How to Understand Death: Death Is Like a Birth
17 hours ago
Saturday, January 1, 2011
GRATEFUL!
This song is a good one for my first post of 2011. Gratitude is going to be my theme for this new year, while I document in word and scene all the things I can find to be grateful for. As the song says, I, too, am "truly blessed, and duly grateful." It's a wonderful life!
Happy New Year!
Monday, December 27, 2010
Angels Singing Tenor
I love the stories about miracles that surface this time of year. I just came across the following post on one of my favorite blogs. I share my own similar miracle at the end.
I have never participated in a performance of Handel’s Messiah when miracles did not happen.
I mentioned in a previous post that I have sung in or conducted Handel’s Messiah for nineteen years. During that time I have come to believe that Jesus Christ actually loves that music, especially when the singers are worshiping him and praising the Father. I have seen so many miracles that the idea that they will occur is actually stronger than faith – bordering knowledge fueled by long experience.
About five years ago we did not have a strong soprano soloist. There were quite a few talented voices willing to do these parts, but I always like to have one or two superb soloists. We always pray and ask for guidance in every part of the long preparations for each year’s performance. We published the audition schedule and had a thought to take one of the posters into Anchorage to hang in a specific music store. We had never done that before, because we have always had more fine soloists try out than could possibly perform.
On the night of the auditions a young woman walked into the room. She introduced herself as Catherine, and said she had been a lead soloist with the New York Metropolitan Opera. Her voice was absolutely flawless. I walked up close to her so that only she and I could hear my comments. I suggested that she sing the message of Christ rather than using the music to showcase her voice. She nodded, and what came out of her mouth still gives me chills as I write this. She obviously loved her Savior, and it came through gloriously. She turned off the broad vibrato and operatic style, and just sang for her love of Christ, and it was beyond compare.
This was a small miracle, and might seem more random than miraculous without understanding two things, first is that we were in Wasilla Alaska, which is real close to the end of civilization, and the last place one might expect to find glorious musical talent and superb performances of Handel’s Messiah. Even having lived there for over 30 years, I wouldn’t have expected it, but it happened year after year.
One year prior to this we had a nice Tenor section showing up to practices, but a few days before the performance, all of them called and said they might not be able to perform due to some complication. We met to warm up on the night of the performance – and there were NO tenors. I tried to feel panicked, but the Spirit kept calming me. Others in the chorus asked me what we were going to do about no tenors, because Handel’s Messiah really can’t be performed without tenors. There would be long blank spaces where nobody was singing. It would sound silly.
We took our places on the stage and as the orchestra was warming up, a man walked up to me. He said he had just returned from a mission, and he was familiar with the Messiah, could he sing with us. I asked if he was a tenor. He nodded. I found out later that he is a fantastic tenor, honestly nearly as good as Josh Grobin. As he was walking to the stage, he turned back and asked me if his brother could sing tenor also. His brother was also a very strong tenor. Seconds later, a man with a beard approached. He introduced himself. I knew the name well because I had asked him to sing with us several times, but had never met him. I knew he was fantastic. I welcomed him to the stage with a sense of gratitude and relief. Several minutes from the start of the program a complete stranger walked up to me. He introduced himself as a tenor from Anchorage. He said he had come and listened to our performance several years, and had decided to sing with us because we understood the meaning of the music, and sang with love and Spirit. He was a minister or elder in his congregation in Anchorage and a fine tenor.
In a matter of ten minutes I had six tenors, which is enough, especially when they are that strong.
I have never participated in a performance of Handel’s Messiah when miracles did not happen.
A few years ago we had the opportunity to sing selections from The Messiah at a community nativity display. I asked the group weeks in advance, and most of the chorus and orchestra volunteered to do the additional performance. We reminded them often of the commitment.
On the night of the nativity performance, we met to warm up, and had almost all of the orchestra and chorus, but again – no tenors. I don’t know why tenors are so problematic for me, but I’m always chasing tenors begging like a hungry child.
We warmed up without tenors, and everyone asked what we would do. I said, “I’m not sure. I guess the angels will have to sing tenor.” Everyone laughed kind of nervously, but they had actually experienced angels singing with us. We had a prayer and walked into the hall. As we were walking one of the trumpet players said he could sing tenor. Which did I need most, trumpet or a tenor. I told him to leave his horn in the warm up room. A sister walked beside me and said she loved the tenor part. I told her to give it a try. Still, that only made two sort-of tenors.
