MY LORD HEALED ME THEN -- AND MANY OTHER TIMES!!

 Today, when reading a variety of healing issues in my Bible, I was rejoicing because I had been healed many times by the Lord.  He healed my heart several times -- when I was 27, 38, 42 for certain.  He kept from murderers -- some planning to do it to me, and I knew that when I was a young kid.  I also was arranging to do it to them.  For instance, when I was 7 years old in Tacoma and keeping a knife with me when babysitting my 3 sisters [had 5 eventually, BTW] and wouldn't let anyone break into the house and hurt us or steal stuff.   I'm a very gratefully "love of the Lord" person.  He's healed me many ways, physically and mentally.  As I often say now, I could have died from 6 to 42, for sure.  So, sharing this amazing story re: how God protected me and didn't let my legs be too damaged, that's another amazing piece I thought of this morning.  I'm very much blessing and praising the Lord hours and hours a day.  I first put this on to all of you on my blog in April 30, '12.  Sharing it again, even though it's long, is because how the Lord blessed me, even though I didn't know Him very well then.

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     When I had just turned 6 years old, the summer of 1951, still living in the “Birdhouse”, outside Klickitat, WA, a rather unusual event occurred.  I don’t think I knew anything about angels, except when I saw something about Christmas and the angels singing to the shepherds.  That would have been “it”.  However, I happen to believe they were very busy taking care of me.
     My Dad was headed out for milk and, instead of heading to Klickitat, he went the other direction to a farm about a mile up the road.  He took me with him.  He was driving an old-style station wagon.
     In that area, the Birdhouse, the other houses, the pastures, fields and farms were on one side of the road.  The Klickitat River was on the other, with just a few feet between it and the road, with only a grassy ditch and a few boulders before the rushing water.

     Since we were driving north, that meant he would be turning left onto the farm.
     Before we reached it, when I could see the farmhouse in the distance, I was thinking, “I don’t want to be left in the car.  I want to get out.”  To be ready, I held onto the door handle very firmly.
     Well, Dad slowed down to turn left, the door handle went down, and I swung out of the car, grasping the handle.  The door opened wide.  I was scared, of course, but also thinking, “If I let go, I can land in the ditch and it could have snakes!”  So, I held onto the handle.  The door swung back towards the car, and I was forced to let go, and tossed under the car.  The car was moving slowly, since Dad was preparing to turn, but not stopped.  As a result, the rear tires ran over my legs, angling from the top of one leg to the calf of another.
     My Dad hit the brakes, of course, jumped out of the car and over the hood to find me.  Before he reached me, behind the car, I had already rolled over to my stomach and was banging my head on the soft tar road and saying to myself, “Stupid.  Stupid.  Stupid.” 
     There was a car behind us and it stopped immediately.  The driver was a teenaged boy that we knew.  “Bob”, 16, had been in Klickitat at the Swimming Hole, and was wearing only swim trunks, because he was heading home.  

       He was embarrassed to be in this situation, with nothing else to wear, but he held me in the car while Dad drove [raced!] to the nearest town with doctors and a hospital.  Goldendale and Klickitat are about 20 miles apart, which wouldn’t seem like such a big deal in our present way of thinking, except, in this case, Klickitat was in the valley by the river and Goldendale was up on the high plains.  

       This road then [and now] would have a section that was hairpin curving up the grade, a rock cliff on one side, a drop to the river.. sometimes hundreds of feet... on the other and no guard rails.  I expect Dad drove dangerously, to say the least.
     When we reached Goldendale, Dad went to a Doctor first.  All I remember is laying on the table and having my jeans cut off.  You see, if nothing else, the fact that it was July, HOT, and the road covered with tar, my jeans were black from that soft road topping, and stuck to me.  The tire pattern was very clearly seen.  After the jeans were off, which I was angry about, because I liked them, Dad took me to the hospital. Next medical event was an X-ray. 

      Miracle?  My legs were not broken.  I had very few bruises or scrapes.  Dad was told that the reason my legs weren’t broken was because the angle was the only one that would have prevented that from happening.  The worst bruise?  My forehead where I had been hammering on the ground, angry at myself, because I was “stupid”.

      I was in the hospital for 3 days.  They didn’t think I would be, or should be, walking and putting pressure on my legs.  Now, remember, in those days, especially a small hospital, when there was space in a room, under fairly normal circumstances, you would simply be in a room with whoever was there.  The room they put me in had an “older” lady and she was in some sort of recovery, but needed rest.  I anticipate that I drove her crazy.  I was supposed to stay in bed, but didn’t.  I climbed in and out, and, sometimes, jumped up and down from the bed.  Mom and Dad could come in the evening for a short visit, but I vaguely recall that they were told that I wasn’t doing what I was supposed to.  Since I didn’t seem to need more recovery, they sent me home.  I don’t think I was ever back for a checkup.
     Now, when I reached home, I think I actually settled down and rested more for a short stretch.
     I have never had future leg issues.  My muscles and joints are usually painless, even 60-plus years later.  Compared to many of my family and friends in my general age range, that is pretty amazing.

