B
onner 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.
He also gave them the miracle of new friendship.
A
s Taylor Evans climbed the damaged utility pole that cloudy afternoon in Oklahoma City, two thoughts occurred to him. First, he hadn’t heard from his best friend, Aaron, in six months. And second, he no longer expected to.
Taylor stared at the light fixture some thirty feet above him and began to climb. He hadn’t pictured himself working for the electric company when he graduated from college, but the job had come up, and now he was close to being made foreman. The job paid well, tasks were usually simple to complete, and after twenty years he’d have a better pension than most.
That afternoon, the problem was with the light itself. The bulb had been changed the week before, but now the new one had burned out. No doubt the wires were frayed, and it was Taylor’s job to determine where.
He glanced at the increasing clouds overhead and whispered a familiar prayer.
Get me down safely, God. Get me down safely.
His climb continued five feet, ten, closer to the light fixture. As he moved, his mind wandered again and images of Aaron came once more. They’d been closer than brothers, able to read each other’s thoughts almost before they had time to think them. High school had been a blast, the two of them playing football and basketball for Central High School, and the same had been true for junior college.
Back then, Aaron had been good enough to win a scholarship, if only he would have worked harder on his academics. His grade-point average was such that he talked Taylor into spending their first two years at the local community college, where they could both play football and Aaron could hope for a scholarship once his grades were up.
The first season was going better than either of them had dreamed when the injury happened.
Aaron was a tight end. One night a particular play had him cutting left and running ten yards for the catch. But a linebacker from the opposing team caught his pattern almost as soon as the ball was snapped. Aaron took a direct, full-force blow to his knee and collapsed to the ground. He had to be taken from the field on a stretcher to the hospital, where doctors delivered the devastating news.
His knee was destroyed. Several operations would be necessary to give Aaron back mobility and range, and he would have to learn to walk again. But his days of playing football were over forever.
That was the beginning of the end, Taylor thought, as he kept climbing the utility pole. He’d prayed for Aaron for months and years on end after that, rescuing him from parties where he was stone drunk, taking him to counseling centers where he could get help for the depression that plagued him, and most of all telling him about God.
But Aaron didn’t want help, didn’t want to hear about answers.
Instead he drew farther from Taylor every year. Finally, that past spring, Aaron told Taylor their friendship was over.
“I don’t want your answers, Taylor.” Aaron’s voice was cold and bitter, without a trace of the warm humor that had been his trademark through high school. “Leave me alone, Taylor. We’re finished.”
Three times since then Taylor had called. But always Aaron’s attitude was the same. And now . . . now that fall was here, Taylor was beginning to accept the idea. The guy he’d thought he’d stay friends with forever was finally and completely out of his life.
Aaron Grant walked out of the church hall and smiled at the stormy sky above. How had he been so blind before, and how could he have let losing football nearly cost him his soul?
Two months earlier, Aaron had been at a bar, too drunk to sit up straight, when his former coach walked in and spotted him. The man came up alongside Aaron, his face a mix of sorrow and surprise. “Aaron, how are you?”
Aaron didn’t remember much about the conversation, only that his words were too slurred to understand. After a few more attempts, his old coach had shrugged and walked away.
Even in his drunken stupor, Aaron realized what had just happened. The man he’d played ball for, the man who’d dreamed with him and believed in him, had just walked away from him in disgust.
Suddenly every poor decision he’d made since his knee injury came flooding back, and there on the stool where he could barely manage to sit, Aaron hit rock bottom. The next day he was seized with remorse for the way he’d treated his best friend. Hadn’t Taylor always been there? Hadn’t he only wanted the best for Aaron?
Memories flooded his heart all that morning, times when Taylor had forced him through his rehabilitation exercises, times when the two of them had run together, with Taylor always shouting at him to push harder, faster.
Now that he’d made a decision to change, Aaron wanted to call Taylor more than anything, but he knew he couldn’t.
Not yet.
First he would get his act together, find out about this God that Taylor talked about so often, and walk away from alcohol altogether. Then, in a few months, he’d be ready. He could call Taylor and thank him for being the best friend anyone could ever have. And maybe, if God was willing, there would be some small way he could thank Taylor for never giving up. Even when Aaron asked him to do so.
The next two months passed in a blur of intensity. The same effort Aaron had once given on the football field he now gave to getting his life together. He sought counseling for his depression and alcohol abuse and took a job working at the local supermarket. At night he started his college classes up again, and three times a week he attended a church near his house for services and Bible studies.
