Good morning! How are we faithing? I want to do something I've never done before. I am going to share a friends story. It's much longer than the usual Daily but stay with it, you won't be disappointed. I'll let her tell it;
The Accident
The weather was unusually warm on Friday, May 25th, 2007. I opened all the windows in the house, and thought about how warm the church building would be for the Patriotic Program that night. Our ten year old son, Benjamin had been practicing with the Christian School, and would be standing in the front row with them, singing songs of salute to our country. My husband, Michael, had ridden his motorcycle to work, and planned to meet us at the church building that evening. Usually I would remember to bring a leather jacket and helmet for Ben to ride home with his Dad, but I got busy with other preparations, and forgot to put those things in the car. The program went well that night, and then (of course) there was a fellowship time downstairs. Eventually Michael told me he was leaving, so we gathered our things together and followed him outside. It was so warm that we didn’t need our sweaters, which is unusual for May in Maine. We stood outside laughing with teens, enjoying the unusual spring weather. Then Michael climbed on his motorcycle and started home.
We left shortly after, but stopped at the store to buy graduation cards. We kept finding funny ones, and were showing them to each other, giggling over the messages that were written inside. Sarah and Stephanie, ages 22 and 20, were light-hearted as they helped me make my selections. Their 18 year-old brother, Mike Jr. was graduating the next day from a Christian college in NH. We were planning to leave early in the morning to watch him graduate from that school’s one-year program. It was dark by the time we headed home. When we were less than three miles from home we came up behind a long line of traffic stopped in the road. Way up ahead we could barely see the red flashing lights of an emergency vehicle. After awhile, when I realized we weren’t moving at all, I dialed home to tell Michael we were held up. He didn’t answer. That was strange. Time went by, and I tried to reach him again. Still no answer. A detour would be twenty or thirty miles out of our way to get home, so we waited. I dialed several more times, but Michael still didn’t pick up. I didn’t say anything to Sarah, Stephanie or to Benjamin about my growing sense of uneasiness.
Finally, a volunteer emergency worker started telling people they’d have to turn around, and go another way. When the man came to tell us to turn around, we asked him if the accident was a car or a motorcycle. He said it was a car and a motorcycle.
We parked the car by the side of the road. I told the others to wait there, and I started walking toward the front of the line of traffic. My heart was pounding in my chest, dreading what I might find ahead. As I neared the fire engine, I could see a big motorcycle lying in the road. But I couldn’t tell in the dark if it was Michael’s. Besides, it was banged up pretty bad, and hard to recognize. Then a man stopped me, and gently guided me to the other side of the fire truck, where I couldn’t see the accident. “My name is Linda Handzel. My husband, Michael is driving a motorcycle, and I just want to know if that’s his bike.” The man answered: “My name is Chris, and I’m a volunteer for the fire department. Someone will come talk to you in a minute.” I didn’t understand. A few minutes went by, and a friend of our family, Craig Bowden, came toward me from the accident. He was the Fire Chief for the next town over. (Sometimes the towns answer each other’s calls.) “Hi Craig, I just wanted to know if that’s Michael’s bike.” Craig spoke quietly: “Someone will come to talk to you in a minute.” I still didn’t understand. “Craig, if it’s not Michael’s bike, just tell me, and I’ll go back to the car.” Again he replied: “Someone will come talk to you in a minute.” Then the two men just stood there in kindly silence. My mind raced through a hundred different thoughts. Why didn’t someone just tell me the answer to my question? Finally a sheriff came. He stood behind the other two men, looking at me over their shoulders. “My name is Sheriff Cote, and your husband was involved in that accident tonight.” I don’t remember if he said anything else. I looked at Craig as panic started to rise up into my throat. He opened his big, burly arms and I collapsed into them, sobbing. My mind couldn’t accept that my husband had crashed his motorcycle. He was so careful, he’d never had an accident in the 25 years I’d known him. I pulled away from Craig’s embrace and tearfully begged: “Craig, tell me you made a mistake! Tell me it’s not Michael!” He simply pulled me back into his arms, and for a moment he didn’t answer. Then he told me Michael’s accident was serious.
I don’t know how much time passed. Craig went back to the scene, but Chris put me into the seat of a paramedic truck. I asked for a phone right away, and called the church, asking someone to start the prayer chain. Then I called my friend Rozina and asked her to bring her two daughters, Laura and Brittney to help me tell my children. Those girls were older than my daughters, but they’d always been special friends to them. They lived only a couple of miles up the road from the intersection where the accident took place.
