A Treasury of Miracles for Teens Page 11

  But the more determined she was to wait until later to eat, the more persistent became the urge to stop. Now. As she drew closer to the fast-food restaurant, Amy’s skin became hot and tingly and she felt light-headed. She exhaled hard and slumped in her seat. She was prone to bouts of low blood sugar, but usually only if she skipped a meal. Still, there was no question her symptoms were just that.

  Can’t I wait, Lord? Do I have to eat now? I want to get home so badly, God.

  Just as she was about to pass the restaurant and proceed down the road, a voice rang through the car.

  “Stop and eat, Amy.”

  Her eyes flew open and she shot a look at the backseat. There was no one there, no one else in the car. At the same time she checked the radio. But it was off. A chill ran down her arms. She had heard the voice as clearly as if someone was sitting beside her. But with even the radio off, there was no logical explanation as to where it came from. Stop and eat? Amy played the words over in her mind.

  At the last possible instant, she stepped on the brake and turned into the fast-food restaurant parking lot toward the drive-through window.

  Still baffled by the voice and her own actions, Amy ordered a cheeseburger and then waited. She stared at the approaching clouds, her heart ricocheting strangely within her. The cashier seemed to take an eternity preparing and bagging her order.

  “Come on, hurry.” Amy leaned back against the headrest until finally her sandwich was ready. The sky was growing still darker, and she was terrified at what would happen if she didn’t get on the highway soon.

  Finally the cashier handed her the burger and Amy drove off. She was about to pull back into traffic when another wave of heat and clamminess washed over her. The feeling reminded her of a time when she’d broken her ankle and immediately afterwards fainted from the pain. But there was something different about the way she was feeling now. Almost as though the heat was emanating from somewhere inside her body. She saw an open parking spot and without thinking, she pulled her car into the spot and turned off the engine.

  “Why am I wasting so much time?” She was angry with herself, frustrated at her indecision and the strange feelings that nearly suffocated her. “I’ve got to get on the road. Mom and Dad’ll be scared to death about me.”

  Giving in, she loosened her coat and seat belt and ate the cheeseburger. Instantly she felt better, and in a moment the intense heat and clammy feeling were gone completely. Because she was prone to low blood sugar, there had been times when Amy had felt light-headed before. But never had eating caused those feelings to disappear so quickly.

  Her strength renewed, Amy strapped her seat belt back into place and eased her car into traffic. Although the sky was frighteningly dark, there was still no snow, and she whispered a prayer of thanks as she drove up the on ramp for Route 22 and began climbing toward the Summit.

  Minutes later, as her car continued to climb the mountainside, snowflakes hit her windshield. She drew a deep breath. Okay, Amy … you can do it. Please God … guide me. She flipped on the headlights and kept her eyes on the road ahead. Careful to leave a safe distance between her car and the one in front of her, she continued up the mountain.

  As she drew closer to the Summit, the snow began coming down in sheets.

  Fear wrapped its arms around her. She should have stayed back at the restaurant. Even if it meant waiting until the next day to go home, it would’ve been better than trying to cross the mountain range in a blinding snowstorm. Gripping the steering wheel tightly with both hands, Amy slowed some and continued up the road to the level place along the top of the Summit. Suddenly, without the protection of the mountain range, the snow completely engulfed the roadway. Amy was in the middle of a whiteout, with wind howling in different directions and huge snowflakes making it impossible to see more than a few feet.

  Amy’s heart beat wildly as she gently pumped the brakes. If someone hit her from behind, even a minor accident could send her through the guardrails, tumbling to certain death thousands of feet below. She fixed her eyes ahead, glancing occasionally into the rearview mirror. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t make out anything but the front of her own car.

  One minute passed, then two. Finally Amy saw that the car she was following had stopped. She could see only his taillights immediately in front of her and had no idea whether either of their cars were still on the highway. But at least she was no longer moving through the blinding snow, and when she saw lights stopping behind her as well, she allowed herself to feel relieved. The traffic’s stopped everywhere, she thought. We’ll have to wait it out.

