Children’s Story

Children’s Story – Fire!

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In Montana, one of the most important farm crops is wheat—Montana winter wheat. In the fall, the farmers plow up the dark, rich earth and then they plant the winter wheat seeds. All winter the wheat lies dormant in the cold weather, but as soon as spring comes, the green little shoots come up like green grass out of the black earth.

Christi, Diana, and Zane watched as the wheat grew tall and green with perfect heads of wheat at the top. But it was not ready to harvest yet. Under the hot sun the wheat stalks turned a rich, golden yellow. Then the strong summer winds blew over the field of wheat and it looked like waves on a golden ocean.

When the wheat was almost ready to harvest, Dad walked to the edge of the wheat field. He picked a head of ripe, golden wheat. Putting the wheat between his hands, his rubbed it back and forth. The wheat berries fell out of their little pockets and into his hands. When he blew on them, all the chaff flew away and only the wheat berries were left. Dad popped that handful of wheat into his mouth.

“Ooh, that looks yucky,” Christi wrinkled up her nose.

“You won’t know until you try some,” laughed Dad. “Here, I’ll show you how.”

“I want to try some,” said Zane, eagerly!

Zane would try anything, thought Christi.

Zane and Diana began rubbing wheat between their hands and popping it into their mouths. They chewed and chewed and chewed.

“Aren’t you going to swallow it?” asked Christi.

“If you keep chewing, the kernels will break down and turn into gum,” Dad said.

Gum, thought Christi. I love gum. Maybe I’ll try some after all.

The wheat tasted good, like Mom’s home-made bread. It was so hard at first that Christi thought her teeth would break. But after awhile it became a soft chewy ball. Soon they all had mouths full of wheat gum. When they got tired of chewing they could swallow the gum because it was just wheat.

Later that day as the kids headed into town with Mom they noticed some smoke up ahead. Often they would see clouds of smoke at harvest time, but they never worried about it because they knew that after the farmers harvested their wheat, some of them would start little fires in the wheat fields to burn back the stubble that was left. But as they passed by the smoke, Zane’s head swung around.

“Mom,” he shouted, “Look! That wheat field is on fire.”

Mom slowed the car and pulled to the side of the road. Sure enough, they could see little red tongues of flame through the smoke. But this was not a stubble fire. This fire was at the edge of a wheat field that was just ready to harvest, and a strong wind was spreading the flames quickly. Mom turned the car around and sped up the long driveway to the farmhouse. The kids all tumbled out of the car as Mom knocked on the door. There was no answer from within. Mom looked nervously back at the fire.

“I’m not sure what to do if no one is at home,” she said, anxiously.

She knocked again on the door, very loudly this time. Finally they heard hurried footsteps coming toward the door. Mom looked relieved as the door swung open.

The lady standing in the open doorway wore a big apron and her hands and arms were all covered with flour and bread dough.

“Oh, I’m sorry it took me so long to come to the door,” she laughed, breathless from hurrying. “I’m right in the middle of making a batch of bread, and I was trying to get all this dough off my hands!”

“That’s all right,” replied Mom. “We noticed a fire at the corner of your wheat field that is spreading in this wind. We did not know if you had seen it.”

The lady stepped quickly out of the house to look at the fire. “Oh dear!” she looked alarmed. “No, I had not seen it.”

“Someone must have thrown a cigarette out of their car window,” said Mom.

“I’m sure you are right,” replied the woman. “I am so thankful you came and told me about it. My husband is gone right now, so I’ll have to call our neighbor to help me put it out. Thank you so much.” She reached out her hand and, disregarding all the bread dough, gave Mom’s hand a quick squeeze. Then she disappeared into the house.

As they turned and made their way back down the driveway, Christi could see a neighbor’s truck already heading toward the fire. She knew it would not take long to put out the fire now.

“We must thank God for your sharp eyes,” said Mom, to Zane. “With the wind blowing like it is today, that farmer could have lost his whole wheat crop if we had not caught the fire in time.”

