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Early in 2003 Fred Evans fell and broke his hip. Not unusual for a man of 88. However, it was the events over the next few weeks that showed the world what this man was made of.
The next day he had an operation which turned out to be a total hip replacement.
Within a few days he was sent to a Rehabilitation Hospital, with all the usual hopes for a complete recovery for a man of his age and situation: 'absolutely none,' said the medical experts and nursing staff!
Funny about that, absolutely no hope at all.
My first conversation with Dad was a few days after his admittance to the Rehab Hospital in Sydney.
'A bit of pain Son,' he tells me ... 'but I'll be okay.'
'See all of these other old blokes in here, most of them have been in here for between 3 and 6 months, with no hope of ever going home.'
'"No way will I end up like them!'
'I will go home to your Mum within the next few weeks!'
Because of the distance between Newcastle and his Rehab Hospital, I didn't get to see him every day, but phoned regularly. I got to see him each weekend.
On my next visit I stopped at reception on the way to his ward. The duty nurse gave me a 'rave review' of his progress, saying that they didn't believe what they were seeing.
'Your Father is a walking miracle,' I was told.
As I approached Dad's bed I saw him getting something from the other side of his bed as he was swinging himself into a position to get up and spend some time with me. Walking sticks.
'Thanks for coming in to see me Son, it's good to see you, come for a slow walk with me,' he said.
He proudly assured me that he was okay to do it on his own, but it would be nice if I were right there next to him as we 'walked.' Sure enough, he had been so determined to get home to his wife of 62 years, he had been training hard every day!
So we went for a stroll around the corridors of his prison, and was he proud of his ability to conquer the odds? You bet he was!
Only 3 weeks after being admitted to that 'depressing place,' he walked out without any assistance from anyone. Just as I had been told - a walking miracle.
He only had one motive, but a very powerful one. To get home to his beautiful wife of 62 years, my Mum Margaret ... he missed her. His determination, courage, and incredible love and devotion towards my Mother (after all that time together) was an inspiration to me that can't be overstated. I thank him for that!
Fred Evans was a gentle caring man, with the courage and inner strength of a lion, and the heart of a Saint.
I had only recently grown to appreciate that I was so lucky to have such a mentor, and to realize that I was absolutely blessed to have had that experience. It wasn't too late though. I got to tell him how much he meant to me, and to thank him for being who he was, and to share some amazing moments with him towards the end of his humble, quietly-lived life.
Over the next few months fate stepped in and other medical complications took him from us, but he left us all with memories of what it's like to spend some time with someone special. Thanks Dad.
May this inspire you to overcome some form of adversity in your own life by showing some courage - despite the odds.
I'm not perfect. I have all kinds of problems. I have no ability. I have no gifts. I'm just not worthy. Why would God want me?
Well, did you know that
Moses stuttered.
David's armor didn't fit.
John Mark deserted Paul.
Timothy had ulcers.
Hosea's wife was a prostitute.
Amos' only training was in the school of fig-tree pruning.
Jacob was a liar.
David had an affair.
Solomon was too rich.
Jesus was too poor.
Abraham was too old.
David was too young.
Peter was afraid of death.
Lazarus was dead.
John was self-righteous.
Naomi was a widow.
Paul was a persecutor of the church.
Moses was a murderer.
Jonah ran from God's will.
Miriam was a gossip.
Gideon and Thomas both doubted.
Jeremiah was depressed and suicidal.
Elijah was burned out.
John the Baptist was a loudmouth.
Martha was a worry-wart.
Noah got drunk.
Did I mention that Moses had a short fuse?
So did Peter, Paul - well, lots of folks did.
But God doesn't require a job interview for salvation. He's our Heavenly Father. He doesn't look at financial gain or loss. He's not prejudiced or partial, not judging, grudging, sassy, or brassy, not deaf to our cry, not blind to our need. He know who we are and what we are and loves us in spite of ourselves.
My name is Bruce Van Natta, and I love to work on trucks.
I'm a self-employed diesel mechanic; also a Christian family man living out my power truck dreams and providing for my wife and four children. I never gave a second thought to the danger of working on engines that weigh thousands of pounds, until November 16, 2006.
I was working on a Peterbilt logging truck about an hour from our home. The guy I was working with, who drives the truck, asked me if I would look at one more leak before I left.
