Do you get bored easily? As an active person who loves to stay busy, if something slows me down for more than a few days, I find myself looking for meaningful things to do. So, after three weeks of recovering from foot surgery, I couldn’t help myself. I just had to do something besides lay around, watch tv or read. Looking around as I propped my foot up again, I noticed how messy my office was. So, I got busy cleaning up my bookshelves and desk area. The surprising payoff turned out to be more than just a neat office space— I discovered some hidden treasures that brought rejuvenation and joy to my spirit. While rummaging through some old articles and story ideas, I came across a story I’d written before I got my first computer. Typewritten on my electric typewriter, I read it with special interest and delight.
“Have you ever had any miracles happen to you?” The account began of a time many years back while visiting relatives in Georgia. My uncle had asked me that question as he sat elevating his injured foot that hot summer day. Ironically, he was probably feeling some of the same pain and boredom I was coming out of now.
I pondered his question as all of Georgia’s humid heat seemed to collect in my brain fogging-up my desperate attempt to recall some thrilling tale that would quench Uncle John’s thirst. He’d just finished reading a book I’d given him about trusting God in the trials. It was filled with stories of miracles, and I sensed he wasn’t convinced they were all true.
“Well,” I said, “there haven’t been any really big ones, but there have been plenty of little miracles and small favors.” I told him as a look of disappointment crossed his face. “There was one time, though.” I began and swallowed hard trying to focus while pushing back the heat. “It was about two years ago, and it was pretty amazing.”
“He sat up with interest now. Of course, there wasn’t much else he could do, with his foot perched high upon a nearby chair to alleviate the swelling from the deep gash in it.” No doubt tedium had set in for Uncle John that day too. After-all, “it was supposed to be his vacation and like the rest of us, he had come to ‘the Camphouse’, as we called it, “for some rest, relaxation, and fishing. The unfortunate accident had rearranged his plans and eliminated his favorite part—fishing.”
I didn’t know much about Uncle John. It was the first chance we’d had to get acquainted since his marriage to my aunt Valeria a few months before. I had assumed that he was a Christian too, but something told me a lot was riding on what I said next.
“It happened when Larry and I made our trip to Maine so I could meet his parents.” I began again. “Since we were newlyweds, we were on a pretty tight budget then, you know.”
“Uh huh!” He nodded.
Thinking back to that day as I told him the story, I recalled how I was a little nervous about meeting my in-laws for the first time. Larry’s father had been too ill to make the trip out from Maine to California for our wedding and his mother needed to stay and care for him. I knew beforehand, that I’d like these two dear people that I’d already grown to love through Larry and the many calls and letters we’d exchanged, but I wasn’t sure they’d like me. I was, after all, the Baptist blonde who had snatched their Catholic son from them fresh out of the Navy and before he’d had a chance to prodigal his way back home from the “wild life” of California.
If my husband had any doubts about my acceptance by them, it hadn’t shown. He had other things on his mind. #1 What would his parents say about his conversion from the Catholic church to my Protestant beliefs? #2 Could our tight budget handle the strain of an expensive trip?
“We had decided to take five hundred dollars in cash from our account to use for spending money. I’d put half of it in my purse and Larry put half in his wallet. It was the first time I’d spent Christmas away from my family, but I was excited to see a white Christmas and my love for Larry had glossed over any fears and doubts I had about anything else. We decided to use the airport limousine service from Boston airport to South Berwick because there had been a lot of snow that week. To my Southern California eyes, renting a car would mean seeing a beautiful scenic drive, but to Larry’s experience the limo would alleviate a dangerous two-hour risk.” I informed my Southern uncle. “So, after we got our luggage, Larry went to see about getting a ride.” I went on.
“A man who seemed to work at the airport flashed a friendly smile at Larry and offered to help us get a limo ride. But when Larry reached for his wallet to give the guy a tip, it was gone. Larry told me to stand guard by our luggage while he went to report the missing wallet. As I did, the same friendly stranger approached me. He started asking questions and giving me advice about the necessity of using travelers checks. His unwelcomed, talkative, and dilatory advice was anything but consoling to me. As you might imagine.” I checked to see if I still had Uncle John’s attention.
“But, when the man suggested I go over to a certain official counter to report the missing wallet and he’d ‘be glad to watch our luggage,’ an uneasy feeling came over me. He’d also asked: ‘Was all your cash in your husband’s wallet?’ Thoughts of that comment stopped me in my tracks. I quickly pivoted back around, deciding not to leave my post.”
