And Then He Answered

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I really, really needed a new pair of sandals. My cheap Walmart vinyl ones were giving me blisters and were more than just a little worn. The girl in me dreamt of getting brown ones made of real leather; ones that would be comfy, versatile and easy on my feet. Unfortunately, we were living on the edge financially week to week. Heck, I couldn't even replace my cheap sandals with other equally cheap sandals, let alone real leather ones. We did have to eat after all.

So, I was feeling pretty defeated, wondering if God had forgotten all about me and my needs, the least of which were shoes. How many prayers for wisdom, for guidance, to be able to keep my house, to be able to buy clothes for my kids, for a better job, for any kind of sign that He was paying attention and actually cared about me could I continue to utter only to be met with silence? I was thouroughly discouraged and disillusioned. Did He care? Was He even there?

Still, I am not one to give up easily, even in the face of certain abandonment (or at least neglect), so I prayed though the voices in my head told me how foolish I was to think that God had me on His radar. Why would God care about giving me leather sandals when He obviously didn't care about other, much weightier things like food, clothing and shelter? Discouragement had settled in for the long term.

Three days later, my aunt unexpectedly came for a visit. She lives several hours away so visits are few and far between and staying in touch can be difficult. (What that means is that she had absolutely no idea about my need for sandals.) We'd been chatting for a while when she suddenly blurted out "Oh Robin! I brought some shoes that I don't want and was wondering if you'd like them." One thing that she and I have in common is our shoe size. That might not sound like a big deal, but when you wear a ladies size 11, well, it is a big deal. As she reached into her bag my heart quickened. What if? What if? The small ember of hope that I had tenaciously been guarding began to glow brighter.

She pulled out a pair of black slip on mocassin-type shoes, which I gratefully accepted though my my insides wilted. "I knew it" sentiments rang unbidden in my head. Still, I needed shoes and these would do.....I guess. We went back to talking but inwardly I felt that God had played a cruel joke. Why raise my hopes only to dash them? I thought He was supposed to be loving. Is this what loving looks like?

A few minutes later, my aunt said "Oh, I almost forgot! I have another pair of shoes for you." With my hope cautiously renewed, I waited anxiously. As I caught a glimpse of the shoes in her hands, I held my breath and tears pooled in my eyes. There in her hands were sandals. My sandals. My brown leather sandals, ladies size 11. And not just any brown leather sandals either. These were practically new $100-a-pair Naot brown leather sandals, only worn twice. The fit and feel of them on my feet was like heaven.

I wasn't just being loved, I was being lavished on.

God doesn't have to give us everything we want. As a matter of fact, I'm glad He doesn't. I would be in a heap of trouble if He did! But I'm also glad that He knows I spell love "g-i-f-t-s" and He chooses to use gifts to spell out His love for me when I need to hear it most.

Matt 7:11 "If you, then, though you are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father in heaven give good gifts to those who ask him!"

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It was thirteen plus years ago and I had just had my first baby. I had quit my office position and instead had taken on a nannying job to make up some of my lost income. Of course, things were still tight and I was worried about trying to clothe this rapidly growing bundle of joy that we had been blessed with.

I fretted and fussed and fought insomnia trying to figure out how to eek out a clothing allowance from our squeaky tight budget. I prayed that somehow God would keep my baby clothed. Little did I know!

It did not take long for the calls to start coming in.

"I'm cleaning out our attic and I've got a few bags of baby clothing. Would you like them?" "Hey, my baby is 6 months older than yours. Would you like to take her clothes as she grows out of them?" "My sister's husband's second cousin once removed has some bags of clothing for you. Are you okay with hand-me-downs?"

I was thinking plastic grocery bag sized bags. What I didn't realize, however, is that when people said "bags", they usually meant 30-gallon trash bag sized bags!

Mountains of them.

I can recall sitting in the living room one afternoon, after more than a year of hand-me-downs flowing my way, being surrounded by the contents of no less than four of those mother-honking bags. As I surveyed the carnage of baby outfits sorted into keep for now, keep for later, pass along and what were they thinking, it dawned on me that aside from socks, I hadn't needed to purchase ANY BABY CLOTHING WHATSOEVER FOR OVER A YEAR!