So, if you could picture one of these great big Peterbilt trucks, I slid under the front big bumper feet first. The front axle was jacked up and the right front wheel removed.
I said to him, "You jump up inside and see what the temperature of the engine is." The axle is right across my chest at this point, maybe an inch or two above me.
The 20-ton capacity jack holding up the truck, shot out from its position. This 10,000 to 12,000 pounds of weight that's on this axle, came down across my mid-section like a blunt guillotine, and nearly crushed me in half.
I tasted the blood in my throat when it fell on me. I looked down and could see there was less than three inches of space between the bottom of the axle and the cement.
I knew the thickest part of my body was maybe two inches thick.
I begged the man that jacked up the truck to get me out from under it. He didn't want to because he could tell that I might have a broken back and I did.
The vertebrae in my spine were cracked the width of the axle.
I tried to pull myself out from under the truck. It was the most incredible pain you can think of. I got myself to where my head was sticking out from under the front bumper.
The next thing I did was to call out, "Lord, help me."
I called it out again. "Lord, please help me!"
I felt strange and the pain left my body.
At that point, I was unconscious. My spirit left my body and floated to the ceiling, and was looking down at the accident scene. The man I had been working with was on his knees next to my body. I could faintly hear him saying, 'I'm sorry. I'm sorry.'
But on each side of him, also on their knees were angels. They might have been about eight feet tall. They didn't have wings, just very broad shoulders.
There was a bright light shining around each one of them. They didn't move, and I never heard them say anything. They just had their arms under the truck, not holding the truck up; but had their arms angled in toward my body. There was no pain, just peace. I can't describe the peace I felt in the garage.
I knew I had a serious choice to make.
I was definitely on the edge of life and death. There were two thoughts in my head. One was, 'Shut your eyes and give up and die. You are just going to go to heaven anyway.' The other voice in my head was much quieter and not much more than a whisper, 'If you want to live, you're going to have to fight, and you are going to have to fight hard.'
The next thing I knew, my spirit went back down into my body.
I was conscious while I was flown on a life flight to the hospital. Doctors there doubted I would survive the next few hours. My ribs were broken, my pancreas and spleen crushed, and several major arteries had been severed.
We found out from doctors later, I had five places that major arteries were completely severed. I found out from the doctors there was a medical study done in 2001. According to that study, by the University of South California, they used my case and compared it against that study. They can't find anyone else in the world that has lived with five major arteries being severed.
I should have bled to death in a few minutes. So my thought is, the angels were there to somehow hold me together. I stayed in the hospital for over two months and survived five major surgeries. I still had overwhelming obstacles to overcome. Almost 75 percent of my small intestine was crushed in the accident and had to be removed. An adult has 18-20 feet of small intestine. I was down to less than 100 cm of small intestine.
Someone came in and told us that he didn't expect me to live much more than a year, that I was going to starve to death.
I was losing weight very rapidly: and they were feeding me intravenously. My once 180 lb. frame dropped to 126 lbs. My family was praying and my community rallied around me. I also received an unexpected visitor in my hospital room one day.
The Lord woke up a man in New York two days in a row. This was someone that I met one time on vacation. He came and prayed for me in the hospital. He put his palm on my forehead, and he prayed the way Jesus taught us to pray. He spoke to the mountain, in this case my small intestine, 'I command you to grow back in the name of Jesus Christ.' I felt like 220 volts come out of his palm and into my forehead. I could feel my intestines moving around and up and down.
After nine long months of surgeries and hospital stays, I was finally able to feed myself and gained weight, back up to 170 lbs.
When I returned for testing, radiology reports and doctors confirmed that I had almost nine feet of small intestine. They said the small intestines the Lord gave back to me were twice as good as normal. They work just as if I had all of it; absorb the vitamins, minerals, and nutrients I take into my body.
Over and over, the Lord kept confounding the doctors from the point of saying I shouldn't live. I should have bled to death. My intestines miraculously were growing back. God was showing us that miracles were happening. My pancreas rejuvenated by itself. My spleen rejuvenated by itself.
Miracle after miracle, God was just showing up. He is a miracle worker.
When a friend urgently texted Florida mom Stacey Philpot about a Facebook post she just had to see, she wasn't sure what to expect. The post showed a teen aged boy standing alone at the flagpole and it seemed as if everyone had something to say about him. And that's when it hit Stacey - she was looking at her son!
