“Laura.” He could feel the wall of his determination beginning to crumble. Times like this he wondered why he’d never remarried, why he’d never found someone to take away the loneliness he carried with him every day—someone who could be a mother for Laura. For a fraction of an instant he wondered about Becky Olsen, his first love. Becky would never have walked out on him, ever. If only he hadn’t let her go after high school, she would be here now, offering Laura advice.
He sighed and searched his daughter’s eyes. “Who’s driving?”
“Susie’s mother. She can pick me up and drop me off.”
“Me, too?” Ben walked into the room and grinned at her. He was fifteen and loved giving Laura grief when it came to her friends.
“No,” Scott dropped into the nearest chair and cocked his head at Ben. “Let’s watch the game instead. Me and you.” He looked at Laura. She’d be fine; this was Mill Creek, Washington, after all. The crime rate was one of the lowest in the nation. “Go ahead and go shopping.”
Laura ran to him and threw her arms around his neck. “Thanks, Daddy. I promise I won’t be long.”
Becky Olsen normally worked the southern Oregon and California doctors’ offices and medical centers. That was her territory as a sales manager for the largest pharmaceutical company in the nation. But earlier that week, one of her colleagues had begged a favor of her. Could she cover his territory and take Washington for the weekend?
Becky didn’t hesitate. She was single and independent, and work hid the fact that she was lonely far too often. A lifetime ago, she’d been married with twin boys. But one spring night six years earlier, she’d arrived home from a business trip only to find that for the first time in her career, her family wasn’t there to meet her.
Not until two hours later did she get the news.
They’d been coming to the airport when they were broadsided by a freight train at a dimly lit crossing near their home. All of them—her husband and boys—were killed instantly in the accident.
It took two years for Becky to get back to work, and when she did it was with a determination to remain single. She’d loved once, and lost. That was enough for an entire lifetime. The problem was her heart wasn’t always in agreement. Some nights when she finished working her territory, she’d come home to her Portland, Oregon, apartment, pour herself a tall mug of coffee, sit at the kitchen table, and cry.
Not because she wanted another family. But because she wanted a friend. Her schedule kept her on the road far too often to develop any sort of consistent relationship, even with her neighbors. Once in a while, on those lonely nights, she found herself going back in time, back even farther than the family she’d loved. Back to her high-school days, when her closest friend had been her boyfriend, Scott Miller. They’d been kids, of course, but that hadn’t stopped them from spending equal time laughing and playing and baring their hearts to each other.
Scott had gotten married years back, but still Becky wondered how he was doing. Not because she was interested in starting something up with him, but because he was an old friend. One of the best she’d had as a teenager.
Her thoughts cleared and she thought about the matter at hand. She needed to find her hotel, check in, and go over the notes for meetings she’d scheduled the next day at the nearby hospital. But first she needed to pick up a pair of nylons. It was almost eight o’clock when she pulled into a mall parking lot just north of Seattle.
Becky was about to take a parking spot when something caught her attention. She turned and saw a man in dark clothing walking behind a teenage girl. Becky could make out the girl’s expression from where she sat in her car, and the look sent chills down her spine. The younger woman’s eyes were wide and terror stricken.
Strange, Becky thought. Why was he walking behind her? If the man was her father, why weren’t they walking side by side or at least with her farther in front of him instead of so close? The way it looked now, the girl was almost being pushed toward a car at the back of the parking lot.
Becky drove down the row and turned up the next so she was facing the pair. She watched them reach a beat-up sedan, one that looked out of place in that high-end area of Seattle.
God . . . What’s going on? Is the girl in trouble?
Follow them, daughter. Follow.
The answer was more of a perception than an actual audible voice, but it resonated in Becky’s heart the same as if God had shouted the words at her with a bullhorn. Moving at a slow, steady rate so the man wouldn’t notice her, Becky eased her car closer. When the man and the girl pulled away in the car, she stayed behind at a distance that didn’t seem to catch his attention.
Becky’s heart began to race as they turned onto the main road and started south. What was she doing? If God wanted her to follow the car, then the girl must be in trouble somehow. But she’d seen nothing that proved the man meant the girl harm.
She pulled her cell phone from her purse and flipped it open. If she called for help, the police would want a reason, an indication that this was more than merely an intense intuition.
The man turned onto a lesser traveled street, and finally Becky knew she had no other option. If he led them into a deserted area, he’d certainly see her following him, and then the girl could be in more trouble than before. For that matter, if he had a gun, she and the girl could both be at risk.
Without giving the matter another thought, Becky dialed 9-1-1 and waited.
A voice came on the line in an instant. “Nine-one-one. What’s your emergency?”
“I’m following a man whom I believe has kidnapped a teenage girl.” Becky ran her tongue over her lips and tried to sound believable. “She looked scared to death.”
The emergency operator asked for Becky’s location and she gave it. Three minutes later, a police car with flashing lights came up behind Becky, passed her, and pulled over the man and the teenage girl.
Becky stopped also and sat in the car while the drama played out. One officer asked the man at the wheel to step out while his partner patted him down. That’s when Becky saw it.