I laughed to myself at the Lord's sense of humor. I had been worried about having enough clothes and here I was up to my eyeballs in them! I shot my hands up in surrender and acknowledged "Okay God, you win! Kayla now has so many clothes that she could go a month and not wear the same outfit twice!"

I had read it many times before, but I now understood the full meaning of this verse:

Matthew 6:25-29 "Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or drink; or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more important than food, and the body more important than clothes? Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they? Who of you by worrying can add a single hour to his life? And why do you worry about clothes? See how the lilies of the field grow. They do not labor or spin. Yet I tell you that not even Solomon in all his splendor was dressed like one of these."

Believe it.

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• Not be a puppy but not be an old dog either.


• Be good around children.


• Have hair, not fur, to decrease the chance of allergies and so as not to shed.


• Be a mid-size or smaller dog.


• Be fixed already and have all its shots.


• And (here's the kicker) be free and delivered to us."

We were smug, sure that that this list would never be met and that we had squelched all future arguments of getting a dog while allowing the kids time to hope and then slowly forget about owning a pooch.

Kids, bless 'em. They were too young to be cynical or doubting. They were forever hopeful. Forever dreaming. And they wanted a dog, dang it! So, faithfully they prayed. And prayed. And prayed.

Every night.

For TWO YEARS.

And then the phone call that they had been waiting for came.

"Robin, I think I've found your dog!" Not my dog; I don't want a dog, remember? "Oh really?"

"Yes! My friends are moving to a place that doesn't allow dogs. They've got a 5-year-old Malt-A-Poo (maltese / poodle mix) that they need to find a home for. She's fixed and up-to-date on her shots. The woman does day care out of her home so the dog is used to little kids. They don't want any money for her, just a good home. Her name is Lucy and if you want her, I can bring her to you when I come up this weekend."

Silence. This could not be. This was NOT in the plan! Not in our plan anyway.

But, we couldn't deny it. Every single requirement was met. Malt-A-Poos are small, practically hypoallergenic dogs with hair, not fur. This one was in the prime of her life and was used to children.

It was the fact that she was free and would be delivered right to us which convinced us. We hadn't told anyone about that part except the kids. All we had to do was say yes.

John and I looked at each other and had to admit it. We were defeated. God had provided a dog for our three kids who faithfully asked day in and day out and never gave up hope. How could we say no when God had said yes?

"We'll take her!"

And you know, we couldn't have been prouder parents than the day Lucy came home, a result of persistent, childlike faith.

Besides, she really is pretty cute.

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"Mommy, I've never been to an amusement park; will you take us to one? Will you take us to Canobie?" my daughter asked as she batted her eyes and stuck out her lower lip in the biggest put-on pout she could muster. My 13-year-old was getting really good at this. She and I exchanged smiling looks that said we both knew the cute act was a bunch of baloney. After all, she knew the drill. Our money had been super tight for so long she could barely remember a time when it was different.

I could also see that though the desire to go to an amusement park was real, she didn't dare to hope. After all, how many times had she wanted something and simply couldn't have it because of lack of funds? The list was getting exhausting. She was being a good sport about our financial situation, but I could sense a resignation to certain disappointment in her and that alarmed me. Learning delayed gratification is a good thing; learned hopelessness is not.

Hating to say it for what seemed like the gazillionth time in the last few years, I hesitated and exhaled slowly before saying "Sorry honey, I just don't have the money". There was a loud silence and the air hung heavy between us. I thought for a moment and said "....BUT....how about if you pray about it and I'll pray about it and we'll see what God does?". She gave me a wan smile and said "Sure" in a tone that said she was anything but. I watched brokenhearted as she turned away, shoulders down in defeat.

"Lord," I prayed with my heart in my throat, "only you know what it would mean to her to be able to go to an amusement park. If it's the right thing for her, please provide a way." I left it at that and went about my business.