As a blogger, Stacey Philpot spends a good amount of time online. So, she decided to take a little break from Facebook. But then a friend sent her an urgent text about a post Stacey "wouldn't want to miss."
The post showed a boy standing alone at the flagpole praying as part of See You At The Pole Day. This yearly event encourages students everywhere to gather at their school's flagpole to pray for their school, friends, families, churches, and communities. Usually the event draws a crowd. But at Minneola High School, only one young man turned up. The brave boy stood all alone, praying by himself.
During the course of World War II, many people gained fame in one way or another. One man was Butch O'Hare. He was a fighter pilot assigned to an aircraft carrier in the Pacific. One time his entire squadron was assigned to fly a particular mission. After he was airborne, he looked at his fuel gauge and realized that someone had forgotten to top off his fuel tank. Because of this, he would not have enough fuel to complete his mission and get back to his ship. His flight leader told him to leave formation and return. As he was returning to the mother ship, he could see a squadron of Japanese Zeroes heading toward the fleet to attack. And with all the fighter planes gone, the fleet was almost defenseless. His was the only opportunity to distract and divert them. Single-handedly, he dove into the formation of Japanese planes and attacked them. The American fighter planes were rigged with cameras, so that as they flew and fought, pictures were taken so pilots could learn more about the terrain, enemy maneuvers, etc. Butch dove at them and shot until all his ammunition was gone, then he would dive and try to clip off a wing or tail or anything that would make the enemy planes unfit to fly. He did anything he could to keep them from reaching the American ships. Finally, the Japanese squadron took off in another direction, and Butch O' Hare and his fighter, both badly shot up, limped back to the carrier. He told his story, but not until the film from the camera on his plane was developed, did they realize the extent he really went to, to protect his fleet. He was recognized as a hero and given one of the nation's highest military honors. And as you may know, O'Hare Airport was named after him.
Prior to this time in Chicago, there was a man called Easy Eddie.
He was working for a man you've all heard about, Al Capone. Al Capone wasn't famous for anything heroic, but he was notorious for the murders he'd committed and the illegal thing's he'd done. Easy Eddie was Al Capone's lawyer and he was very good. In fact, because of his skill, he was able to keep Al Capone out of jail. To show his appreciation, Al Capone paid him very well. He not only earned big money, he would get extra things, like a residence that filled an entire Chicago city block. The house was fenced, and he had live-in help and all of the conveniences of the day. Easy Eddie had a son. He loved his son and gave him all the best things while he was growing up; clothes, cars, and a good education. And, because he loved his son he tried to teach him right from wrong. But one thing he couldn't give his son was a good name, and a good example.
Easy Eddie decided that this was much more important than all the riches he had given him. So, he went to the authorities in order to rectify the wrong he had done. In order to tell the truth, it meant he must testify against Al Capone, and he knew that Al Capone would do his best to have him killed. But he wanted most of all to try to be an example and to do the best he could to give back to his son, a good name. So he testified. Within the year, he was shot and killed on a lonely street in Chicago. These sound like two unrelated stories, but Butch O'Hare was Easy.
'In a world that wants to control your every move, steal your ideas, squash your initiative, crush your hopes and stifle your passion . . . In you there will always be a flame burning, a dream that dares not to die, a love refusing to be diminished, a hope that will never be denied . . . You know you were born with wings to fly, a sky that begs you to soar, a horizon that knows no limits . . . All you need is the courage to back yourself, lift your sights, spread your wings and fly'.
I had written these words earlier this year as part of my efforts to help others see their lives anew. Sometimes I wonder which comes first – the growth, or the experience/event that causes you to see life differently. That question was to be answered in a small but life-changing way - the removal of cataracts from both of my eyes.
Only if you have had the same thing done for your eyes can you understand the seeming miracle of my vision being dramatically cleared after decades of wearing glasses and experiencing the increasing issues of aging. Glasses discarded, colours brightened, contrasts sharpened and detail more precise.
What I didn't expect was for my new vision to be extended far beyond what my eyes could see and encompass what my mind could envisage . . . 'You know you were born with wings to fly, a horizon that knows no limits - lift your sights, spread your wings and fly'.
I felt younger, in awe of the fact that removal of cataracts could trigger a fresh chance at life, a renewed desire to spread my wings and fly.
Yet not even there did the magic end. I had endured six months of leg problems culminating in a total hip replacement and in need of new fitness and mental energy. 'In you there will always be a flame burning, a dream that dares not to die'. A clear vision is vital but it's the call to action that spurs the dream.