I knew the children would be waiting for me, but I couldn’t bring myself to go back to the car alone. So I waited. Chris stood there silently beside me. “It doesn’t matter how this turns out. I know God is in control, and that He’ll take care of us.” Chris nodded quietly. I don’t think he knew how to answer my ramblings about God. By now Craig had told me that the accident was ‘very serious’. My mind was numb. Still later Craig came back to the truck again, and told me they were doing CPR on Michael. I knew Michael would be all right. They’d ‘bring him back’, I was sure. At some point an ambulance pulled out, and headed past the line of traffic toward the medical center, located 30 miles away. After a time Rozina came with her two daughters. Then Craig, Chris, Rozina, Laura and Brittney all walked back to my car with me. When we came into view of the headlights, Sarah jumped out of the car, and started running toward me. She grabbed me and held on for dear life, sobbing into my arms: “Mom, you were gone too long!!” “Yes, I was gone too long.” was all that I could muster. I looked up to see that Craig had somehow wedged his husky form into the back of our car, and was hugging both Ben and Stephanie at the same time. Everyone was sobbing. We couldn’t move the car out of the line of traffic. I lost all track of time. Craig kept wiping tears from his face. I don’t know when I called Mike Jr. to tell him about the accident. I said that I didn’t know any details, except that it was very serious. After awhile Craig said he was going to let us drive through. (They planned to move the fire truck to block our view of the accident, but somehow communications broke down, and it didn’t happen.) Brittney drove our car, and Rozina followed with Laura. As we passed by the accident, it was clear that the motorcycle was under the front of a car.
As we pulled into our driveway, Mike Jr. called: “Mom, if Dad’s in the hospital, I don’t want to stay for my graduation, I want to come home.” I calmly told him he didn’t need to come home until we knew how Dad was. I’d call him as soon as I talked to the doctors at the hospital.
I told the girls to pack a bag, we’d probably be spending the night at the hospital. We hastily packed a few necessities. I put all the windows down, and walked the dog. I was thinking carefully about being away all night. I called our neighbor, who came over right away. I knew the Doctors would take care of Michael, and thought we’d just sit in the waiting room all night anyway, so wasn’t worried about time. Instead I was trying to make sure everything was properly taken care of before I left. I didn’t realize it was already 10:30 PM. Finally Rozina spoke urgently: “Linda, we have to GO!”
As we headed for the door, the phone rang. I ran upstairs to the study to answer the one dependable phone we had at the time. I didn’t know the voice on the other end: “Hello, is this Linda Handzel?” I affirmed that it was. “This is Dr. _____, and I work in the emergency room at the medical center.” I collapsed into the chair there at the desk. Rozina was standing beside me. The Dr. continued: “When the paramedics arrived at your husband’s accident tonight, he had no pulse, no blood pressure and no respiration.” Then he said something else, but for the life of me, I don’t remember what it was. My heart stopped. Something was terribly wrong! I couldn’t breathe. The line was silent. I caught my breath enough to say: “Could you repeat that, please?” Around me the whole house was quiet. Everyone was standing on the stairs, or at the bottom of the stairs, listening to my conversation. Ben was in the hallway, behind Rozina. The Dr. repeated all the information about Michael’s vital signs. Then he stopped. I waited, then asked again: “And could you repeat the other sentence?” His voice was filled with regret: “We were unable to revive him.”
I dropped the phone, and started sobbing. Ben clutched onto me, his voice filled with desperation: “Mom, what, Mom? What did he say?” I choked out the words: “Daddy’s gone to Heaven.” Rozina picked up the phone and started talking to the doctor. She had to keep asking him to repeat himself, because Ben was howling so loudly. Somehow we all ended up outside. The sounds of crying could be heard across our lawn. Both Sarah and Stephanie were on their cell phones, sobbing as they choked out the news. Mike Jr. called back again before I could call him. When I told him the news his voice went into a soft scream mixed with a wail: “My Dad died?!?” I don’t remember any more of that conversation.
From then on, even until this day, I was, and still am, so amazed by God’s tender, loving care of our family. He has always known ahead what we will need, and has faithfully provided it! At the time of the accident I didn’t know anyone on my town’s rescue squad, but I did know Craig Bowden. And through a strange set of rare circumstances he was there that night for us. After he left the accident, Craig went home to get his wife, Corinne, who was Michael’s secretary at work. They came to the house, and stayed with us for hours. Craig took Ben on a walk alone that night, letting him ask questions about the accident.
