rain soon, we would lose everything.

It was on this day that I experienced the only miracle I have seen with my own eyes: I was in the kitchen making lunch for my husband and his brothers when I saw my six-year old son, Billy, walking toward the woods. He was not walking with the usual carefree abandon of a youth, but with a serious purpose. I could only see his back, but he was obviously walking with a great task in mind…trying to be as still as possible. Minutes after he disappeared into the woods, he came running out again, toward the house.

I went back to making sandwiches, thinking that whatever task he had been doing was completed. Moments later, however, he was once again walking in that slow, purposeful stride toward the woods. This activity went on for an hour—he would walk carefully to the woods, then run back to the house.

Finally I could not take it any longer, and I crept out of the house and followed him on his journey (being very careful not to be seen…as he was obviously doing important work and did not need his Mommy checking up on him). He was cupping both hands in front of him as he walked; being very careful not to spill the water he held in them…maybe two or three tablespoons were held in his tiny hands.

I sneaked close as he went into the woods. Branches and thorns slapped his little face, but he did not try to avoid them. He had a much higher purpose. As I leaned in to spy on him, I saw the most amazing site. Several large deer loomed in front of him. Billy walked right up to them. I almost screamed for him to get away. A huge buck with elaborate antlers was dangerously close. But the buck did not threaten him…he did not even move as Billy knelt down. And there I saw a tiny fawn laying on the ground, obviously suffering from dehydration and heat exhaustion, lift its head with great effort to lap up the water cupped in my beautiful little boy’s hand. When the water was gone, Billy jumped up to run back to the house while I hid behind a tree.

I followed him back to the house, to a spigot where we had shut off the water. Billy had opened it all the way up and a small trickle was creeping out. He knelt there, letting the drip, drip slowly fill up his makeshift “cup” as the sun beat down on his little back.

And it became clear to me. The trouble he had gotten into for playing with the hose the week before. The lecture he had received about the importance of not wasting water. The reason he did not ask me to help him. It took almost twenty minutes for the drops to fill his hands. When he stood up and began the trek back to the woods, I was there in front of him. His little eyes just filled with tears. “I’m not wasting,” was all he said. As he began his walk, I joined him—with a small pot of water from the kitchen.

I let him tend to the fawn. I stayed away. It was his job. I stood on the edge of the woods watching the most beautiful heart I have ever known working so hard to save another life. As the tears that rolled down my face began to hit the ground, they were suddenly joined by other drops—and more drops—and more. I looked up at the sky. It was as if God, Himself, was weeping with pride.

Some will probably say that this was all just a huge coincidence, that miracles do not really exist, that it was bound to rain sometime. I cannot argue with that—I am not even going to try. All I can say is that the rain that came that day saved our farm, just like the action of one little boy saved the life of that fawn.

I tell this story to honor the memory of my beautiful Billy, who was taken from me much too soon—but not before showing me the true face of God, in a little sunburned body.

Children’s Story – Sin and the Large Oak Tree

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I grew up in the beautiful hill country of Wisconsin, where the winters are cold and long. Nature provides an over abundance of snow that falls upon the hills during those winter months, and when winter sets in, it stays until May.

My brothers had worked very hard shoveling snow to make a long sledding trail down the hill behind our house. It ran under the barb-wire fence, twisting and curving down the hill until it finally took a big turn at the bottom, where a tall oak tree stood, and opened up out in the pasture beyond. Then they poured water down the trail, turning that winding, little path into ice, with steep banks of snow on either side.

The hard work paid off. Soon they were zipping down that sledding trail with many shouts of laughter and excitement. I was seven years old, and oh, how I begged my parents to let me try it out, but the answer was always, “No.”

In the afternoon Mom and Dad came out to watch the festivities. The older children yelled and screamed with delight as they zoomed down the trail; the snow sparkled and danced in the sunlight, casting a thousand diamonds across the hillside.

Finally, Mother went in to begin supper, for the sun was beginning to get lower and lower in the western sky. Still the fun on the hillside continued until Mother, at last, called everyone in for supper. With much protestation, the sleds were hung in the shed, and everyone trooped into the house. Everyone, that is, except me.

In the chatter and bustle of everyone getting inside, taking off snow-covered coats, boots, and gloves, I was not missed. Quickly I pushed open the door to the shed and lifted one of the sleds down from the hook. I trudged up that steep hill, settled myself on the sled and took off. Wheeeee! I was flying! I had never gone this fast on a sled before…I flew over every little knoll, cold wind reddening my cheeks, laughter bubbling up from deep inside. This was just as wonderful as I thought it would be—until I came to the curve at the bottom of the hill and the big oak tree!

My sled and I flew up over the embankment and smacked right into that tree! I was thrown into the snow and lay, flat on my back. Pink, green, yellow, and blue stars floated before my eyes. I do not know how long I lay there, but when I came to, I picked myself up, took the sled to the shed and hung it up. I quietly made my way into the house, hung up my coat, hat and gloves, and slid into my seat at the supper table, a very subdued little girl. Because I did not want to be punished for disobeying, I never told my parents what I had done until I was a grown up lady.

My sled ride is just like sin. Sin seems like a lot of fun for awhile as we’re zooming down the hill; until we meet the tree and come crashing to a halt, broken and bruised.

Do you think Mother and Daddy knew that I was too young to handle the sled on that dangerous trail? Yes, of course, they did. Did they tell me, “No” because they did not want me to have any fun? No, they did not. They loved me and did not want me to get hurt. That is just how it is with Jesus. He loves us, and He does not want us to get hurt either—and sometimes He has to tell us “No,” not because He does not want us to have any fun, but because He wants to keep us from getting hurt. He knows what is best for us, and if we always trust and obey Him our lives will be filled with happiness.