“I’m glad, too!” grinned Zane.

“You know,” said Mom, “that fire is just like the naughty things we do or say sometimes.”

“What do you mean?” asked Christi.

“Well, every day we plant seeds that grow just like the farmer’s wheat crop,” Mom replied. “Those seeds are thoughts and actions that become habits. And good habits will grow if we cultivate them and will eventually become like the ripe wheat; a strong, good character. But just like that little fire in the corner of the wheat field, one wrong thought or deed, if not put away immediately, can grow very quickly and spoil our whole character; the crop that we had so carefully tended.”

Jesus is coming soon to harvest His crop—those with a pure, righteous character. I hope you will make sure that your crop, your pure character, is ready for Jesus’ harvest. Every day, ask Jesus to help you put out the little fires of sin so that you will be ready for Him to come.

“To him that overcometh will I give to eat of the tree of life, which is in the midst of the paradise of God.” Revelation 2:7.

Children’s Story – God Can Make An Overpass

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It was 1989. Our daughter, Rose, was ready for her first year in college. She had decided to attend Hartland. But how was she going to get there? My husband and son were busy with farming and could not get away. So that left me to drive her the twenty-two hours across country and then return alone.

I had never driven that far alone and knowing that conditions in our world are not getting better, a woman driving alone, so far, did not seem like a wise idea. So I started praying. Seeing that there was no other way, I found assurance in my Lord that He would travel with me. By the time we were ready to go I had full confidence that God would see me through.

Our trip to the school went smoothly. My weekend stay was delightful. Early Monday morning, I was up and headed on my way home. You can be sure I spent a lot of time in prayer and thinking of my Lord and His promises. We had a precious day of communion.

By 9:00 p.m. I was in Little Rock, Arkansas. It was past the time that I should retire for the night, but I was so anxious to get home. While driving through the city, I suddenly saw a Motel 6. “That is where I want to spend the night,” I said to myself. The big sign read, “Take the next exit and turn left.” So I did exactly as the sign had directed, or so I thought.

Suddenly, I was lost! There were no street lights, no signs, no street names, only darkness. There were men and boys walking on the edge of the road; there were dimly lit, poorly kept houses, and everything looked dangerous and frightening. I was about to panic. I certainly was not going to roll down my window and ask directions from anyone as to how to get back on the freeway or how to find Motel 6.

As soon as panic seized me, I said to myself, “God has taken care of me thus far on my journey. He will not forsake me now.” Then I began to ask God to show me how to get back on the freeway. When I would come to an intersection, I would say, “Lord, I do not know which way to go. Please turn my steering wheel the right way.” Well, He must have done just that, because it ended up that every single turn was the right one. For I soon found myself on an overpass, looking down at the freeway that I had just come off of, moments before.

“Oh, thank you Lord. But, oh no, I’m going the wrong direction. How do I get back onto I-40 West?” I was totally turned around and it seemed that I was going the opposite direction of where I needed to go.

Then, when I reached the end of the overpass, I looked up and there before me was a freeway sign, “I-40 West.” Praise the Lord! Oh, I just thanked Him over and over again! I made a left turn which was the only way I could go and was soon on my way out of town. I decided I was not going to stop until I could see a motel that was right along the freeway with a very obvious exit and entrance. I asked the Lord to help me stay awake until such a place could be found.

I drove another 30-40 miles before I found a motel right on the freeway. I was settled in for the night by 10:00 p.m. and able to call my husband and son, to let them know where I was and that I was safe. Thanks be to God!

This spring, my husband and I drove to Hartland together to see our daughter who is on the staff of Young Disciple. On our way back home, we were going through Little Rock about the same time of night. I pointed out the Motel 6 to my husband and the sign which said, “Take next exit and turn left.” Then I said, “Let’s look for the overpass where I came back onto the freeway.” So we started looking. Soon we were out of the city. I suddenly realized, there was no overpass. I exclaimed to my husband, “Honey, God must have made a special overpass. There was no overpass on I-40, west of Motel 6!” Chills went up and down my spine. What an awesome God we serve. He can do anything He needs to do in order to deliver His children out of trouble. If He can open the Red Sea for over six million people, making an overpass for one person is just a little thing!