Barely a week later, the phone rang at 9:30 on a Saturday night. A friend from church, the secretary there, called. "Sorry to call you so late at night but this is time sensitive. Peter's company outing is tomorrow and we don't want to go." I was a bit confused, not really understanding where this was going. Did she need me to do something at church for her? "The passes are only good for tomorrow but Peter and I were wondering if you and John would like them. They're for Canobie Lake Park."

My mind went blank for a minute as I processed what she had just said. I stammered a bit before asking "How many passes do you have?" I was quivering inside. If she only had four passes, we still couldn't do it. There are five of us in the family and even one pass to Canobie was too much for us.

"Six."

Pause.

"You have six passes to Canobie Lake Park for tomorrow only and you want to know if we want them?" I repeated aloud for the whole family to hear. There was an instant hush and the room grew still as everyone stopped what they were doing and looked at me wide eyed.

Blink, blink.

All at once, pure cacophony broke out in my kitchen. Arms were flailing, feet were dancing, and voices were rising in uncontrollable chatter. It was deafening. It was daunting. It was delightful. The votes were in and the results were tallied; we were going to Canobie!

At the end of the following day, as we ate ice cream after a satisfying day of roller coasters, water rides and bumper cars, I silently shot up a prayer of the deepest gratitude to a loving God who cares not only about our needs, but also our desires, even a trip to an amusement park.

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I was a junior and taking driver's ed after school. The half hour wait between when school ended and when driver's ed began afforded me some time to do a little homework, so I sat myself on the floor near the gym and pulled out my books. Leaning against a vending machine, I munched on the mediocre candy bar purchased from some fundraising drive with my last dollar.

Towards the final bites of my candy bar, I began to realize just how thirsty chocolate can make you get. I turned my pockets inside out. I scraped the bottom of my purse. I turned my backpack upside down. I sighed and sat back down. No mon, no fun. Resfusing to drink the toilet water that came from the water fountains, I resigned myself to being thirsty and got back to my homework.

Only about a minute later, one of the basketball jocks came jogging out of the gym during a break from practice and ran right up to "my" vending machine. He put in his money and pushed his selection. Out popped two sodas. I did not know this kid, and this is New England, so it really stood out when, without a blink, he turned to me and said "You want one?".

I gratefully accepted the can he held out to me. When I looked to see what it was I had been blessed with, the biggest, stupidest grin you can imagine made its way across my face. It was a Cherry Coke, my favorite at the time. I got goosebumps and uttered a simple Thank You that came from my toes, then tipped the can and drank up. God had given me a Coke. And a smile.

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We were smack in the middle of the worst of our financial times and my son needed shoes. Badly. He only owned one pair of shoes and they were two-sizes too small and falling apart. We're talkin' holes in the toes and nearly detached soles. But I had no money for shoes, just barely enough for my weekly groceries. Big problem. So, I prayed.

That week, I went to the ATM to remove my weekly grocery money trying to figure out how I could squeeze out enough money for shoes AND still have enough for the supermarket. I was about to put my card into the ATM machine when I noticed that the cash removal slot wasn't empty. Someone had left a $20 bill behind. I pulled it out with mixed emotions, on the one hand wanting to take it and run but also knowing that this money belonged to someone else. No one had been in line ahead of me. I easily could have run off with it and no one would be the wiser. Still, this belonged to someone else and my conscience wouldn't allow me to just take it without trying to return it to it's rightful owner. If I left the money there, the next guy would likely just take it. I prayed that whoever left it would come back to the ATM looking for it and then I waited. No one came.

Still feeling somewhat guilty (though I couldn't really figure out why) I left with the $20 bill after waiting as long as my time would allow. I began believing that just maybe this was God's provision, though I questioned his methodology!

I arrived at the Shoebox hopeful but not expecting anything. I don't normally shop for shoes at the Shoebox. Most of the shoes there are good brand names at discounted prices. (Translated, this means that you can buy a pair of $90-shoes for $60.....) But, my son's feet were a Youth's size 6 at the time, an almost impossible size to find, and I had already checked all of the Walmart-like stores around. Oh, but did I mention he has fine motor skill difficulties and couldn't tie his shoes even though he was 9 years old? We needed to find Velcro ties.....on a Youth size 6 shoe. Yeah, right.