“Smart thinking.” Uncle John affirmed.
“We finally gave up looking for the wallet and went to catch our ride. I remember walking out of the airport that day with suspicious thoughts and mixed feelings about the guy.” Uncle John nodded again. “But just before reaching the door, I turned and wished the man a Merry Christmas. I remember the startled look he gave me and in that instant his face became etched in my memory. Larry was very upset about our loss, but I was determined not to let it ruin our vacation.”
“Larry’s folks were just as I had expected them to be—warm and loving, just like him. There were a few homesick moments but over-all our stay was very enjoyable. While we were still there visiting, word had reached my parents and church family back home and they were all praying about the lost wallet. I too had continued to pray for its’ recovery, mostly that Larry would get his identification back. The money, I figured, was too big a miracle to expect.” Uncle John shifted his sore foot to another position and I continued.
“Well, would you believe, about two weeks after we had returned home, a letter came in the mail from American Airlines. It said they had found the wallet and would be sending it by package. Enclosed with it was a check for the full amount that had been in it, $249.50.”
“Really?” Uncle John brightened. “That’s truly amazing.”
“Yes.” I confirmed. “But that’s not all of the story.” I went on again. “We had a chance to meet that suspicious man again. It was almost exactly a year later when we made the same trip again. This time for somber reasons. Larry’s father had passed away and we went back for his funeral.”
Thinking back again, the dreary skies above and muddy slush under our feet were a fitting welcome to that mission of grief and sorrow. That flight to Boston had been a difficult one as I struggled to hold my emotions in check. Tears won out several times as I thought of this dear father-in-law, whom I’d just begun to know, passing away at the young age of fifty-nine. The weight of my four-month pregnancy strained my emotions further as I thought of lost relationships. He would never have the chance to see our firstborn and our children would miss the love of their paternal grandfather. The value and timeliness of affections exchanged is rarely realized so quickly, but I was thankful we had made that previous visit.
“When we arrived at the airport that second time, we saw the same suspicious man from the previous year. We found out he wasn’t an employee there and never had been. Although not as friendly this time, I recognized him immediately. Tapping on his shoulder to get his attention, I asked if he remembered us. I refreshed his memory by telling him about the lost wallet the year before. And, to our amazement, he said he not only remembered us, but that it was he who had found the wallet and turned it in. ‘In fact,’ he said, ‘I found two wallets that day and turned them both in.’”
“That’s a pretty miraculous story, alright.” Uncle John remarked. “You know,” he put his foot gently back on the floor, “I never was a very religious man, but I guess there just might be something to all of this.”
That all happened many years ago. Since that day many more little miracles and small favors have occurred. The returned money, which we likely would have spent on frivolous souvenirs if it hadn’t been lost (or stolen) that day was banked for more important things like baby accessories. We never knew for sure if it was a real or sudden case of integrity in that man’s heart that brought Larry’s wallet and cash back to us. But that amazing experience somehow seems insignificant and more of a small favor now as I compare and reflect upon two other precious moments during those days.
The memory of my father-in-law’s glowing face and bright smile as he said proudly to Larry’s mother: “Did you hear that? She called me Dad!” is a valuable souvenir I will treasure forever. Especially since he only lived one more year after that visit. Aside from the returned wallet and money, another miracle that happened back then, was reported to us through an even more exciting letter. My Uncle John wrote us a few weeks after our conversation and said that after his return home, he and his entire family had received Christ as their savior. Oh, what joy!
Since that day, the verse: “For we know that all things work together for good to those who love the Lord and are called according to His purposes.” Romans 8:28 and “Weeping may endure for a night, but joy comes in the morning.” Psalm 30:5, have never been more meaningful to me or applicable than they were during those incidents of adversity—the lost and found money, the gain of precious memories during grief and loss, and John’s injured foot that led me to an opportunity to share a small miracle resulting in his whole family’s salvation.
On top of those joyful discoveries, finding this wonderful story happened as a result of my own boredom and sore foot, much like my Uncle John’s that day. It rebooted (No pun intended) my joy in the midst of my current melancholy doldrums. Who would’ve thought a sore foot and a mundane chore could lead to untold joy?
Have you ever discovered something special while going through a trial or mundane task? Tell me about it here in the comments.
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