The song, “Somebody Bigger than You and I” has even more meaning to me now. My favorite phrases are,

“He lights the way when the road is long,

Keeps you company;

With love to guide you, He walks beside you,

Just like He walks with me.

When I am weary, filled with despair,

Who gives me courage to go on from there,

And who gives me faith that will never die?

Somebody bigger than you and I.”

Do we ever have need to fear as we prepare for heaven? Let us not forget how God is able to deliver us out of all our troubles. Psalms 34:17.

Children’s Story – Who Will be in Heaven?

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“Mother, who will be in heaven?” Scott asked one bright sunny day as he watched her weed the garden.

Mother looked up from her weeding.

“Who will be in heaven?” Mother repeated the question. “Hmmm, let’s see.” Scott knew this meant she was thinking what to tell him.

“You know, I believe this garden has the answer for you,” Mother told him after awhile. “Let’s look at it.” She pointed to the plants she had been weeding.

“What plants are these?” she asked.

“Carrots,” Scott answered. He knew because he had eaten them.

“And these?” she asked, pointing to a different row.

“Onions.”

“And these?” Mother asked again.

“Corn,” Scott answered quickly.

“Why do carrots grow in one place, onions in another, and corn over there?” Mother asked.

Scott grinned. He thought that everyone should know the answer to that question. “Because that’s what was planted,” Scott said.

“True,” Mother told him. “And this is the thing you should remember. Like seeds, people die and are buried in the ground. If they belong to Jesus when they die, they will belong to Him when they are raised from the dead. God has said this is so. So, the people who go to heaven will be the ones who love Jesus here on earth.”

Just as the old seed dies in the ground, our bodies will disappear and we will get new bodies for heaven. We will be with Jesus forever if we loved and served Him when we lived on earth.

“Not everyone who says, Lord, Lord, shall enter into heaven, just those who do the will of their Father in heaven” (Matthew 7:21).

Dear Jesus, we thank You because You are the Resurrection and Life. We know no one will come to the Father but by You. Help us to love You always so that when You come to get us we will be ready to go to heaven. In Thy dear name, Amen.

Happy Moments With God, Margaret Anderson, ©1962, 141, 142.

Children’s Story – Something Better

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Miss S. was in need of a strong man to draw her jinrikisha as she made her daily rounds visiting and superintending the work of the daily schools under her care. Our faithful cook, who had become an earnest Christian since coming to work for us, had undertaken to find a suitable man.

“Sensei,” (name for a teacher) he said, returning one day from a tour of investigation, “I have found a young man who would be just the one for the place, I think, but one thing makes him hesitate.”

“And what is that?” asked the missionary.

“Well,” he replied, “he is only just married, and he and his wife would be glad to come here to work; but his mother, who is old and dependent upon him for support, is very faithful in the worship of her gods, and especially of her husband’s spirit. And as her worship is her only satisfaction in life now, her son is afraid to go and live at a Christian place, for fear she would not be allowed liberty in her religious worship. As for himself and his wife, he said they were not particular about such things; but it was different with his old mother, and he could never consent to anything that would interfere with the happiness of her last days. I told him,” continued our cook, “that if they came to live here, he and his wife, being servants in the household, would be expected to attend morning worship daily, but that I was sure his old mother would be allowed perfect freedom to worship as she pleased in her own room.”

“You are right,” replied the missionary. “See the man again, and tell him that as we are not engaging his mother to work for us, she will be entirely at liberty to worship as she pleases, and never obliged to attend our Christian services. Only we can not permit the display of the emblems of her religion outside her own room or on our gateposts, of course.”

