“What is it, Rob?” Peter was on his feet, standing behind him and touching the side of his arm. “What’s the news?”
Rob wanted to talk but he couldn’t. He was on holy ground, after all. Completely holy. Hours after he and his wife had prayed for a miracle, a man he hadn’t seen in fourteen years walked up to him and a few hours later they had their daughter’s match?
It was like something from a dream.
Rob stayed there, unmoving, trying to convince himself it was real. The phone fell to the floor, and he vaguely noticed his wife picking it up and learning the news for herself. In a matter of seconds, she relayed the information to Peter, and the three of them hugged and shouted and thanked God.
The surgery took place later that week, and no one was surprised when the transplant was a complete success. The miracle that had begun when Rob stepped into Peter’s life and helped him meet Maryanne was finally complete. Peter had done the thing he’d always wanted to do—repay Rob for his kindness.
But only God could have brought the two together at that time, when Peter might repay his friend by giving away a part of himself and in the process saving Rob’s little girl.
T
he two doctors had been friends and partners for twenty years. Their mannerisms and mindsets were so similar, they often joked that even their wives could barely tell them apart.
“Kindred spirits,” William Sutter sometimes said.
And his best friend, Harry Bateman, would laugh and nod his head. “Kindred spirits.”
Ten years after starting their practice, the two men found land in a remote canyon outside Cottonwood, Arizona. The drive was long and winding, and during monsoon season it could get treacherous, but the friends found the extra effort worth every minute.
They bought properties a few miles from each other and moved their families out into the desert.
One night in late August, Harry and his wife were watching a movie at a theater in Sedona when Harry was seized by a strange and sudden thought. Will was in trouble; he was sure of it.
About that time, a clap of thunder sounded above the movie and he jerked in his seat.
“It’s just a storm, Harry.” His wife took his hand, her voice barely a whisper. “Why so jumpy?”
“Will’s in trouble. I have a feeling.”
Both doctors had been Christians forever. Therefore, though their region was given to New Age philosophies, neither of them paid heed to the energies or feelings their patients sometimes talked about.
But this . . . this was something Harry simply couldn’t deny. He grabbed hold of his seat’s armrests and leaned close to his wife. “Let’s go. I have to find him.”
Twenty-one miles away, Will Sutter was in a world of trouble.
His wife and daughter were out of town visiting family on the east coast, so he’d gone out by himself for bread and milk. On the way home, just as he turned onto the canyon road that led to his house, a monsoon unlike any Will had ever seen before let loose.
Signs bordered the canyon warning of landslides and flash floods, but in the ten years the families had lived off the road, neither had happened. Now, though, Will began to worry. Rain was coming down in sheets, and he couldn’t be sure but it looked as if the earth along parts of the hillside had given way.
He moved slowly along, determined to make it home before the roads grew any worse. At that exact moment a car came from the opposite direction. As it neared, it halted and flashed its lights. Will stopped and rolled his window down just enough to see the driver, a white-haired man with light eyes that almost glowed in the dark of the stormy night.
“Can’t get through,” the man shouted at him. “Part of the road’s gone.”
Will had a sinking feeling in his gut. He had to get through; where would he spend the night if he didn’t get home? Besides, the road couldn’t be that bad. Whatever was wrong with it would be fixed the next morning, and everything would be fine.
As long as he managed to get home.
Will stuck his hand out the window and waved at the man. “Thanks,” he yelled. “I’ll take my chances.”
The man looked hard at him and showed no signs of leaving. Will pulled himself from the man’s stare and hit the gas pedal.
Strange guy,
he thought. And what was he doing on the remote canyon road, anyway? Will had never seen him before.
Will kept driving, going slower with each turn. After a few minutes, the strange man in the pickup truck was forgotten. Suddenly, without warning, a wall of water and mud crashed against his Suburban and pushed it toward the edge of the canyon. The drop was more than two hundred feet in that area and Will could do nothing to stop his vehicle from heading there.
“God! Help me!” Will shouted the words, glancing quickly at his surroundings. He had a few seconds at best before the flash flood and flowing hillside pushed him into the canyon. “Please, God . . . help!”
Then, suddenly, his Suburban jolted to a stop.
Will blinked, his fingers in a death grip around the steering wheel. What had happened? He looked out his driver-side window and saw that the water and mud were still flowing against his car, but not as strongly as before. Every few seconds he could feel his front tires slip a little toward the edge of the canyon, but still his vehicle held.
When it looked as if the flow had stopped, he tried to open his door and escape. But the movement of his body caused his Suburban to lurch a few feet closer to the edge.
Okay, God.
His heart pounded and he forced himself to stay as still as possible.
Give me a miracle, please. Get me out of this.