Something happened that night I have never done before. This was a performance for members of the community. I felt the Spirit, and after the overture I turned around and faced the audience. I introduced the next selection and told them its significance in Christ’s life. I saw people’s faces light up as they understood the message of Handel’s Messiah for the first time. Because I was acting under inspiration, the audience felt it too, as did the choir and orchestra. When I turned around to face the performers I could almost see the heavens opening behind them as angels joined us.
We began the performance with “For Unto Us a Child is Born”. And when the tenor part came due, I heard a strong, beautiful tenor section. I looked up, and there were only two people singing tenor. Yet, there was this huge tenor sound. I saw other people looking around for the source of so much music. There were only two people singing tenor every time, a trumpeter and an alto. Through every song that evening we heard the angels singing tenor. It was splendid.
This and dozens of other happenings are why I say, I have never participated in a performance of Handle’s Messiah when there were not miracles.
Brother John
Source: unblogmysoul.wordpress.com
I had my own Messiah miracle a number of years ago. Each Christmas our stake would put together a choir and perform the Messiah. For some reason I got the idea in my head that I wanted to sing the solo aria "He Was Despised." While I enjoy singing, I don't have the greatest voice, and I'm definitely an alto. That piece doesn't go terribly high, though, and since it was a professional performance, I thought maybe I could do it. It wasn't so much that I wanted to sing a solo, because I very much enjoy singing harmony, but something in my really wanted to sing THAT solo. After several years, the opportunity presented itself and I set about to practice it. For some reason, my voice went very hoarse from the time I was given the part right up until the night of the performance. Not one single time was I able to practice it and have enough of a voice come out to even be able to get through it. The choir director, who was in our ward, and a friend of mine, just kept encouraging me along, telling me to pray and ask for help, which, of course, I was already doing. The night arrived, and my voice had not improved. I went into the performance praying and fasting. Just before it came time for my number, my heart started pounding so hard that I could hardly hear anything else. I was sure others must be able to hear it, or at least see the movement though my clothing. I got up to sing and the pounding continued. Then I started to sing, and my voice worked! My heart pounded through the entire song, so I couldn't even hear myself all that well; I just knew that something was coming out as I sang. Judging from the comments of people afterward, the number had sounded really good. The only explanation, of course, is that the Lord sent me the help I needed exactly when I needed it. I had all but forgotten about that until I read the above post. How I grateful I am for this, as well as so many other, tender mercies that continually grace my life.
Angels Singing Tenor
Just for the record, I’m still on vacation until January 2nd. But, I have had a couple memories surface over the last few Christmas days that I wanted to share with you before the season ends.
I have never participated in a performance of Handel’s Messiah when miracles did not happen.I mentioned in a previous post that I have sung in or conducted Handel’s Messiah for nineteen years. During that time I have come to believe that Jesus Christ actually loves that music, especially when the singers are worshiping him and praising the Father. I have seen so many miracles that the idea that they will occur is actually stronger than faith – bordering knowledge fueled by long experience.
About five years ago we did not have a strong soprano soloist. There were quite a few talented voices willing to do these parts, but I always like to have one or two superb soloists. We always pray and ask for guidance in every part of the long preparations for each year’s performance. We published the audition schedule and had a thought to take one of the posters into Anchorage to hang in a specific music store. We had never done that before, because we have always had more fine soloists try out than could possibly perform.
On the night of the auditions a young woman walked into the room. She introduced herself as Catherine, and said she had been a lead soloist with the New York Metropolitan Opera. Her voice was absolutely flawless. I walked up close to her so that only she and I could hear my comments. I suggested that she sing the message of Christ rather than using the music to showcase her voice. She nodded, and what came out of her mouth still gives me chills as I write this. She obviously loved her Savior, and it came through gloriously. She turned off the broad vibrato and operatic style, and just sang for her love of Christ, and it was beyond compare.
This was a small miracle, and might seem more random than miraculous without understanding two things, first is that we were in Wasilla Alaska, which is real close to the end of civilization, and the last place one might expect to find glorious musical talent and superb performances of Handel’s Messiah. Even having lived there for over 30 years, I wouldn’t have expected it, but it happened year after year.
One year prior to this we had a nice Tenor section showing up to practices, but a few days before the performance, all of them called and said they might not be able to perform due to some complication. We met to warm up on the night of the performance – and there were NO tenors. I tried to feel panicked, but the Spirit kept calming me. Others in the chorus asked me what we were going to do about no tenors, because Handel’s Messiah really can’t be performed without tenors. There would be long blank spaces where nobody was singing. It would sound silly.