So they came, and took up their abode in the gatehouse. The tiny, wrinkled old lady who claimed the dutiful Cho as her son, evidently shrank in awe from the big, fearsome, “foreign teachers”-specimens, to her, from a strange and unknown world, utterly foreign, truly, to everything she had ever known.

At a stated hour each morning the servants of the household were gathered together for instruction in the things of God. Miss S. was the faithful and efficient teacher of this daily class, carefully explaining the word of God and the way of salvation, and leading these darkened souls into the light. Cho and his wife were regular attendants at the morning service, and after we had smiled a cherry “Good morning, O Baa San!” (title by which old ladies are addressed) often enough to the dear, wee little woman sitting on the mats in her room by the gate, so that she was accustomed to the sight of us, as we daily passed by, and was losing her fear of us, an invitation was sent to her to come with Cho and listen to the teaching. However, invitation after invitation was declined and the missionaries quietly waited for the Spirit of the Lord to woo and win her.

Meanwhile, Cho’s interest was awakened, and developed until at last he took Jesus to be his own Savior and erelong sought and received baptism.

One morning, just as the morning service was beginning, in slipped the little old mother, quiet as a mouse, and dropped on the mats beside her son. No notice was taken of her, and the service went quietly on to the close, and then, as the members of the class bowed low with their heads to the floor-as is Japanese custom before taking one’s departure-the missionary said, quietly but cordially: “We are glad to see you here this morning, O Baa San.” Thereafter she came regularly to hear the “Jesus doctrine,” always quietly dropping in, the last one, at the little gathering, silently listening, and as silently slipping away again at the close. Whether or not any impression was being made upon the heart so long shrouded in the darkness of heathendom, we had no means of knowing. But we prayed on.

Cho’s wife was getting supper ready for the little family in the gatehouse one evening. A baby daughter had come to cheer their home, and had been the unconscious means of drawing the delighted grandmother and the sympathetic “foreign teacher” near together. Just now, however, the wee treasure was tucked away in her quilts in a corner of the room, fast asleep, while Kinu, the young mother, was boiling the rice for the evening meal. A diminutive oil lamp dimly lighted the small apartment. It was early autumn, and the night was cool and clear, and the stars shone brightly down upon the quiet, temporary home of the Bible Training School, their light filtering down through the branches of the weeping willow that stood by the well, and resting tenderly upon the figure of a dear little woman, so small and so frail standing there in the shadows, with clasped hands and upturned face. “O God!” she pleaded, “if there be one true God, who has done so much for my son Cho, reveal Thyself to me also.”

Presently one of the sliding doors of the gatehouse was quietly pushed aside from without and Kinu looked up inquiringly: “Where have you been, mother? I have noticed of late that you frequently slip outdoors in the evening. Is it not cold?” And to the amazement of the daughter-in-law came the quiet earnest reply: “I have been praying to Cho’s God.” In the old lady’s face there was a new light and in her heart a strange, deep, sweet peace-the answer from the unseen Lord.

We heard with great joy that this precious soul, so near the end of a weary lifetime, had at last found rest and peace, and we watched quietly to see the Spirit of the living God still further teach and lead on the soul so newly awakened. Nothing was said about the old idol worship, but daily Miss S. expounded the word of the Lord, and all unseen to human sight the good seed took root and grew up and bore fruit.

One day we were both sitting at our desks in the one room that served us then as office, dining and reception room, when there came a knock at the door. In answer to our “Come in” the door opened, and in came our wee O Baa San. Approaching the table, she placed upon it a small wooden shrine. “Sensei,” she said, turning to Miss S., “you may have this shrine. I don’t need it any more. I have something better.”

Written by Mary Bell Griffiths. Taken from The Youth’s Instructor, November 21, 1901.

Children’s Story – How Much Does a Prayer Weigh

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So he said, “Write it on a paper,” and turned about his business.

To his surprise, the women plucked a piece of paper out of her bosom and handed it to him over the counter and said, “I did that during the night watching over my sick baby.”