     When I think of the times that God protected me, knew me so long before I knew Him — DUH!!! — and had assigned angels to me, I expect this was one of the top ones; definitely not the first one, knowing my childhood seriosity history, but rather important, doncha think?
     And, remember that time, recalling those amazing details, I always smile.  Big Time.

 

PRECIOUS VASE RE: OUR HEAVENLY FATHER

THE TRUTHFUL WORD OF THE LORD.

THAT'S WHAT COUNTS FOREVER.

 

WHY NOT MULTNOMAH FALLS??

It was a "God" thing.  Ya see, my sister, Niki, and I were leaving her place about 60 miles west of Portland, OR, and taking I-5 towards Vancouver/Portland.  It was a sunny, warm day... much different than the previous ones ... and we were having a nice drive.

We were going to Goldendale, WA, to see Berta.  

I could drive on either side of the Columbia River.  Bridges were in several places and easy to cross.  However, for some reason, we stayed on the Washington side.  I saw Multnomah Falls, and other falls, across the river, but still felt that staying in Washington was what should be done.  The scenery was lovely and the driving --- curving and climbing -- was fun.

 
Around 2:00, Niki said it was time for lunch.  [Doncha think she was right?]  We were in the small town, Stevenson, and I didn't know where to stop.  She suddenly, glancing down side streets, pointed to the right and said, "There."  I parked and a small antique and cafe shop was by us.  When we entered, we were the only ones to be served.  Had a nice menu and nice food.

While eating, I glanced around and noticed that on both sides of the front door scriptures were artistically in place.

SO, I asked the lady who we thought was the owner... also the cooker ... why the verses were before our eyes.

We talked for a short time, and she, Robbie, casually mentioned having been with an organization called YWAM.  Niki and I started rejoicing at her.  We've both had so many friends and contacts involved in Youth With A Mission.  She shared the locations she had been when younger and told us a number of stories.


Now she was a Mom with 4 kids and owned this store as an opportunity to take care of them and provide whatever was needed.

Before we left, after talking for more than half an hour [if for no other reason than I was there yammering with and for her] we prayed together, and Niki and I prayed especially that her business would expand sufficiently for her needs.

This whole experience fit into my spiritual motto:  Right place, right time.

We know we were used to encourage her.

We loved it.

We continued east from there, through more small towns along the river, and reached Goldendale a bit later than our original plan.  Why?  We were used by God along the way.

The next day we drove over to the Oregon side of the Columbia.  And it was raining, foggy, and not reasonable re: our timing to reach her house, since we left Berta's later than planned.
  

SO, for nearly the first in years, I did not stop at my favorite falls to listen, watch, walk and rejoice ... and grab a small rock or two.  The hard-hearted portion was because I knew this would probably be my final long drive out to the Northwest.

But Niki's instinct in her spirit, that this was the shop to be in, was so truthful, so right, so blessed.

AND Robbie was worth it.


  
   

GOLDEN DAY IN GOLDENDALE, WA.

What a blessed day it was.  You see, back in 1960 I became friends with Delberta shortly after we moved to Klickitat.

Berta is a couple years younger than I am.  Our parents were friends, too, so I saw her and her family often.

One of the biggest blessings for me in Delberta was her skill in fixing hair.  I WASN'T good at it [still not].  When there was a special event coming up, I would go down the street to her house and she could take a time to curl my straight, straight hair.  What a treat!

I left Klickitat the day after I graduated in May, 1963.  Rarely saw any friends there ever again.  Except Susie.  [And now others who have been dropped back into my life after all these years, which I'll post about soon.]

Through Facebook, Berta and I became "friends" about 3 years ago.  What a blessing to "see" her again and share news and notes.  Even though I had driven out to the northwest a couple times since that FB contact, and was in her general area and we hoped to connect, it wasn't possible . With my timing, she'd always gone somewhere to be with kids or grandkids or great-grandkids.  [BUT I was important enough to be put first, doncha think?]

THEN this time, we arranged a visit.  I could go to Goldendale, WA, which is about 20 miles up from the Columbia River.  

She said I could bring a sister to spend the night.  So,  I took Niki with me.

We had a glorious visiting, sharing time. 

As sad as it is, Berta's husband died of cancer last February.  Of course, we talked about that heart-breaking event, and she always smiled while tearful.  We were able to touch hands and hug, holding hearts.

A guitar was in the living room.  That blessed Niki.  She played it, one of her favorite things to do.  Berta sings beautifully, as does Nik ... and the 3 of us sang hymns and worshiped and shared until about 1 AM.