We took our places on the stage and as the orchestra was warming up, a man walked up to me. He said he had just returned from a mission, and he was familiar with the Messiah, could he sing with us. I asked if he was a tenor. He nodded. I found out later that he is a fantastic tenor, honestly nearly as good as Josh Grobin. As he was walking to the stage, he turned back and asked me if his brother could sing tenor also. His brother was also a very strong tenor. Seconds later, a man with a beard approached. He introduced himself. I knew the name well because I had asked him to sing with us several times, but had never met him. I knew he was fantastic. I welcomed him to the stage with a sense of gratitude and relief. Several minutes from the start of the program a complete stranger walked up to me. He introduced himself as a tenor from Anchorage. He said he had come and listened to our performance several years, and had decided to sing with us because we understood the meaning of the music, and sang with love and Spirit. He was a minister or elder in his congregation in Anchorage and a fine tenor.
In a matter of ten minutes I had six tenors, which is enough, especially when they are that strong.
I have never participated in a performance of Handel’s Messiah when miracles did not happen.
A few years ago we had the opportunity to sing selections from The Messiah at a community nativity display. I asked the group weeks in advance, and most of the chorus and orchestra volunteered to do the additional performance. We reminded them often of the commitment.
On the night of the nativity performance, we met to warm up, and had almost all of the orchestra and chorus, but again – no tenors. I don’t know why tenors are so problematic for me, but I’m always chasing tenors begging like a hungry child.
We warmed up without tenors, and everyone asked what we would do. I said, “I’m not sure. I guess the angels will have to sing tenor.” Everyone laughed kind of nervously, but they had actually experienced angels singing with us. We had a prayer and walked into the hall. As we were walking one of the trumpet players said he could sing tenor. Which did I need most, trumpet or a tenor. I told him to leave his horn in the warm up room. A sister walked beside me and said she loved the tenor part. I told her to give it a try. Still, that only made two sort-of tenors.
Something happened that night I have never done before. This was a performance for members of the community. I felt the Spirit, and after the overture I turned around and faced the audience. I introduced the next selection and told them its significance in Christ’s life. I saw people’s faces light up as they understood the message of Handel’s Messiah for the first time. Because I was acting under inspiration, the audience felt it too, as did the choir and orchestra. When I turned around to face the performers I could almost see the heavens opening behind them as angels joined us.
We began the performance with “For Unto Us a Child is Born”. And when the tenor part came due, I heard a strong, beautiful tenor section. I looked up, and there were only two people singing tenor. Yet, there was this huge tenor sound. I saw other people looking around for the source of so much music. There were only two people singing tenor every time, a trumpeter and an alto. Through every song that evening we heard the angels singing tenor. It was splendid.
This and dozens of other happenings are why I say, I have never participated in a performance of Handle’s Messiah when there were not miracles.
Brother John
Source: unblogmysoul.wordpress.com
I had my own Messiah miracle a number of years ago. Each Christmas our stake would put together a choir and perform the Messiah. For some reason I got the idea in my head that I wanted to sing the solo aria "He Was Despised." While I enjoy singing, I don't have the greatest voice, and I'm definitely an alto. That piece doesn't go terribly high, though, and since it was a professional performance, I thought maybe I could do it. It wasn't so much that I wanted to sing a solo, because I very much enjoy singing harmony, but something in my really wanted to sing THAT solo. After several years, the opportunity presented itself and I set about to practice it. For some reason, my voice went very hoarse from the time I was given the part right up until the night of the performance. Not one single time was I able to practice it and have enough of a voice come out to even be able to get through it. The choir director, who was in our ward, and a friend of mine, just kept encouraging me along, telling me to pray and ask for help, which, of course, I was already doing. The night arrived, and my voice had not improved. I went into the performance praying and fasting. Just before it came time for my number, my heart started pounding so hard that I could hardly hear anything else. I was sure others must be able to hear it, or at least see the movement though my clothing. I got up to sing and the pounding continued. Then I started to sing, and my voice worked! My heart pounded through the entire song, so I couldn't even hear myself all that well; I just knew that something was coming out as I sang. Judging from the comments of people afterward, the number had sounded really good. The only explanation, of course, is that the Lord sent me the help I needed exactly when I needed it. I had all but forgotten about that until I read the above post. How I grateful I am for this, as well as so many other, tender mercies that continually grace my life.