Even though Rozina had a son getting married the next day, she and her daughters stayed with us until I sent them home. People came all night. Pastor Donato and his lovely wife, Penny, came and then stayed until dawn. Pastor Donato asked if he could stay to be there when Mike Jr. got home. Mike Jr. was living with the Mejia family in NH, and was planning to move home after his graduation the next day. Phil Mejia (the father of the house) put Mike Jr. in his own car, and drove him home. It was a four-hour trip, and they got home around 2:30 AM. In the meantime, Kathy Mejia (the mother of the house), and their two children, Meg and Chris, packed all of Mike’s belongings into his car, and then drove it up to our house, arriving around 4:30 AM. Phil had slept for a couple of hours outside in his car. I had brought in a couple of mattresses from the camper to put on our living room floor, thinking the Mejia’s would want to catch a few hours sleep before they went back. But they declined, and drove back home. They had stayed up all night for us.
That was just the beginning of a very long list of things people did for us. I could write a thick book detailing all of the kindnesses that have been bestowed on us since that fateful night. The one couple I will tell you about is Jim and Sandal Keeffe, dear friends from NH who always camped with us. A short time after Craig and Corinne went home, Sandal called, and at the sound of her voice I started crying uncontrollably. (Craig was also friends with them, and had called, waking them up to tell them about the accident.) I couldn’t talk, and I don’t remember much of the conversation. But this one thing I will never forget, they said: “We’re coming.” They didn’t go back to bed. Instead, they took their motor home out of storage, packed it up, contacted their employers, and set out for our house, arriving by 11:00 AM that morning. They took complete care of us for eight days. Their motor home stood sentinel in our yard. They nursed, chauffeured, delivered messages, cleaned, fixed and did many other endless tasks that needed to be done over the next week. They worked very hard every day, never once asking for recognition or recompense! We found out later that summer that Jim lost his vacation time because he gave it to us. They were forced to miss a vacation that they’d taken every year for 25 years. They gave it up for us.
The purpose of this story isn’t to extract pity from its readers. Instead, it’s to give praise to our wondrous God, Who never fails. Within hours of the news of Michael’s death I felt the presence of the Lord fill our home! As I walked from room to room, it was as if I was walking through a cloud filled with the Glory of God. I had never experienced anything like it before, nor have I since. His presence was palpable to me. The intense awareness of His Presence stayed with me for over a week. It kept reminding me that we weren’t alone.
I’ve never been angry at the man who killed my husband. The police report shows that the driver of the car didn’t see my husband, even though the conditions were perfect. Michael was going straight down the road, and the man turned left into him. His car broadsided Michael, who died instantly. I know the police report calls it an ‘accident’. But Michael loved the Lord, and God has never had an accident. It was Michael’s time to go Home, and that was how God chose to take him. It really is that simple.
When Michael died I didn’t know how to do a lot of things. I didn’t know how to run the snow blower, how to order garage doors or how to use the Sawzall. Since then I’ve learned all of that, and a whole lot more! At first if something came up that I didn’t know how to handle, I felt like I was taking a sharp corner in life’s road. I held my breath, wondering how I’d figure out that next situation. Then, as I rounded the bend, I discovered that God had already been there, and taken care of the situation ahead of me! I’ve learned not to worry about the next turn in the road. I know that He’s already there, getting things ready for my arrival!
Honestly, this new journey has been sweet! Although there have been barrels of tears, endless sleepless nights, and incredible heartaches, I still give God thanks! I could never have come this far without His tender hands guiding, holding, and reassuring me! He is indeed a loving Father to the fatherless, and a caring husband to the widow!
The night of the accident, as I walked toward the red flashing lights, I was filled with dread at what I might find at the front of the line. Then, these words started going around and around in my head: “An open door, I set before you an open door….” That weekend I found those words in Revelation 3:8. “I know your works. See, I have set before you an open door, and no one can shut it; for you have a little strength, have kept My word, and have not denied My name.” I realized that God’s will for me was to walk through a different door, down a different path, and into a different life. I chose to accept that door, and go through it. I’ve never regretted that decision!
Remember the Jacobi family...remember our emergency workers...
