Proof The Bible Is True

Heaven-Scent Diane Stark from Brazil, Indiana

 

The stink hit me as soon as I opened my parents’ front door. I stopped in my tracks and struggled not to cry. Obviously, I needed to investigate and then clean up whatever was causing the odor, but just the thought was overwhelming.

 

I’d been struggling with depression for months, ever since my husband had left and I’d had to take my kids and move back home. Even with Mom and Dad’s support, the adjustment to being a single mother wasn’t an easy one. A bad smell felt like more than I could bear.

 

I started in the kitchen, standing by the refrigerator and sniffing. “God, where are you? Please show me that you haven’t forgotten about me.”

 

The kitchen smelled fine. I moved into the hallway and breathed deeply. The odor seemed to be coming from the coat closet. Bracing myself, I opened the door and rummaged around.

 

It didn’t take long to find the source of the smell: my four-year-old daughter’s lunch box. More specifically, the moldy, half-eaten turkey sandwich sitting inside it. She must have tossed the box in the closet with her jacket on her last day of preschool. More than two weeks ago.

 

I brought the lunch box to the kitchen to clean it. I threw out the sandwich. Underneath I discovered a note from my daughter’s teacher to me. “I know things are hard for you right now,” she wrote, “but please know that God loves you and has a plan for your life. No matter how things seem, you are never alone.”

 

Saving Touch Linda E. Patterson-Shields from Lexington, North Carolina

 

After a bad fall eight years ago, I have been unable to put weight on my legs. I’ve had to relearn how to do everything in a wheelchair. I have family nearby who check on me, but I live alone. Though I enjoy my independence, I always worry about what might happen if I fall and need help.

 

One afternoon, I was organizing some papers on my desk. A folder fluttered to the floor. I leaned down to pick it up. I overshot how far I could reach. I felt myself start to fall out of my wheelchair. It was like it was happening in slow motion.

 

“God, help me!” I shouted.

 

Suddenly, I felt something wrap around my midsection. An arm, gentle but firm. I couldn’t see it, but I distinctly felt its touch. It caught me and lifted me away from the floor. Then I felt another arm on my back, guiding me safely into my wheelchair.

 

It took me a moment to process what had happened. I hardly believed it, but I know what I felt. To this day, I can still recall the sensation of a heavenly hand, catching me as I fell.

 

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