We walked in and went straight for the back room clearance section. The clearance section is the "we've got to get rid of these things" section and is generally a mish mash of sizes and styles. To my shock, there were three pairs of Youth size 6 sneakers, a miracle in and of itself. The very first pair I picked up were Skechers. Not bad. Boy's Youth size 6. Good. With Velcro ties, not shoelaces. I did a double take. Really? Yes indeed. Velcro tie boy's shoes, Skechers no less, Youth size 6.

And the price?

Yup, they were $20 exactly.

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It was the Friday of an unpaid week off from work when I looked through my cupboards and shuddered. There was no check coming that Wednesday and I definitely did not have enough food to stretch until the following week. My husband's carpentry business was doing poorly and we had no idea when his next check would be.

I shot up a prayer out of desperation, inwardly fearing what I'd have to tell the kids when the food ran out. Our friends knew we were having financial difficulty, but no one knew the depth of our trouble. I had gotten tired of telling the same sob story over and over and over again, "we don't have the money," so I just stopped telling it. Not a soul aside from myself knew that we would run out of food before the next pay check came.

When my mother-in-law bustled through the door that night with her usual flair carrying a paper grocery bag, it really didn't phase me at all. She was forever cleaning out her basement, a seemingly bottomless pit of children's books from the 1960s, cake mixes that weren't much younger and well-used tupperware, all of which she brought as "presents" with every visit. I took the bag from her without much thought but audibly gasped when I looked down. It was completely loaded with fresh produce; lettuce, celery, carrots, etc. "We're going on vacation tomorrow and I didn't want all this food to go to waste. I thought you could use it." I hugged her hard and told her how thankful I was, still keeping our dire situation to myself.

The next morning, my oldest daughter came home early from a sleepover to catch her piano lesson (bartered for with carpentry work) at 10 AM. She walked in carrying a plastic grocery bag that looked like it was about to burst. "Renee's mom is making room in her freezer for their next slaughter," (they own a mini farm,) "so she sent this along." There was a lamb roast, hamburger, chicken, and venison; more than enough for a week's worth of meals. At this point, I thought "OK, this is really interesting Lord" but I kept my cool.

THEN, the piano teacher arrived. She quickly scuttled me over to the kitchen where she smiled, grasped my hand and whispered "I came into a little extra this week and I just know this was meant for you." She put a small folded up piece of paper in my hand. I fluttered a little inside, instantly recognizing simultaneously the unmistakable feel of American currency and the complete unlikelihood that this was all just coincidence. When I looked down, the tears spilled over uncontrollably and I looked up at her in amazement. She had given me a one hundred dollar bill. Used carefully, this would cover the remainder of our grocery needs until my next paycheck.

God had answered my prayer, my very real need of food for my family, from not one but THREE sources in the course of 24 hours! I was dumbfounded. It was at this point that I finally understood with my heart the full meaning of Philippians 4:6-7.

"Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus."

And his peace remains with me still.

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I love to tell stories. My life is full stories. Most of them are mundane and most likely not too far off from your own. "Got up. Went to work. Came home. Went to bed." with lots of "blah, blah, blah" in between. I have more than a few stories, however, that leave my friends with their mouths hanging open. These stories usually involve answers to prayer. Many times after telling one of those stories, I've been told "You should write a book!". Well, I don't know about a book. Anyone who knew me as a kid would laugh themselves silly if they thought I ever spoke enough words to fill a page, let alone a book! I was the awkward, quiet, insecure one who kept to herself and her one friend. Things change. I've decided to tell my stories, one at a time as I get the urge. Maybe my stories will make you laugh or make you cry or make you think or make you roll your eyes. Whatever. They are my stories. And they are all true. I would love to have you grab your coffee and join me periodically as I try to put down in words some of the most amazing answers to prayer that I know. Who knows, maybe I will write a book!

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