Heavenly Father,
Bless these people of yours who are hurting and who seek your face. Grant us endurance and faith that is supernatural. Lord we lift you up even when we feel down in despair. grant us wisdom and assured peace, in Jesus name, amen
The Accident
The weather was unusually warm on Friday, May 25th, 2007. I opened all the windows in the house, and thought about how warm the church building would be for the Patriotic Program that night. Our ten year old son, Benjamin had been practicing with the Christian School, and would be standing in the front row with them, singing songs of salute to our country. My husband, Michael, had ridden his motorcycle to work, and planned to meet us at the church building that evening. Usually I would remember to bring a leather jacket and helmet for Ben to ride home with his Dad, but I got busy with other preparations, and forgot to put those things in the car. The program went well that night, and then (of course) there was a fellowship time downstairs. Eventually Michael told me he was leaving, so we gathered our things together and followed him outside. It was so warm that we didn’t need our sweaters, which is unusual for May in Maine. We stood outside laughing with teens, enjoying the unusual spring weather. Then Michael climbed on his motorcycle and started home.
We left shortly after, but stopped at the store to buy graduation cards. We kept finding funny ones, and were showing them to each other, giggling over the messages that were written inside. Sarah and Stephanie, ages 22 and 20, were light-hearted as they helped me make my selections. Their 18 year-old brother, Mike Jr. was graduating the next day from a Christian college in NH. We were planning to leave early in the morning to watch him graduate from that school’s one-year program. It was dark by the time we headed home. When we were less than three miles from home we came up behind a long line of traffic stopped in the road. Way up ahead we could barely see the red flashing lights of an emergency vehicle. After awhile, when I realized we weren’t moving at all, I dialed home to tell Michael we were held up. He didn’t answer. That was strange. Time went by, and I tried to reach him again. Still no answer. A detour would be twenty or thirty miles out of our way to get home, so we waited. I dialed several more times, but Michael still didn’t pick up. I didn’t say anything to Sarah, Stephanie or to Benjamin about my growing sense of uneasiness.
Finally, a volunteer emergency worker started telling people they’d have to turn around, and go another way. When the man came to tell us to turn around, we asked him if the accident was a car or a motorcycle. He said it was a car and a motorcycle.
We parked the car by the side of the road. I told the others to wait there, and I started walking toward the front of the line of traffic. My heart was pounding in my chest, dreading what I might find ahead. As I neared the fire engine, I could see a big motorcycle lying in the road. But I couldn’t tell in the dark if it was Michael’s. Besides, it was banged up pretty bad, and hard to recognize. Then a man stopped me, and gently guided me to the other side of the fire truck, where I couldn’t see the accident. “My name is Linda Handzel. My husband, Michael is driving a motorcycle, and I just want to know if that’s his bike.” The man answered: “My name is Chris, and I’m a volunteer for the fire department. Someone will come talk to you in a minute.” I didn’t understand. A few minutes went by, and a friend of our family, Craig Bowden, came toward me from the accident. He was the Fire Chief for the next town over. (Sometimes the towns answer each other’s calls.) “Hi Craig, I just wanted to know if that’s Michael’s bike.” Craig spoke quietly: “Someone will come to talk to you in a minute.” I still didn’t understand. “Craig, if it’s not Michael’s bike, just tell me, and I’ll go back to the car.” Again he replied: “Someone will come talk to you in a minute.” Then the two men just stood there in kindly silence. My mind raced through a hundred different thoughts. Why didn’t someone just tell me the answer to my question? Finally a sheriff came. He stood behind the other two men, looking at me over their shoulders. “My name is Sheriff Cote, and your husband was involved in that accident tonight.” I don’t remember if he said anything else. I looked at Craig as panic started to rise up into my throat. He opened his big, burly arms and I collapsed into them, sobbing. My mind couldn’t accept that my husband had crashed his motorcycle. He was so careful, he’d never had an accident in the 25 years I’d known him. I pulled away from Craig’s embrace and tearfully begged: “Craig, tell me you made a mistake! Tell me it’s not Michael!” He simply pulled me back into his arms, and for a moment he didn’t answer. Then he told me Michael’s accident was serious.
I don’t know how much time passed. Craig went back to the scene, but Chris put me into the seat of a paramedic truck. I asked for a phone right away, and called the church, asking someone to start the prayer chain. Then I called my friend Rozina and asked her to bring her two daughters, Laura and Brittney to help me tell my children. Those girls were older than my daughters, but they’d always been special friends to them. They lived only a couple of miles up the road from the intersection where the accident took place.