The second officer froze and then pulled a gun from the man’s pocket. For an instant, the man tried to run away, but the first officer tackled him to the ground, and within seconds the man was cuffed and placed in the back of the squad car.
Becky climbed out of her car then, her knees trembling from what she’d just witnessed. She approached the car, where officers were talking to the girl, and explained that she was the witness, the person who had seen the man lead the girl through the parking lot.
The teenager was sobbing, shaking from fear and explaining what had happened. “We . . . we were shopping and I forgot my wallet in the car. So . . . I went out to get it and I felt—” She pointed to her side. “—something against my waist.” She sobbed twice and squeezed her eyes shut. “I looked and that . . . that man had a gun pointed at me. He told me to start walking or he’d shoot.”
Becky felt the color drain from her face. What if she hadn’t heeded the thought from God, the direction to follow the car? The girl would be on her way to being raped and possibly killed. The police were making their report, so Becky approached the girl, introduced herself, and explained how she had witnessed the man forcing her to the car and called for help.
Though she was still terrified, still shaking, the girl got out of the car and shook Becky’s hand. “Thank you so much.” She folded her arms and began to shiver. “Could . . . could you wait for my dad to get here? He’s on his way; he’d want to thank you, too.”
Becky agreed. Not so much so the girl’s father could thank her, but because the girl looked like she needed someone besides the police to stay with her. Five minutes passed, and finally a Jeep pulled up behind Becky’s car. It was dark, but Becky watched as a tall man jumped out and ran toward them. His eyes were locked only on the teenage girl.
“Laura . . . thank God.” He took the girl in his arms and held her.
Becky moved back a few steps,
intent on bidding the father and daughter a quiet good-bye and getting on her way. But the girl pulled from her father’s arms. “You have to meet Becky. She’s the one who followed us and called for help.”
The man turned to Becky, and suddenly they both froze. Becky stared at his face, his eyes, and gasped quietly. “Scott?”
“Becky . . . How did you . . .”
“I’m here on business. I . . .” Becky’s legs trembled, and her heart beat in a pattern she didn’t recognize. “I can’t believe this.”
Laura was still standing next to her father, and now she looked from Becky to her dad and back again. “You know each other?”
“Yes. In fact, we do.” Scott smiled and gave Becky a hug, one that stirred up memories for both of them.
In a matter of minutes, with traffic whizzing by and police officers finishing up their report, Scott and Becky learned that each was single, and that in fact they’d been wondering about each other for years. When they left that night, they went to a diner and caught up. Not until the evening was almost finished did Laura put what had happened into context.
“We were part of a miracle tonight,” she said as she sipped on a glass of root beer. “God brought you two friends together, and he did it by having Becky save my life. Only God does that sort of stuff.”
Scott and Becky agreed Laura was right. And they still remind themselves often of that miracle, especially each June when they celebrate their wedding anniversary. And remember the strange and miraculous way God brought them back together again.
In Need of a Friend
Bonner Davis knew the end was near, but he could do nothing to change his situation. He had advancing throat cancer, mounting medical bills, and no way to pay for the experimental treatment that could save his life.
A retired forest ranger, Bonner and his wife, Angela, lived in North Carolina where they existed on his meager pension and a faith bigger than the Smoky Mountains. Once in a while, Bonner would share his fears with Angela. She was his best friend, and though he looked forward to heaven, he didn’t want to leave her.
Angela’s answer was always the same. “God knows what we need, Bonner. I’m praying for a miracle, and somehow . . . somehow I believe he’ll give us one.”
In nearby Spartanburg, millionaire Olsen Matthews was celebrating his sixtieth birthday. Single and without any close friends, Olsen chose to spend his day in the air. He was a novice pilot who always felt more complete when he was alone in his small Cessna plane.
Sunshine reigned that afternoon, and Olsen savored the familiar rush as he took to the air. He’d been in the air twenty minutes when the rush faded to a sort of soul-searching, which often happened when Olsen flew. What was life about, anyway? He had more money than he knew what to do with, but not a single person he could call a friend.
Sure, Olsen had advisors and peers he did business with. But he had no family, no friend who cared about him.
This time as he flew, gazing down at the rolling hills and valleys, another thought filled Olsen’s heart: What about God? All his life he’d denied the idea of both creation and Creator, but now . . . with his life waning toward the sunset years, he sometimes wondered.
What if God was real? What if he had a few things to do before he died in order to be right with that God? The possibility set his nerves on edge and made him wish once more for a friend. Someone he could share his thoughts with. Perhaps even someone who knew something about God and why so many people believed in him.
Olsen was about to turn his plane around and soar back over the mountains when he heard a sharp pop. At the same instant, the engine cut out. Olsen felt a wave of adrenaline rush through his veins, but he stayed calm. He’d never lost an engine before, but there were ways to handle the situation. He flipped a series of switches designed to restart the motor, but none of them worked.
Okay, he told himself, time for Plan B.
If the engine wouldn’t reengage, Olsen’s only hope was to glide the plane in lazy circles toward the ground and make an emergency landing. By using the wing flaps and other instruments, he could slow the speed of the aircraft and still walk away.
