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Miraculous provision

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  A blanket of shock clouded my mind as my sister Arlene and I drove along. We’d just been at the hospital visiting my close friend Suzanne, who had suddenly become seriously ill. Shafts of memory pierced gentle clouds of reminiscing as we travelled towards home. Su and her family were an important part of my life and I had always expected she’d be here long after I’d gone. She was younger and fitter than I was. Rarely sick. Her sister Libby had rung me. ‘Jeanette, Suzanne’s very sick.’ I wept into my phone as Libby told me the details. Su was suddenly terminally ill. Suzanne – dying? Well, let’s say it as I see it, after all: Suzanne leaving us to relocate in her dwelling place in heaven. But …already? A few days after I’d received this shocking news, Libby rang me again. ‘Jeanette, she’s going down fast. You’d better come up and visit her now .’ So my sister Arlene and I drove up to Su’s house ( oh, Lord, so many happy memories here ). Libby drove us down to ...
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The miraculous rebirth of Jodie's Story - another type of God whisper

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  I’ve used my friend’s ‘street name’. ‘Jodie’ is not her real name.   I dialled the number slowly. Could I really ask this of Jodie? Her story in the biographical novel, Jodie’s Story, now published twice in different editions, had already sold many thousands of copies. Jodie was now happily married with adult children. Would she want to revisit that dark part of her youth? – the part that had, ironically, helped and inspired so many young people. Could I ask it of her? ‘Hello, Jodie speaking.’ ‘Jodie, it’s Jeanette.’ We chatted, then I took a deep breath. ‘You’ll never guess. Another publisher wants to publish your story again. That’ll be three editions. You can say ‘no’ if you want to. Or …’ Jodie was silent for a minute, then, ‘Let me think about it. I’ll get back to you.’                               Photo Pixabay   A few days later, while I was thinking, Two editions is pro...
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Looking back in wonder

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  Looking Back in Wonder … to the Day It all Began   A while ago, I met some old school friends. I hadn't seen them for many years. Since before I became a Christian. One of them looked at me, eyes wide with horror, and asked, 'Why did you do it?' I realised she meant, why did you become a Christian? So I told her a little bit of it. I understood her surprise. I'd been one of 'The Girls Least Likely' (variation of Rebecca Sparrow's title) to become a Christian.  Most of my story is contained in earlier blog posts  – the atheist tutor who demanded I give up any belief in God or FAIL, my six-month argument with him, his (temporary) victory … then the search for meaning in a godless life, and at last, the experience of hearing a man read from the Bible on our veranda, which caused an astonishing illumination in my mind. Suddenly everything made sense.   It was like a thousand-piece jigsaw putting its pieces to...
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Manna

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    Names used are not the people’s real names. This is a true story though.   Oh no! I was a young Christian and had just completed my short-term Bible College course. The head of the College had just announced, ‘Ask God where He wants you to go.’ Meaning, which country to do missionary work. I was horrified. I had no feeling of being called anywhere. I was happy living in Brisbane, doing evangelistic work, and relief teaching which I loved. I had a boyfriend/cum fiancé. Was I meant to go somewhere different? I must be. That man always seemed to know what God wanted. Christianity was new for me and I sometimes found things like this puzzling. I thought of my sister and her husband doing missionary work in New Ireland (PNG) and had vaguely   heard someone say they wanted a teacher there … so I applied and was accepted as one of their missionary group. If it didn’t work out, I told myself, I could always have a tropical beach holiday with my sister and her ...
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My own little miracle

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  That awful pain     1984 Heavy set-in rain beats against the side of the grimy old plastic and metal phone booth. Water gushes in filthy streams down the sides. I shiver and try not to breathe in the stink of cigarette smoke and unwashed clothes.   Outside the world is grey.   Everywhere I look there’s pouring rain, gloomy skies, bodies huddling under poking umbrellas. Damp people scurry across the puddly road, horns blare irritably. Car headlights splash smudges of light through the driving rain.   Everything seems depressing outside – and inside. Pain nags at my back, drags down my leg. The doctor’s words clang in my mind, over and over. I’ve just come from the appointment. He frowned as he poked and prodded my sore stomach, then called his doctor-wife to prod some more.   They disappeared behind a screen, then he emerged, serious-faced. His words shattered my heart. Handing me some forms, he announced, ‘You need to have these ...
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Turning Point

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The day began like any other day in spring in Brisbane, many years ago. I was looking forward to it - a  day out on the Sunshine Coast with four friends. 'I'd like to drive up early, before the traffic,' Rowie told us. 'Like, leave about six.' So at six o'clock on a fine morning, we huddled into Rowie's big old station wagon. Soon we were speeding up the highway to the coast.   Rowena was driving, alert but tired. We three in the back seat tried to stay awake. At that time I lived in a no-man's land, almost but not quite a Christian, still finding my way and I loved the time together singing Christian songs and laughing. After a while, we three in the back seat were dozing. 'Look at the Glass Houses!' Sue said.       I forced myself to open my eyes, not wanting to miss anything. The first rays of sun shafted over the horizon, misting the paddocks with gold.   I peered sleepily at great hulks of rock towering above us as we passed th...
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A moving dilemma - Part Two

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    A man plans his ways but the Lord directs his steps   Proverbs 16:9   Once again I have changed all the names except that of Pastor Gerald Rowlands.   So … I was moving to Nambour, hoping to have a small farm to grow vegetables AND I’d have Ps Gerald Rowlands as my pastor, but we had yet to find our elusive house. I was returning to the region I loved. I was excited, too, that God had so clearly directed me to live there. But we needed a house to live in.   Sue and I scrutinised the papers and rang estate agents. There was nothing. I began to wonder if I’d misunderstood God’s leadings.   Again, Anne came to the rescue. The phone rang early one cold morning. I huddled in the hallway in my dressing gown, as Anne bubbled, ‘Nettie, I’ve found your house!’ She described it – an old Queenslander set in the hills outside Nambour. Plenty of room. A lovely outlook. It sounded perfect. I arranged to go and stay with Sue, on the ...
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