The grocer took the paper before he could recover his surprise, and then regretted having done so! For what would he do with it; what could he say?

Then an idea suddenly came to him. He placed the paper, without even reading the prayer upon it, on the weight side of his old-fashioned scales. Picking up a loaf of bread nearby, he said, “We shall see how much this food is worth.”

To his astonishment the scale would not go down when he laid the loaf on the other side. To his confusion and embarrassment, it would not go down though he kept on adding more food, anything he could lay his hands on quickly, for people were watching him.

He tried to be gruff and he was making a bad job of it. His face got red and he felt flustered. So finally he said, “Well, that’s all the scales will hold anyway. Here’s a bag. You’ll have to put it in yourself. I’m busy.”

With what sounded like a gasp or a little sob, she took the bag and started packing the food, wiping her eyes on her sleeves every time her arm was free to do so. He tried not to look, but he could not help seeing that he had given her a pretty big bag and that it was not full when she had finished. So without saying anything, he tossed down the counter to her several expensive items. Trying not to notice, he saw a timid smile of grateful understanding glistening in her eyes.

When the woman was gone, he went to look at the scales, scratching his head and shaking the scales in puzzlement. Then he found the solution. When the paper had been placed on it, the scales had been broken.

That grocer is an old man now. His hair is white. But he has never forgotten the incident. He never saw the woman again. And, come to think of it, he had never seen her before either. Yet, for the rest of his life, he remembered her better than any other customer he ever had.

And he knew it had not been just his imagination, for he still had the slip of paper upon which the woman’s prayer had been written, “Please, Lord, give us this day our daily bread.”

Used by permission. Taken from the book Shelter in the Storm. Available from Harvestime Books, Altamont, TN 37301.

Children’s Story – Andy’s Hands

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Andy had never had much in life, but he did have his two children and the little cabin in which they lived. Several years before, his wife had left the family one day, and later he learned that she had remarried, and then in an accident had been killed.

How Andy did love those children! And how he cared for them! They worked together on their little mountain farm, when the children were not at the little one-room schoolhouse down the road.

But then one day it happened.

Andy was out in the fields working when the fire started. But that morning both girls were in the house!

As soon as he saw the smoke he ran. His precious Suzy and Cindy! He prayed as he raced across the field and through a wooded area, for he had already learned by experience that God could answer prayer.

When he arrived, the little cabin was in flames. Smashing the door down with his powerful shoulder, he rushed in and found a blazing beam blocking a second door. Hurling it aside with his bare hands, he entered and found his little girls on the floor. Trying to put out the fire, they had both been overcome by the smoke. Reaching down with his strong arms, he picked them up and hurried from the blazing cabin. Just as he set foot on the outside porch, the building rafters collapsed behind him in to the building. Even yet, sparks and smoke and flames seemed everywhere, but somehow he struggled out into the yard.

They were safe.

Hearing about it, the local magistrate said that Andy’s children must be taken from him and given to people who would give them a better home. This put the whole town in an uproar, and on the day of the custody trial, the courtroom was packed.

First, the county attorney stood and told why he thought the children should be taken from Andy. The people respected him because he was influential and had lots of learning. But then Andy got up. Too poor to afford a lawyer, he spoke for himself. With strong tears he told of his love and care for his little ones down through the years. No matter how bad the troubles got, he had given them his whole life—his all.

As he closed, he raised his hands and pled that the children might be restored to him. Reddened, ugly scars disfigured both hands, for in rescuing his beloved, the two hands had been severely burned.

At this, total silence came over the entire room, and the judge tried to speak, but had a hard time getting the words out. Then he said this: “Andy was willing to give his life for his children, and he will carry the scars of his sacrifice in his hands for the remainder of his life. There is no one in this county better qualified to have them. This court rules that the children shall be given back to Andy.”

The whole building erupted in a burst of cheers, for Andy, who loved his own more than the whole world, and had proved himself willing to die to save them—was now to receive his own back again.