  Minutes passed and then abruptly, as quickly as it had settled over them, the snow cloud lifted and Amy could see that she was the tenth car behind a jackknifed tractor-trailer blocking the road. The driver was out of the cab walking around, and no other vehicles seemed to be involved.

  “Thank God no one’s hurt.” Amy picked up her cell phone and dialed her parents’ number.

  “It’s Amy. I got stuck in a snowstorm on the Summit.”

  “Honey, we’ve been worried sick.” There was relief in her father’s voice. “Is it safe now?”

  “The storm’s lifted. But there’s a jack-knifed truck in front of me. It could be awhile.” Amy hesitated. “Daddy, I’m sorry. I should’ve waited until the storm passed.”

  “Is it still snowing?”

  “No. It left as quickly as it came.”

  There was a pause on the other end. “Wait a minute.” A news program sounded in the background. “Amy, there’s an accident up there. Right where you are. Can you see it?”

  Amy peered ahead of her. “All I can see is the truck. Doesn’t look like any other cars are involved.”

  The traffic began to inch forward. “Be careful, honey. It’s still dangerous until the roads are clear.”

  “I know. The roads must be a mess everywhere.” Traffic continued to inch past the tractor-trailer, and Amy followed it. The moment she moved past the wreckage, she shrieked. “Dad … no! It’s too awful!”

  “What?” Her father’s voice was filled with alarm. “Amy, are you there?”

  “You can’t believe what I’m seeing.” Amy felt tears sting her eyes as she described the scene to her father. On the other side of the jackknifed truck there were dozens of cars smashed together, piled on top of each other in the ditch between the two sides of the highway.

  It was easy to see what had happened.

  When the whiteout came upon the Summit, the drivers must have done everything possible to avoid going over the cliffs. In doing so they had overcompensated and driven into the center ditch, hitting each other head-on in several cases.

  “I have to stop, Dad. Someone might need my help.”

  “Amy …” Her father stopped himself and sighed. “Please be careful, sweetheart. Call me when you get back into the car.”

  Amy hung up and pulled her car over. The man in the car in front of her did the same and climbed out, running toward the mangled stretch of vehicles. Moments later he returned and asked Amy if he could use her cell phone.

  “It’s unbelievable.” He pointed back to the mangled stretch of cars. “People are lying all over the road. Some of them look like they’re dead.” The man shook his head. His teeth chattered in the icy wind. “A few minutes earlier and we’d have been in that disaster. It makes you wonder, doesn’t it?”

  A sudden sense of knowing passed over Amy.

  “Is there anything I can do?”

  The man shook his head. “I’ll call for help. These people need a lot more than you or I can do.”

  While he placed the call, something on the floorboard of her car caught Amy’s eye. The crumpled empty cheeseburger wrapper! Suddenly it all made sense. If she hadn’t heeded the voice, if she hadn’t stopped and gotten something to eat, her car would be one of those caught in the massive accident. She might even be dead now.

  Amy closed her eyes and remembered something else. It had taken just seven minutes
for her to pull off the road, purchase the burger, and eat it. Seven minutes. But God had used that precious bit of time to keep her from certain tragedy.

  “Here you go.” The man’s voice interrupted her thoughts, and she opened her eyes. He handed her the phone. “They’re sending a dozen ambulances.” He turned to go. “I’m going to see if there’s anything else I can do. You stay here. It’s not something I’d want my daughter to see.”

  In minutes, ambulances arrived at the scene, and police ordered Amy and the other unharmed drivers in the area to remain in their cars as rescue vehicles raced to the accident victims. An hour later they were given permission to turn around and follow a police escort back down the highway, since the road was closed to all oncoming traffic.