That afternoon, with storm clouds building overhead, Aaron knew it was time. He’d known it from the moment they read the Bible verse for the day, the one that talked about encouraging each other daily. Encouragement had been Taylor’s ultimate gift to Aaron, even though that gift had been rejected. Now, though, Aaron could hardly wait to get home and call Taylor.
It was time he and Taylor reconnected, time for Aaron to start repaying the favor and do some encouraging of his own. As he drove across town, rain began to fall and in the distance sharp bolts of lightning pierced the afternoon sky.
Aaron smiled and hummed a song about God’s grace. No storm could dim his excitement. He was ten minutes from home, ten minutes from calling Taylor and making everything right again. No matter what else the day might bring, Aaron could hardly wait.
The storm was making Taylor nervous. Clouds shooting off lightning bolts were drawing nearer every few minutes.
Taylor was at the top of the utility pole now, and he knew the protocol: Get down immediately in case of an electrical storm. But Taylor had worked the job for long enough to know how much time he had. Ten minutes at least, maybe fifteen. He was nervous, sure, but he wouldn’t be stupid.
He opened the glass fixture and saw the problem—frayed wires at the back of the bulb, so damaged that one of them wasn’t connected at all. Taylor went right to work, all the while keeping one eye on the storm.
Three minutes, God. Help me be safe for three minutes. Then I’ll be done and I’ll climb back down.
At that instant his cell phone rang.
Because he was a specialist for the company, his personal phone had two distinct rings. One for normal incoming calls and one with short staccato beeps for emergencies. This time the ring was short staccato beeps. Taylor let his head fall forward in frustration. An emergency? Now? When he was so close to completing the task and getting down the pole?
For a single moment, he thought about ignoring the call, but that would never do. Someone could be trapped on a pole or injured on a job site. When the ring came in as an emergency, he had to take it. He flipped his phone from his pocket, holding onto the pole and his safety harness, and barked a short hello.
A few words sounded on the other end, but nothing Taylor could make out. His frustration doubled. This happened once in a while when the utility pole would interfere with phone reception.
“Fine.” He mumbled the word and began the arduous climb back down the pole. When he reached the bottom, rain began to fall, and he slipped inside his car to make the call. At that exact moment, Taylor felt the hair on the back of his neck stand straight up. Before he could blink, a blinding bolt of lightning zapped the utility pole twenty feet away, slicing across the very spot where Taylor had been working a minute earlier.
The place where he’d still be if it weren’t for the phone call.
Seconds passed, and Taylor could do nothing but stare at the smoking tip of the utility pole. He would have been dead instantly from the jolt, no question about it. Finally, as the shock began to wear off, Taylor drew a steadying breath and closed his eyes.
God, you saved me from certain death. Thank you . . . and thank you for whoever called me on the—
His thoughts came to an abrupt stop. He hadn’t checked on the message. Somewhere someone was having an emergency, and they had been counting on him to answer his phone. He pressed a series of buttons to check the previous caller’s phone number and saw it was both familiar and local. But he couldn’t place where he’d seen it before.
He pressed the Send button and waited.
On the third ring, Aaron Grant answered. “Hello?”
“Aaron?” Taylor’s mind was reeling. Of course. The number was Aaron’s landline, a number Taylor had rarely called since Aaron took most of his messages through his cell phone.
“Taylor, you won’t believe it.” The man sounded serious, more clear headed than he had in years. “I’ve changed, Taylor. I had to call you and tell you so myself. Can we meet for dinner sometime this week?”
Could they meet for dinner? Taylor gave a light shake of his head and tried to clear the cobwebs. Something wasn’t making sense here. “Did you call me on my emergency line?”
A pause filled the other end. “No. Just your normal cell phone number.”
“That’s impossible.” Taylor glanced out the window at the black mark near the top of the utility pole. “I was working. I wouldn’t have come down if . . .”
Suddenly the pieces fell into place.
The ring had come through as an emergency by some divine mistake, some God-directed miracle. A chuckle sounded in his throat and he realized his palms were sweaty. How appropriate that God would use Aaron this way, just when it seemed that the two might never talk again. “You know something, Aaron?” His words were careful and filled with sincerity as he spoke to his long-lost friend. “I think you just saved my life.”
“No man, that’s not it.” Aaron’s voice was troubled. “I’m calling to thank you for saving mine. Hoping you’ll . . . hoping you’ll forgive me.”
“Tell you what.” Taylor slipped his keys into the ignition. “Let’s meet at the diner near the junior college. You aren’t going to believe what just happened.”