More Gifts. . .
I continue to read my Kindle version (PC Version, don't yet have the real thing) of One Thousand Gifts, and it continues to inspire to look for gratitude moments. It is truly one of the most amazing books I have ever read.
24. A 16-year-old son's head on my shoulder as we look at YouTube videos together.
25. A kitchen drawer with the front replaced several years after it fell off.
26. The husband who, when I said if he'd like to do something for me, he could fix that drawer, had it fixed and back in place in 24 hours (and it only took so long because we were waiting for the glue to dry)
27. Being blessed to be able to play the organ for church without making too many mistakes.
28. A spirit-filled sacrament meeting in which three of my friends spoke and bore humble testimony of Christ.
29. Children's laughter.
30. A working dishwasher.
31. Being able to play the piano well enough to sing songs I like.
32. Being able to play the guitar enough to enjoy it.
33. A mother who taught me to can peaches. I didn't want to learn, really, but one day, when I was about 16, she walked out the door and told me there was a basket of peaches in the kitchen and that she wanted me to have them canned up when she got home. I just looked at her like she was crazy, since I'd never done it by myself before. I told her I didn't know how, figuring that ought to get me off the hook, but she pointed me toward the cookbooks and left. So I looked it up, and between that, and remembering some from having helped her in times past, I set to work. By the time she got back I had 7 bottles of peaches canned, and all of them sealed. From then on, I've always known that if I could find the instructions, I could probably find out pretty much anything I would need to know, and that knowledge has served me well these many years.
34. Carpeted floors.
35. Uncarpeted kitchen and bathroooms.
36. Refrigerators.
37. Freezers.
38. Central heating.
39. Air conditioning.
40. MP3 players.
41. Animals, especially dolphins.
42. I'm grateful to have been able to visit Hawaii. Not being much of a world traveler, I never really expected to be able to go there, but since being married I've had the chance a couple of times, and I'm happy to have been able to have that peaceful experience. It's a nice place to get away to for a little while.
43. I am thankful to have been blessed with 8 healthy children, and also for two more who are waiting for us on the other side.
44. Clean drinking water.
45. Running water right in my kitchen.
46. Linoleum. Oh, wait I already said that one. With my memory, it's going to be hard not to repeat things here. Instead of linoleum again (although I really am thankful for it), for #46, I'll say electric light bulbs. That, seriously, has got to be one of the best inventions ever, except when it makes it possible for me to stay up all hours of the night when I should be asleep. Like now.
47. A stove in my kitchen, so I don't have to build a fire every time I want to heat some food.
48. Trees.
49. Tulips.
50. The scriptures.
24. A 16-year-old son's head on my shoulder as we look at YouTube videos together.
25. A kitchen drawer with the front replaced several years after it fell off.
26. The husband who, when I said if he'd like to do something for me, he could fix that drawer, had it fixed and back in place in 24 hours (and it only took so long because we were waiting for the glue to dry)
27. Being blessed to be able to play the organ for church without making too many mistakes.
28. A spirit-filled sacrament meeting in which three of my friends spoke and bore humble testimony of Christ.
29. Children's laughter.
30. A working dishwasher.
31. Being able to play the piano well enough to sing songs I like.
32. Being able to play the guitar enough to enjoy it.
33. A mother who taught me to can peaches. I didn't want to learn, really, but one day, when I was about 16, she walked out the door and told me there was a basket of peaches in the kitchen and that she wanted me to have them canned up when she got home. I just looked at her like she was crazy, since I'd never done it by myself before. I told her I didn't know how, figuring that ought to get me off the hook, but she pointed me toward the cookbooks and left. So I looked it up, and between that, and remembering some from having helped her in times past, I set to work. By the time she got back I had 7 bottles of peaches canned, and all of them sealed. From then on, I've always known that if I could find the instructions, I could probably find out pretty much anything I would need to know, and that knowledge has served me well these many years.
34. Carpeted floors.
35. Uncarpeted kitchen and bathroooms.
36. Refrigerators.
37. Freezers.
38. Central heating.
39. Air conditioning.
40. MP3 players.
41. Animals, especially dolphins.
42. I'm grateful to have been able to visit Hawaii. Not being much of a world traveler, I never really expected to be able to go there, but since being married I've had the chance a couple of times, and I'm happy to have been able to have that peaceful experience. It's a nice place to get away to for a little while.