  It took nearly three hours for Amy to drive home using a detour route. During that time she pondered the importance of prayer and the mercy of God. She also prayed for the victims who had not been spared. Why had she been allowed to live? And why had others died? Amy swallowed hard and kept her eyes on the road. It was hard to imagine that God had been so merciful to her and. yet had allowed many of the others to perish.

  Then she remembered something her father had told her once. The kindest thing God had ever done was provide a way to heaven through Jesus Christ. Today simply wasn’t her day to go home. And that was part of the mystery of God. He saw things differently, and only he knew the reasons why things had happened the way they did.

  Weeks later, a white cross was erected at the site of that afternoon’s horrific pileup on Route 22. Thirty vehicles had been involved in the accident, and nearly a dozen people had lost their lives. The cross was placed near one of the crucial signs warning of the perilously dangerous crosswinds that plague the Summit and the risk of sudden storms in the area.

  Amy still commutes across the Summit to and from school, but she has moved into a dorm and makes the trip less often. Still, every time she does, she drives by a certain fast-food restaurant, whispers a heartfelt thank-you to God, and remembers the day he used a cheeseburger to save her life.

  A Charlie Brown Christmas Miracle

  Greg Jamison had always been the most popular guy at school. Though some of his buddies drank, he had always stayed away from alcohol. Until that fateful winter week during Christmas break.

  Tall with dark hair and blue eyes, Greg was handsome and athletic. Every sport he played came easily to him. The trouble was it came too easily for him. Because of that he had stopped relying on God, stopped attending his parents’ church, and almost stopped believing altogether.

  That winter week, football season had ended and basketball hadn’t yet begun. Greg had used the time to attend a handful of parties and do something he had always meant to avoid—drink beers with his buddies. At first the alcohol had burned his throat, but after a while it wasn’t so bad. And the way he felt after a few drinks made talking to the girls even easier than usual.

  After a week of drinking with his friends, staying out late, and sleeping in until noon, one of his friends asked him to another party. But this time the stakes were higher.

  “I scored some pot,” his friend told him. “There’s nothing like it, man. You gotta go.”

  “Alright, cool. See ya there.” Greg’s stomach churned the moment he heard himself say the words.

  On the night of the party, he fought with his parents before leaving.

  “You’ve been out too much this week, Greg.” His mother caught up with him near the front door. “Stay home tonight. We’re watching A Charlie Brown Christmas.”

  For a single moment, a twinge of regret pierced Greg’s heart. Charlie Brown’s Christmas special had once been his favorite holiday movie. But that was a lifetime ago. The moment passed as quickly as it had come and Greg made a face. “I’m too old for that. And I’m too old to stay home during Christmas break.”

  His father had entered the conversation then. “Watch your tone, Son. As long as you’re living under our roof you need to show a little more respect.”

  Greg had uttered a few apologies and dashed out the door as quickly as he could. Now it was almost nine and he had spent the past hour driving the country roads near his Wichita, Kansas, home wondering what was happening to his life. Wasn’t it just last year that he had promised himself and his parents he’d never get involved in the party scene the way his friends had? And what about the sports he was involved in? His coaches wouldn’t want him if he got into drinking and drugs. And coaches knew about those types of things. If the basketball coaches got wind of what he’d been doing over Christmas break, they could cut him from the team.

  And what about God? Where did he fit in this picture? If there was a God—and his parents sure believed there was—then Greg was bound to be in big trouble. Because God would probably kick him out of the family for doing drugs that past week. But what if there was no God? What if you only lived your life and then died with no existence, no heaven or hell?

  The possibilities swirled through Greg’s mind, leaving him too confused to think straight. He leaned back against the headrest and drew in a slow breath. Why was he worrying about tomorrow, anyway? The party was probably in full swing by now. At least if he went there, he could forget about the huge questions banging around in his head. A few drugs wouldn’t hurt him, would they? And besides, he wouldn’t have to think about his future, at least until the morning.