[And why did I choose this post color, although it doesn't fit in perfectly?  Her living room drapes and lovely vase and flowers.  Couldn't not smile when I saw this.]

 
 Had a lovely night and long blessed morning. Then her mom took this photos before we hit the road.

We reached Niki's house later that Tuesday afternoon, both of us filled with blessing.  One wonderful part is that, in spite of the fact that they had never truly known each other before, Niki and Berta hope to stay in contact, and share music, and be friends.

And, nearly 50 years later, Berta and I have again become good and dear friends.  A true God-blessing.  I couldn't be much happier.

MIRACLE, DONCHA THINK?

When I had just turned 6 years old, the summer of 1951, still living in the “Birdhouse”, outside Klickitat, WA, a rather unusual event occurred.  I don’t think I knew anything about angels, except when I saw something about Christmas and the angels singing to the shepherds.  That would have been “it”.  However, I happen to believe they were very busy taking care of me.

My Dad was headed out for milk and, instead of heading to Klickitat, he went the other direction to a farm about a mile up the road.  He took me with him.  He was driving an old-style station wagon.

In that area, the Birdhouse, the other houses, the pastures, fields and farms were on one side of the road.  The Klickitat River was on the other, with just a few feet between it and the road, with only a grassy ditch and a few boulders before the rushing water.

Since we were driving north, that meant he would be turning left onto the farm.

Before we reached it, when I could see the farmhouse in the distance, I was thinking, “I don’t want to be left in the car.  I want to get out.”  To be ready, I held onto the door handle very firmly.

Well, Dad slowed down to turn left, the door handle went down, and I swung out of the car, grasping the handle.  The door opened wide.  I was scared, of course, but also thinking, “If I let go, I can land in the ditch and it could have snakes!”  So, I held onto the handle.  The door swung back towards the car, and I was forced to let go, and tossed under the car.  The car was moving slowly, since Dad was preparing to turn, but not stopped.  As a result, the rear tires ran over my legs, angling from the top of one leg to the calf of another.

My Dad hit the brakes, of course, jumped out of the car and over the hood to find me.  Before he reached me, behind the car, I had already rolled over to my stomach and was banging my head on the soft tar road and saying to myself, “Stupid.  Stupid.  Stupid.”

There was a car behind us and it stopped immediately.  The driver was a teenaged boy that we knew.  “Bob”, 16, had been in Klickitat at the Swimming Hole, and was wearing only swim trunks, because he was heading home. 

He was embarrassed to be in this situation, with nothing else to wear, but he held me in the car while Dad drove [raced!] to the nearest town with doctors and a hospital.  Goldendale and Klickitat are about 20 miles apart, which wouldn’t seem like such a big deal in our present way of thinking, except, in this case, Klickitat was in the valley by the river and Goldendale was up on the high plains.  

This road then [and now] would have a section that was hairpin curving up the grade, a rock cliff on one side, a drop to the river.. sometimes hundreds of feet... on the other and no guard rails.  I expect Dad drove dangerously, to say the least.

When we reached Goldendale, Dad went to a Doctor first.  All I remember is laying on the table and having my jeans cut off.  You see, if nothing else, the fact that it was July, HOT, and the road covered with tar, my jeans were black from that soft road topping, and stuck to me.  The tire pattern was very clearly seen.
After the jeans were off, which I was angry about, because I liked them, Dad took me to the hospital. Next medical event was an X-ray. 

 Miracle?  My legs were not broken.  I had very few bruises or scrapes.  Dad was told that the reason my legs weren’t broken was because the angle was the only one that would have prevented that from happening.  The worst bruise?  My forehead where I had been hammering on the ground, angry at myself, because I was “stupid”.

I was in the hospital for 3 days.  They didn’t think I would be, or should be, walking and putting pressure on my legs.  Now, remember, in those days, especially a small hospital, when there was space in a room, under fairly normal circumstances, you would simply be in a room with whoever was there.  The room they put me in had an “older” lady and she was in some sort of recovery, but needed rest.  I anticipate that I drove her crazy.  I was supposed to stay in bed, but didn’t.  I climbed in and out, and, sometimes, jumped up and down from the bed.  Mom and Dad could come in the evening for a short visit, but I vaguely recall that they were told that I wasn’t doing what I was supposed to.  Since I didn’t seem to need more recovery, they sent me home.  I don’t think I was ever back for a checkup.

Now, when I reached home, I think I actually settled down and rested more for a short stretch.

I have never had future leg issues.  My muscles and joints are usually painless, even 60 years later.  Compared to many of my family and friends in my general age range, that is pretty amazing.

When I think of the times that God protected me, knew me so long before I knew Him — DUH!!! — and had assigned angels to me, I expect this was one of the top ones; definitely not the first one, knowing my childhood seriosity history, but rather important, doncha think?
And, remember that time, recalling those amazing details, I always smile.  Big Time.