Friend, just now, God wants to receive you back again also. On Calvary, Christ paid the price.

This story was taken from the book Shelter in the Storm and used by permission. The entire book may be purchased by calling Steps to Life or writing to the publishers at Harvestime Books, Altamont, TN 37301.

Children’s Story – The Faith of a Little Child

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Every one smiled when his father carried him into the car—this little lad of three, who taught me so sweet a lesson in faith. The car was crowded, but there was a corner between the door and window where the child could stand, and there his father put him down.

“You stay still there, Herbie; Papa is going to stand near you. You won’t be afraid?”

The wee man shook his head very decidedly, and catching hold of a brass rail with his chubby fist, stood contentedly watching his father with trustful, happy eyes. At every corner new passengers came on, and crowded between father and child. Herbie was much more comfortable in the sheltered nook where his father had put him than he would have been even in his father’s arms on the crowded, jolting platform. Little by little, the newcomers hid the father from Herbie’s sight. He did not look like a child who was accustomed to being alone, and I watched him closely, ready to comfort if need be. I saw his lips moving, and bent toward him. This is what he said: “I can see my papa’s foot, and I can see my papa’s hand.”

Precious little heart, comforting itself!

The crowd jostled back and forth. I heard another whisper: “I can see my papa’s foot. I—can—see—my—papa’s—foot!”

Then the foot was no longer visible to the patient watcher. Trouble clouded his serious eyes for a minute, followed by a happy smile.

“I can hear my papa talk.”

Sure enough, the father was talking to someone. But the conversation was not long. The blue eyes were growing shadowy again.

“Herbie,” I whispered, “I can see your papa. I am taller than you. I can see your papa’s face, dear.”

For a brief space my face was subjected to a searching glance. Then the content came back to the boy’s face. He watched me, and I watched that other face, nodding assurance to my little friend. In a few moments the passengers began to leave the car, and the father sat down, and took his child on his knee.

“Were you afraid, Herbie?”

“No, I knew you were there all the whole time!”

Oh, for the faith of a little child, that whatever comes, the heart may say, “I was not afraid; for I knew that, all the time, Thou wert there!”—Selected.

The Youth’s Instructor, September 21, 1899.

Children’s Story – Light in the Darkness

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For many years Eva Tavor had been unable to see. Doctors offered no hope. All the brightness of life seemed blotted out, but in the darkness she learned to love and trust in a Savior that she had so often ignored when she earlier had sight.

She found that verse that says, “Yea, the darkness hideth not from Thee; but the night shineth as the day: the darkness and the light are both alike to Thee.” Psalm 139:12. And, with it, another: “The day is Thine, and the night also.” Psalm 74:16.

And so, day by day, she sang songs in the night (Psalm 42:8) and through it all, she learned that God is an ever-present Help, and that the more she praised Him for the blessing she had, the more she received.

And then, one bright August morning, she learned that a new operation had been developed that might offer hope. Gone now were the old days, when in full sight she walked blindly. Now, she praised her heavenly Father at each step—and submitted all her life and future to His keeping. If the operation would bring healing, then that would be well: but if not, she would continue, unfaltering, in her trust in God.

And then the operation was performed. And it restored her sight.

Now it was an October morn, and Eva stood by the kitchen sink. She could see the sparkle of the sunlight in the water, and the brightness of the room shone all about. Before her, through the open window, she could see the bright colors of fall on the trees in the woods outside. Quietly splitting the early morning mists, rays of sunlight were falling in slanted streaks through the leafy bowers of foliage, and lightening patches of grass and ground below.

It was all a delight to Eva, and she thanked God for it all. Then, swirling her hand through the dish water, she picked up a large soap bubble and held it to the sunlight. Through it could be seen all the colors of the spectrum in an intermingling of blues and reds, greens, yellows and violets. And she remembered the words of the old song:

When thou hast truly thanked thy God

For every blessing sent,

But little time will then remain

For murmur or lament.