At the same time, the plane could catch a wrong current and plummet to the ground.
“God!” He called the name out loud, and he heard the fear in his voice. “If you’re real, help me. I’m not ready to go.”
Two minutes passed in textbook fashion, but then, as Olsen had feared, a strong current dropped the right wing of the plane and the craft began to tumble. Olsen had another thousand feet to go before hitting land, but as the plane fell he spotted a lake. Water, he thought. That’s my only hope. Landing in the trees or on the hilly ground would cause the Cessna to disintegrate on impact.
“Water, God . . . If you’re listening, lead me to the water.”
The ground was rushing up to meet him. Suddenly his plane fell to the left and Olsen could see he was going to hit the small lake. The last thing he remembered was the sound of water breaking over his plane and the rush of ice-cold wetness filling the cabin. Suddenly the craft jolted to a stop and Olsen smacked his head on the doorframe.
After that, there was only darkness.
Bonner was pouring himself a glass of iced tea when he saw a small plane tumble into view and freefall into the lake at the edge of his property.
“Angela, quick! Call 9-1-1. A plane just crashed into the lake.”
After years of outdoor training and living, Bonner had always been in good shape. But the cancer medication had taken its toll, and as he ran toward the lake he could barely catch his breath. Fifty yards, a hundred, two hundred, and finally he reached the shore.
The situation was more grim than he’d thought.
The wing of the plane jutted out of the water, but it was otherwise buried in a section of the lake some ten feet deep and seventy-five yards off shore. No one else must have seen the crash, because he was the only one standing at the water’s edge looking for signs of life.
His heart raced within him, and he still hadn’t caught his breath. But he had no choice. Whoever was in the plane was drowning even at that very moment. Before he jumped in, he uttered a silent prayer. God, if I don’t make it back to shore, let Angela know how much I love her.
Then he dove in and headed as hard and fast as he could toward the plane. Because of his weakened condition, the swim took Bonner twice as long as it normally would have. After five minutes, he reached the wing and though his lungs were already burning from the effort, he sucked in as much air as he could and dove down. His heart pounded, filling his senses with an urgency that drove him deep, deeper toward the fuselage door. He tried twice to open it, and finally on the third try, the door swung free.
Bonner was out of air.
He swam to the surface, nauseated from the effort, grabbed another breath, and went back down. This time he found the pilot in seconds and felt around until he was sure the person was alone. Feeling as though he could die at any moment, Bonner dragged the unconscious man to the surface. They weren’t out of danger yet, and that terrified Bonner because, simply, he was out of energy.
Help me, God. Help me. Bonner let the words play in his mind again and again as he kept himself and the man afloat. It took no time to realize that the pilot wasn’t breathing.
Swimming with a strength that wasn’t his own, Bonner dragged the pilot back to shore. On the beach, despite his exhaustion he managed to administer CPR. He was three minutes into the process when an emergency crew arrived and took over. He barely made it to the edge of a grove of trees before he dropped to the ground, unable to go on.
At almost the same time, Angela came running toward him. “Bonner!” She waved down one of the paramedics and Bonner heard her explain about his cancer. “Help him, please.”
The emergency worker moved quickly and hooked Bonner up to intravenous fluids. They took him to the local hospital, and four hours later he was ready to go home. Before he left, he heard the news about the pilot. The CPR had
saved his life.
Bonner figured that might be the end of the situation, but the next day he received a visit from the pilot.
“My name’s Olsen Matthews. You saved my life.” The man shook Bonner’s hand. “The paramedics said you were praying out loud, thanking God at the scene.”
“Yes.” Bonner stared at the man. He looked wonderful, considering he should have died in the plane crash. “My wife and I were both praying.”
The man’s eyes grew watery. “Thank you for that.” He motioned toward Bonner’s house. “Could I come in?”
The two talked for almost an hour. Olsen explained that he’d heard from his doctors about Bonner’s cancer. “I have a check for you, something to help with your medical costs.” The man shrugged and gave Bonner a slight smile. “Maybe it’ll help you get the care you need.”
Then Olsen asked Bonner about God. And with Angela at his side, Bonner told him about their faith and about living a life right before God. At the end of the conversation, Olsen and Bonner prayed.
“Could you be my friend, Bonner? Someone I could visit now and then, someone to talk to about God?”
A smile lifted the corners of Bonner’s mouth. He squeezed Angela’s hand. “Definitely.”
“Good.” Olsen stood to leave. “I was asking God about a friend when I crashed. And now he’s worked everything out.” Olsen walked to the door, looked over his shoulder, and grinned. “I think he’s going to work everything out for you, too, Bonner.”
When the man was gone, Bonner turned to Angela and remembered the check. “He gave me something, a thank-you gift.”
“Well, open it up.” Angela stood beside him, peering at the folded check.
Bonner did, and both he and Angela fell silent, shocked.
The check was for one million dollars. In the note section it read only, “Use this to get better.”
Bonner did just that. In the months that followed he tried the costly experimental treatment. Three years later, in one of their many times together, Bonner and Olsen agreed that God had done more than take part in the miracle of Olsen’s rescue and Bonner’s healing.