43. I am thankful to have been blessed with 8 healthy children, and also for two more who are waiting for us on the other side.
44. Clean drinking water.
45. Running water right in my kitchen.
46. Linoleum. Oh, wait I already said that one. With my memory, it's going to be hard not to repeat things here. Instead of linoleum again (although I really am thankful for it), for #46, I'll say electric light bulbs. That, seriously, has got to be one of the best inventions ever, except when it makes it possible for me to stay up all hours of the night when I should be asleep. Like now.
47. A stove in my kitchen, so I don't have to build a fire every time I want to heat some food.
48. Trees.
49. Tulips.
50. The scriptures.
Saturday, December 25, 2010
The Hot Water Bottle Miracle
I love this story!
THE HOT WATER BOTTLE - A True Story By Helen Roseveare, Missionary to Africa
One night, in Central Africa, I had worked hard to help a mother in the labor ward; but in spite of all that we could do, she died leaving us with a tiny, premature baby and a crying, two-year-old daughter.
We would have difficulty keeping the baby alive. We had no incubator. We had no electricity to run an incubator, and no special feeding facilities. Although we lived on the equator, nights were often chilly with treacherous drafts.
A student-midwife went for the box we had for such babies and for the cotton wool that the baby would be wrapped in. Another went to stoke up the fire and fill a hot water bottle. She came back shortly, in distress, to tell me that in filling the bottle, it had burst. Rubber perishes easily in tropical climates. "...and it is our last hot water bottle!" she exclaimed. As in the West, it is no good crying over spilled milk; so, in Central Africa it might be considered no good crying over a burst water bottle. They do not grow on trees, and there are no drugstores down forest pathways. All right," I said, "Put the baby as near the fire as you safely can; sleep between the baby and the door to keep it free from drafts. Your job is to keep the baby warm."
The following noon, as I did most days, I went to have prayers with many of the orphanage children who chose to gather with me. I gave the youngsters various suggestions of things to pray about and told them about the tiny baby. I explained our problem about keeping the baby warm enough, mentioning the hot water bottle. The baby could so easily die if it got chilled. I also told them about the two-year-old sister, crying because her mother had died. During the prayer time, one ten-year-old girl, Ruth, prayed with the usual blunt consciousness of our African children. "Please, God," she prayed, "send us a water bottle. It'll be no good tomorrow, God, the baby'll be dead; so, please send it this afternoon." While I gasped inwardly at the audacity of the prayer, she added by way of corollary, " ...And while You are about it, would You please send a dolly for the little girl so she'll know You really love her?" As often with children's prayers, I was put on the spot. Could I honestly say, "Amen?" I just did not believe that God could do this. Oh, yes, I know that He can do everything: The Bible says so, but there are limits, aren't there? The only way God could answer this particular prayer would be by sending a parcel from the homeland. I had been in Africa for almost four years at that time, and I had never, ever received a parcel from home. Anyway, if anyone did send a parcel, who would put in a hot water bottle? I lived on the equator!
Halfway through the afternoon, while I was teaching in the nurses' training school, a message was sent that there was a car at my front door. By the time that I reached home, the car had gone, but there, on the veranda, was a large twenty-two pound parcel! I felt tears pricking my eyes. I could not open the parcel alone; so, I sent for the orphanage children. Together we pulled off the string, carefully undoing each knot. We folded the paper, taking care not to tear it unduly. Excitement was mounting. Some thirty or forty pairs of eyes were focused on the large cardboard box. From the top, I lifted out brightly colored, knitted jerseys. Eyes sparkled as I gave them out. Then, there were the knitted bandages for the leprosy patients, and the children began to look a little bored. Next, came a box of mixed raisins and sultanas - - that would make a nice batch of buns for the weekend. As I put my hand in again, I felt the...could it really be? I grasped it, and pulled it out. Yes, "A brand-new rubber, hot water bottle!" I cried. I had not asked God to send it; I had not truly believed that He could. Ruth was in the front row of the children. She rushed forward, crying out, "If God has sent the bottle, He must have sent the dolly, too!" Rummaging down to the bottom of the box, she pulled out the small, beautifully dressed dolly. Her eyes shone: She had never doubted! Looking up at me, she asked, "Can I go over with you, Mummy, and give this dolly to that little girl, so she'll know that Jesus really loves her?"