Back at the theater, Harry and his wife had just climbed into their Explorer when a pickup truck pulled up next to the driver’s door. Harry was trembling now, desperately worried about Will without any reason for feeling that way. He rolled down his window and looked at the man. Something about him seemed strange, otherworldly. His hair was bright white, and his eyes held an unnatural light.
Harry frowned at the man. “Can I help you?”
“Do you have a winch?” The man motioned back down the road. “There’s a guy off Old Canyon Highway stuck in the mud. He’s gonna need a winch.”
Old Canyon Highway? That was the road he and Will lived on. Harry struggled to find his words. “I’m headed that way; I’ll see what I can do.”
The entire drive back toward Cottonwood, the feeling that Will was in danger only grew stronger for Harry. But as he turned onto the highway, he looked for a car stuck in the mud, since he’d promised the guy in the pickup he’d help.
“Do you think maybe this is a little crazy?” Harry’s wife took his hand and gave him a curious look. “Will is home tonight, remember? His family’s out of town.”
“I don’t care.” He met his wife’s gaze and hoped she’d see how serious he was. “I’ve never felt like this in my life. He’s in trouble, and God wants me to help him. That has to be it.”
They kept driving, and Harry noticed sections of the road that were nearly buried in mud. The rain had stopped by then, but the damage it had caused was evident everywhere. “Flash floods,” he told his wife. “That must be what that guy in the pickup was talking about.”
One more turn and another straightaway and Harry’s breath caught in his throat. There, ahead of them, was Will’s car, the headlights flashing. It had slid sideways off the road toward the canyon’s edge, and though a bank of mud remained wedged against the driver’s door, a tree stump on the passenger side kept the Suburban from going over.
“Dear God, let me help him.” Harry pulled over but stopped short of wading through the mud toward Will’s car. “Will! It’s me. Are you in there?”
“Yes!” Will’s voice was higher than usual, tense and worried. “Stay there. I’m not stable. One wrong move and—”
At that instant, Will’s car slid another few inches away from the stump, closer to the canyon’s edge.
“I’ve got a winch. Hold on!” As Harry said the words, a chill ran down his spine. Suddenly he could picture the man in the pickup asking him if he had a winch, telling him that a man was stuck on Old Canyon Highway. How had the man driven from the remote canyon spot where Will was stuck to the theater parking lot in search of someone with a winch?
He had no time to analyze the situation. Cell phones didn’t work on that stretch of the road, so a rescue would be up to him. If he left for help, it could be too late. Moving as fast as possible, he found his winch and, using a nearby tree for support, braced the Suburban in six places. Just as he attached the last rope, the Suburban pulled away from the tree stump and slid freely toward the edge of the canyon.
But Harry’s ropes held, and the vehicle stopped a few feet short of going over.
“Praise God!” Will shouted from inside his car. “I’m getting out.” He climbed through the back door, and using the ropes for support he made his way to Harry’s car.
There the two men compared notes and realized something strange. They’d both had an encounter with the man in the pickup—a strange man with white hair and glowing eyes, whom neither of them had seen before that night.
“Do you think maybe . . .” Harry’s wife was the first one to make the suggestion. “Could he have been an angel?”
The more the three talked about the possibility, the more it seemed the only answer. How else would Harry have felt driven to find his best friend at the very moment of his greatest need? And who else would have known where to find Harry at the theater, and in which direction to send him?
For a long moment no one said anything. They didn’t have to, really. God in his miraculous wonder had said enough for all of them.
S
cott Miller was forever second-guessing himself as a single father. His wife had left him and their two children fifteen years ago, and now little Laura was a full-fledged teenager. For the most part, Scott figured he had a good relationship with Laura, but sometimes—nights like that one—he wasn’t sure.
The evening had started out like any other, except it was Friday. For years, Fridays had been the nights Scott and Laura and her brother, Ben, settled down with a bag of microwave popcorn and watched a family movie. But three months earlier, when Laura turned sixteen, everything had begun to change. The occasional phone calls Laura once received became half a dozen every night.
Her friends seemed to have something fun going on every night, but Scott laid down the law early on. “Only once a week, Laura. No more. You need family time and study time. You’re too young to be out every few days.”
Most of the time Laura agreed.
But that night she’d gotten a call from two of her favorite girlfriends. They were all planning to attend the same slumber party the next night, so they wanted to know if Laura could go shopping with them. Just for a few hours.
“Please, Dad? Come on, everyone’s going.”
Scott leaned against the living-room wall and leveled his gaze at his daughter. “You know the rule, Laura. Once a week.”
“Yeah, but Dad, this isn’t a night thing, it’s shopping. Really. We’ll be back before nine.”
“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.