Is life like that? Do we see clearly in our youth, only to have the demands of daily life cloud our vision, like clouds dulling a clear horizon? The wonders of modern medicine are doing more than giving us the ability to live longer. 'In a world that wants to control your every move' I feel a sense of rejuvenation, a lifting of the pressures of others' expectations. A fresh perspective through which I can filter my years of experience and my continuing dreams.
New eyes through which to see more clearly not just my 'who' and my 'what?' but also my 'why?'.
Our lives are but fine weavings
That God and we prepare,
Each life becomes a fabric planned
And fashioned in His care.
We may not always see just how
The weavings intertwine,
But we must trust the Master’s hand
And follow His design,
For He can view the pattern
Upon the upper side,
While we must look from underneath
And trust in Him to guide…
Sometimes a strand of sorrow
Is added to His plan,
And though it’s difficult for us,
We still must understand
That it’s He who fills the shuttle,
It’s He who knows what’s best,
So we must weave in patience
And leave to Him the rest…
Not till the loom is silent
And the shuttles cease to fly
Shall God unroll the canvas
And explain the reason why —
The dark threads are as needed
In the Weaver’s skillful hand
As the threads of gold and silver
In the pattern He has planned.
A man's daughter had asked the local pastor to come and pray with her father. When the pastor arrived, he found the man lying in bed with his head propped up on two pillows and an empty chair beside his bed. The priest assumed that the old fellow had been informed of his visit.
"I guess you were expecting me," he said.
"No, who are you?"
"I'm the new associate at your local church," the pastor replied.
"When I saw the empty chair, I figured you knew I was going to show up."
"Oh yeah, the chair," said the bedridden man. "Would you mind closing the door?"
Puzzled, the pastor shut the door.
"I've never told anyone this, not even my daughter," said the man.
"But all of my life I have never known how to pray. At church I used to hear the pastor talk about prayer, but it always went right over my head.."
"I abandoned any attempt at prayer," the old man continued, "until one day about four years ago my best friend said to me, 'Joe, prayer is just a simple matter of having a conversation with Jesus. Here's what I suggest. Sit down on a chair, place an empty chair in front of you, and in faith see Jesus on the chair. It's not spooky because he promised, 'I'll be with you always.' Then just speak to him and listen in the same way you're doing with me right now."
"So, I tried it and I've liked it so much that I do it a couple of hours every day. I'm careful, though. If my daughter saw me talking to an empty chair, she'd either have a nervous breakdown or send me off to the funny farm."
The pastor was deeply moved by the story and encouraged the old guy to continue on the journey. Then he prayed with him, and returned to the church.
Two nights later the daughter called to tell the pastor that her daddy had died that afternoon.
"Did he seem to die in peace?" he asked.
"Yes, when I left the house around two o'clock, he called me over to his bedside, told me one of his corny jokes, and kissed me on the cheek. When I got back from the store an hour later, I found him dead. But there was something strange, in fact, beyond strange-kinda weird.
Apparently, just before Daddy died, he leaned over and rested his head on a chair beside the bed."
It feels like yesterday that I was sitting on the edge of the bed, next to my father. As we were talking, he said. "It's time to go." So, he laid down and took his last breath while I held his hand. During this time, we were both at peace and enjoyed our last moments together. It was like that of Christ Jesus when he said, "Into your hands I commit my Spirit" as he took his last breath. I will never forget the love that was in his eyes for his own son(s). My brother was on the other side, holding his other hand. Were two or three are gathered.
It feels like yesterday that I was sitting on the edge of the bed, next to my father. As we were talking, he said. "It's time to go." So, he laid down and took his last breath while I held his hand. During this time, we were both at peace and enjoyed our last moments together. It was like that of Christ Jesus when he said, "Into your hands I commit my Spirit" as he took his last breath. I will never forget the love that was in his eyes for his own son(s). My brother was on the other side, holding his other hand. Where two or three are gathered.
My brother: How good our God is! Thank you for adding this special moment to the story.
My mother whose life I made as miserable as I could, died 60 years ago. As she lay in her hospital bed in the final stages of new life breaking, she sat up and said something to my deaf ears I will never forget.
"David, can you hear that music?"
I could not hear the music then, but my dear mother, I hear it now, & the sound is beyond anything one can articulate!
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