That parcel had been on the way for five whole months, packed up by my former Sunday School class, whose leader had heard and obeyed God's prompting to send a hot water bottle, even to the equator. One of the girls had put in a dolly for an African child -- five months earlier in answer to the believing prayer of a ten-year-old to bring it "That afternoon!" "And it shall come to pass, that before they call, I will answer; and while they are yet speaking, I will hear." Isaiah 65:24
Helen Roseveare a doctor missionary from England to Zaire, Africa, told this as it had happened to her in Africa.
THE HOT WATER BOTTLE - A True Story By Helen Roseveare, Missionary to Africa
One night, in Central Africa, I had worked hard to help a mother in the labor ward; but in spite of all that we could do, she died leaving us with a tiny, premature baby and a crying, two-year-old daughter.
We would have difficulty keeping the baby alive. We had no incubator. We had no electricity to run an incubator, and no special feeding facilities. Although we lived on the equator, nights were often chilly with treacherous drafts.
A student-midwife went for the box we had for such babies and for the cotton wool that the baby would be wrapped in. Another went to stoke up the fire and fill a hot water bottle. She came back shortly, in distress, to tell me that in filling the bottle, it had burst. Rubber perishes easily in tropical climates. "...and it is our last hot water bottle!" she exclaimed. As in the West, it is no good crying over spilled milk; so, in Central Africa it might be considered no good crying over a burst water bottle. They do not grow on trees, and there are no drugstores down forest pathways. All right," I said, "Put the baby as near the fire as you safely can; sleep between the baby and the door to keep it free from drafts. Your job is to keep the baby warm."
The following noon, as I did most days, I went to have prayers with many of the orphanage children who chose to gather with me. I gave the youngsters various suggestions of things to pray about and told them about the tiny baby. I explained our problem about keeping the baby warm enough, mentioning the hot water bottle. The baby could so easily die if it got chilled. I also told them about the two-year-old sister, crying because her mother had died. During the prayer time, one ten-year-old girl, Ruth, prayed with the usual blunt consciousness of our African children. "Please, God," she prayed, "send us a water bottle. It'll be no good tomorrow, God, the baby'll be dead; so, please send it this afternoon." While I gasped inwardly at the audacity of the prayer, she added by way of corollary, " ...And while You are about it, would You please send a dolly for the little girl so she'll know You really love her?" As often with children's prayers, I was put on the spot. Could I honestly say, "Amen?" I just did not believe that God could do this. Oh, yes, I know that He can do everything: The Bible says so, but there are limits, aren't there? The only way God could answer this particular prayer would be by sending a parcel from the homeland. I had been in Africa for almost four years at that time, and I had never, ever received a parcel from home. Anyway, if anyone did send a parcel, who would put in a hot water bottle? I lived on the equator!
Halfway through the afternoon, while I was teaching in the nurses' training school, a message was sent that there was a car at my front door. By the time that I reached home, the car had gone, but there, on the veranda, was a large twenty-two pound parcel! I felt tears pricking my eyes. I could not open the parcel alone; so, I sent for the orphanage children. Together we pulled off the string, carefully undoing each knot. We folded the paper, taking care not to tear it unduly. Excitement was mounting. Some thirty or forty pairs of eyes were focused on the large cardboard box. From the top, I lifted out brightly colored, knitted jerseys. Eyes sparkled as I gave them out. Then, there were the knitted bandages for the leprosy patients, and the children began to look a little bored. Next, came a box of mixed raisins and sultanas - - that would make a nice batch of buns for the weekend. As I put my hand in again, I felt the...could it really be? I grasped it, and pulled it out. Yes, "A brand-new rubber, hot water bottle!" I cried. I had not asked God to send it; I had not truly believed that He could. Ruth was in the front row of the children. She rushed forward, crying out, "If God has sent the bottle, He must have sent the dolly, too!" Rummaging down to the bottom of the box, she pulled out the small, beautifully dressed dolly. Her eyes shone: She had never doubted! Looking up at me, she asked, "Can I go over with you, Mummy, and give this dolly to that little girl, so she'll know that Jesus really loves her?"
That parcel had been on the way for five whole months, packed up by my former Sunday School class, whose leader had heard and obeyed God's prompting to send a hot water bottle, even to the equator. One of the girls had put in a dolly for an African child -- five months earlier in answer to the believing prayer of a ten-year-old to bring it "That afternoon!" "And it shall come to pass, that before they call, I will answer; and while they are yet speaking, I will hear." Isaiah 65:24
Helen Roseveare a doctor missionary from England to Zaire, Africa, told this as it had happened to her in Africa.
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