  The longer Greg thought about his situation, the more convinced he became that he should go to the party. “A Charlie Brown Christmas …” He muttered the words out loud. “Like I’d wanna watch that when I could be out with my friends.”

  He was about to turn around and head toward the party when suddenly he spotted what looked like a prison guard hitchhiking along the side of the road. Greg had never picked up a hitchhiker, but something about the man suggested he was on the way to work and genuinely in need of a ride. The prison was about ten miles down the road, so it made sense. Maybe the guy’s car had broken down.

  Greg pulled over and rolled down his window. The man stooped down and looked inside. His eyes were a kind, gentle brown and his smile looked harmless.

  “Need a ride?”

  The guard nodded. “Thanks. I was hoping you’d stop.” His words were slow and carefully measured. “Car’s broken down.”

  “You work at the prison?” Greg motioned down the road. In the recesses of his mind he questioned what he was about to do. His parents had always told him not to pick up hitchhikers. But there was something trustworthy about the man—something Greg couldn’t quite figure out.

  “Yep.” The guard angled his head so he could see Greg better. “My shift starts in five minutes.”

  “Get in.” Greg unlocked the door. He hadn’t seen any broken-down cars alongside the roadway, but the man seemed kind enough. Greg was not afraid that his hitchhiking might be some kind of ruse to rob or harm him.

  As the man climbed inside, Greg glanced over and saw he was well into his fifties, with graying hair and a moustache. Somehow his face had a glow about it, even in the dark of night. His prison guard uniform was perfectly pressed, and he seemed strangely out of place in it.

  “What’s your name?” Greg picked up speed and headed toward the prison.

  “Ralph. Ralph Michaels. Worked at the prison for the past ten years.”

  Greg was silent a moment. The man beside him seemed unusually calm and relaxed, considering he was late for work and traveling with a stranger in an unfamiliar car after a breakdown of his own.

  After nearly a minute, the prison guard turned toward him, and again his face was full of light. “Now, why don’t you tell me what’s on your mind?”

  Greg was unsure what to make of the man, but he shrugged and started telling him his age and what he was studying in school.

  “No,” the man said softly. “Tell me about the crossroad.”

  Greg stared at the man, wondering how he could have known to ask such a question. “What do you mean?”

  “You
know what I mean. You have some choices you’re trying to make, don’t you?”

  Greg felt strangely uncomfortable, as if the man could somehow read his thoughts. But he shrugged once again, convincing himself that the man could not possibly have known anything about his personal life. The stranger was only lonely and looking for conversation.

  Still, Greg felt like talking. With a loud sigh, he began to tell the man the truth. He told him about his upbringing and how his parents prayed for him daily.

  “But I’m different now; that kind of life is in my past.” Greg waved his hand, his tone filled with frustration.

  “No.” The man’s voice was sudden and firm. Greg looked at him; he was shaking his head. “That kind of life is closer than you think.”

  “You’re a prison guard. What would you know?” Greg was suddenly irritated. His beliefs were none of this man’s business.

  “I do know.” The man’s answer was not defensive or angry, but he spoke with a finality that set Greg on edge.

  “Look … I don’t know who you are, but yeah, okay. I’m at a crossroads. I’ve been good all my life and now I want to find some things out for myself.” Greg peered over at the man. “Know what I mean?”

  The man said nothing. He stared straight ahead for several minutes before turning again toward Greg. “There’s only one right way. You know that, right?”

  “Look, I’m tired of talking.” The prison had just appeared on their right, and Greg pulled over. His tone was abrupt but he didn’t care. He had a party to get to. “Where can I drop you off?”

  The man smiled, his attitude unchanged by Greg’s rudeness. “This is fine.” He turned toward Greg once more. “Make the right choice, son. Now. You still have the chance, you know.” He climbed out, shut the door and paused. “Besides … A Charlie Brown Christmas isn’t so bad, is it, Greg?”