Are you and I thanking God for all our blessings? Do we realize that the more we thank Him for all that we have, the more we shall have to thank Him for?

Taken from Shelter in the Storm. This compilation of Steps to Christ and chapters from The Great Controversy is available through Steps to Life or by writing Harvestime Books, Altamont, TN, 37301.

Children’s Story – Working With Him

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C.T. Studd had been a very wealthy man, but when he found Christ as his Saviour from sin, he totally dedicated his life to the One who had died that he might have eternal life. Leaving his native England, he went by ship to China. There he worked, year after year, to bring lost souls to a knowledge of Jesus. Finally, he became sick—so ill that the doctors called him a “museum of tropical diseases.” So he returned to England; his life seemingly near its end. But he was thankful for what God had used him to do in leading others to Jesus.

Then, while walking the streets one day after his return, he saw an announcement of a missionary rally to be held that evening. In large print, at the top, it said, “Cannibals Need Missionaries.” He laughed at the wording, but went to the meeting that night. There the conviction came to him that he must go as a missionary to Africa.

His friends thought he was beside himself. Aged, a grandfather, still a sick man,—and he was planning to go to Africa!

And to Africa Studd went; there to work in areas where no white man had ever been. He worked day and night to give the native people the gospel of what Jesus could do for their lives.

For seventeen pain-racked years he worked in Africa, without once going home on furlough. As he worked, he trained others to work with him. He had given everything for Christ, and others came to share in his sacrifice and his labors.

Finally, he was in so much pain that his personal attendant, Jimmy Taylor, thought that Studd was definitely dying. Getting up at 11:00pm, he went over to give him a pain-killing injection so that he could get some sleep.

Later, at 3:00am, Taylor became concerned and thought he had better check to see that C.T. Studd was still alive. Arriving at his hut, he found it empty! On the table were several pages with writing on them, and a brief note. It read: “Dear Jim, I have translated a couple more chapters of Acts and I am off now on my bicycle to reach another tribe for Jesus.”

To live with Jesus is to work with Jesus. “God is the source of life and light and joy to the universe. Like rays of light from the sun, like the streams of water bursting from a living spring, blessings flow out of Him to all His creatures. And wherever the life of God is in the hearts of men, it will flow out to others in love and blessing.” Steps to Christ, 77.

—Taken from Shelter in the Storm.

Children’s Story – Manna from Heaven

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It was time for dinner, and Mother knew she had to find something for five hungry children to eat. I was the youngest, just turned seven. We never had a lot, but Mother and Daddy always found some way to provide for their family with a bountiful garden, and each one of us had a job to do in that garden. When harvest time came, we all worked, snapping green beans for canning, digging potatoes to be placed in the root cellar, helping Mother can tomatoes, corn, squash, turnips, and many other wonderful vegetables. However, during the winter months our food supply had been used up, and Daddy had not been able to find work for some time. There was little food, and even less money, to go around.

I was hungry, so like a little shadow, I followed Mother into the pantry to see what she would choose for dinner. Only now that I am older, can I realize the heaviness of my Mother’s heart as she stared at shelf after shelf of nothing. There was no food to feed her children.

We turned, Mother and I, and I watched, wide-eyed, as she pulled a chair from the scarred, old, round, oak table in our dining room. She sat down, bowed her head and folded her hands in prayer. Her request was very simple, “Lord, my children are hungry and I have no food. Please help me!”

Then she stood up and turned to go back into the pantry. Again, like a small shadow, I followed her. To my surprise, the pantry was not empty any longer! There, gleaming more brightly than any precious gem, lay a large bag of Navy beans. Imagine, if you can, this child’s “wonderment” as I watched Mother lift that bag of beans from a shelf that I, myself, knew had been empty two minutes before. Imagine, if you can, the joy in a Mother’s heart over a God who ‘inclines Himself’ to hear the cry of our hearts.

Does Jesus answer prayer? Oh, yes, He does! He sent “manna” from heaven in answer to my Mother’s prayer!