Won’t you decide to always obey Him right now? I know it will make the angels in heaven burst into song, and it will make Jesus very happy, too.

Children’s Story – Tripped by an Angel?

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The Riley family homestead sat high on a hill about five miles from the little town of Gays Mills, Wisconsin, which was nestled in the valley. They were very, very poor. Daddy tried to eke a living from the soil, but it had not been a good summer and crops had been lost.

There was nothing to eat except oatmeal. Now oatmeal would not have been bad, but this oatmeal had worms in it. Mama tried her best to get them all out before she cooked the oatmeal, but the children knew they were there. With lumps in their throats they sat down to eat their meal of wormy oatmeal, for it was all that they had. Those first bites were very hard to take, but hunger overtook their squeamish stomachs, and the food was soon devoured.

In an effort to provide for his family, Daddy had gone looking for work wherever he could find it, happy to earn 25 cents for a day’s hard work. But his effort had been rewarded, and he was able to bring some groceries home to his family. With a large family, food disappeared in quick order, and it was a difficult chore just to keep it on the table in those days. So off he went, looking for more odd jobs, leaving Mama what little money he had left.

As the last of the food in the pantry disappeared from the shelves, Mama knew she would have to get more provisions from town in order to feed her children supper one night. She could not leave home because she had little ones who needed her care, so she chose her eldest son, Harvey, who was about nine years old. Into his pocket she placed a $5.00 bill instructing him to walk into town and buy some potatoes and other items that she needed. That $5.00 was all the money she had in the world.

Harvey felt very proud and grownup to be sent on such a mission. $5.00 in his pocket! Wow! That was a lot of money. He pulled the money out of his pocket as he walked along, admiring this fortune. Soon he slipped it back in his pocket and continued on, kicking the fall leaves that were crunching under his feet. After walking a bit farther, he just had to look at that $5.00 again, so he took it out, holding it tightly in his hand. $5.00! Wow! He’d never seen so much money. Tucking it back inside his pants pocket he continued on toward town. But, oh, how he needed to look at that money again. He reached in his pocket, and there was nothing there!

Frantically he looked around, but it was nowhere to be found. Slowly he retraced his steps, looking, searching for that $5 bill. “Where was I when I looked at it last?” he mused to himself. Back and forth he walked, kicking at the leaves, straining his eyes to catch a glimpse of the money, but it was nowhere in sight.

“Jesus, please help me find that money. You know it’s all we got, and if it’s gone we won’t have any supper tonight.” Turning, yet one more time, he began walking back toward home. Faster and faster he walked, tears streaming down his face, as he prayed to Jesus.

Soon he was running and crying. How would he ever tell Mama that he’d lost the money? “Oh, please, Jesus,” he cried, “help me!” Tears blinding his eyes as he ran, he stubbed his toe and fell flat on his face to the ground. What do you suppose was lying right there at the tip of his nose? The $5 bill! Grabbing it, he thrust it deeply into his pocket, and thanking Jesus, he turned and ran all the way to the store.

I always thought perhaps an angel tripped him that day, in just the right spot so that he would fall within a hair’s breadth of that $5 bill. That is how much God cares about you and me.

Children’s Story – A Glass of Milk

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One day a poor boy, who was selling goods from door to door to pay his way through school, found he had only one thin dime left, and he was hungry. He decided he would ask for a meal at the next house. However, when a lovely young woman opened the door, he lost his nerve and instead of asking for a meal, he asked for a drink of water.

The young lady thought that he looked hungry, so she brought him a large glass of milk instead. He drank it very slowly, and then asked, “How much do I owe you?”

“You do not owe me anything,” she replied. “Mother has taught us to never accept pay for a kindness done.”

“Then I thank you, from the bottom of my heart,” he said.

As Howard Kelly left that house, he not only felt stronger physically, but his faith in God and man was also strengthened. He had been ready to give up and quit, and was given the courage to go on.

Years later that young woman became critically ill. The local doctors were baffled, and they finally sent her to the big city where they called in specialists to study her rare disease. Dr. Howard Kelly was called in for consultation.

When he heard the name of the town from she came, a strange light filled his eyes. Immediately he rose and went down the hall of the hospital to her room. Dressed in his doctor’s gown, he bent over to look at her, and he recognized her at once. He returned to his office determined to do his best to save her life.

From that day on he gave special attention to the case, and after a long struggle, the battle was won. On the day that his patient was to be discharged from the hospital, Dr. Kelly requested the business office to pass the final bill to him for approval. He looked it over, then wrote something on the edge of the bill and sent it to her room. She was afraid to open it, for she was sure it would take the rest of her life to pay for such a long and expensive hospital stay as hers had been. Finally she could endure the suspense no longer, and she opened the bill. Something scribbled in the margin caught her eye, and she read these words: “Paid in full with one glass of milk.” And it was signed by Dr. Howard Kelly.

Tears of joy flooded her eyes as her happy heart prayed, “Thank You, God, that Your love has spread abroad through human hearts and hands.”

Editor’s note:
Each day as we pass through our humble lives, we never know when a kind touch, a word of encouragement and cheer or a humble act of generosity might give a discouraged, hurting human being just the lift that will make the difference in their life. We must remember, also, that our harsh words, our criticism and coldness can also destroy someone who is already hurting, and can be the final straw to make them lose all hope. Let us remember to share love, as Jesus shared love, always lifting each other up, and pointing the way to heaven.