I knew the children would be waiting for me, but I couldn’t bring myself to go back to the car alone. So I waited. Chris stood there silently beside me. “It doesn’t matter how this turns out. I know God is in control, and that He’ll take care of us.” Chris nodded quietly. I don’t think he knew how to answer my ramblings about God. By now Craig had told me that the accident was ‘very serious’. My mind was numb. Still later Craig came back to the truck again, and told me they were doing CPR on Michael. I knew Michael would be all right. They’d ‘bring him back’, I was sure. At some point an ambulance pulled out, and headed past the line of traffic toward the medical center, located 30 miles away. After a time Rozina came with her two daughters. Then Craig, Chris, Rozina, Laura and Brittney all walked back to my car with me. When we came into view of the headlights, Sarah jumped out of the car, and started running toward me. She grabbed me and held on for dear life, sobbing into my arms: “Mom, you were gone too long!!” “Yes, I was gone too long.” was all that I could muster. I looked up to see that Craig had somehow wedged his husky form into the back of our car, and was hugging both Ben and Stephanie at the same time. Everyone was sobbing. We couldn’t move the car out of the line of traffic. I lost all track of time. Craig kept wiping tears from his face. I don’t know when I called Mike Jr. to tell him about the accident. I said that I didn’t know any details, except that it was very serious. After awhile Craig said he was going to let us drive through. (They planned to move the fire truck to block our view of the accident, but somehow communications broke down, and it didn’t happen.) Brittney drove our car, and Rozina followed with Laura. As we passed by the accident, it was clear that the motorcycle was under the front of a car.
As we pulled into our driveway, Mike Jr. called: “Mom, if Dad’s in the hospital, I don’t want to stay for my graduation, I want to come home.” I calmly told him he didn’t need to come home until we knew how Dad was. I’d call him as soon as I talked to the doctors at the hospital.
I told the girls to pack a bag, we’d probably be spending the night at the hospital. We hastily packed a few necessities. I put all the windows down, and walked the dog. I was thinking carefully about being away all night. I called our neighbor, who came over right away. I knew the Doctors would take care of Michael, and thought we’d just sit in the waiting room all night anyway, so wasn’t worried about time. Instead I was trying to make sure everything was properly taken care of before I left. I didn’t realize it was already 10:30 PM. Finally Rozina spoke urgently: “Linda, we have to GO!”
As we headed for the door, the phone rang. I ran upstairs to the study to answer the one dependable phone we had at the time. I didn’t know the voice on the other end: “Hello, is this Linda Handzel?” I affirmed that it was. “This is Dr. _____, and I work in the emergency room at the medical center.” I collapsed into the chair there at the desk. Rozina was standing beside me. The Dr. continued: “When the paramedics arrived at your husband’s accident tonight, he had no pulse, no blood pressure and no respiration.” Then he said something else, but for the life of me, I don’t remember what it was. My heart stopped. Something was terribly wrong! I couldn’t breathe. The line was silent. I caught my breath enough to say: “Could you repeat that, please?” Around me the whole house was quiet. Everyone was standing on the stairs, or at the bottom of the stairs, listening to my conversation. Ben was in the hallway, behind Rozina. The Dr. repeated all the information about Michael’s vital signs. Then he stopped. I waited, then asked again: “And could you repeat the other sentence?” His voice was filled with regret: “We were unable to revive him.”
I dropped the phone, and started sobbing. Ben clutched onto me, his voice filled with desperation: “Mom, what, Mom? What did he say?” I choked out the words: “Daddy’s gone to Heaven.” Rozina picked up the phone and started talking to the doctor. She had to keep asking him to repeat himself, because Ben was howling so loudly. Somehow we all ended up outside. The sounds of crying could be heard across our lawn. Both Sarah and Stephanie were on their cell phones, sobbing as they choked out the news. Mike Jr. called back again before I could call him. When I told him the news his voice went into a soft scream mixed with a wail: “My Dad died?!?” I don’t remember any more of that conversation.
From then on, even until this day, I was, and still am, so amazed by God’s tender, loving care of our family. He has always known ahead what we will need, and has faithfully provided it! At the time of the accident I didn’t know anyone on my town’s rescue squad, but I did know Craig Bowden. And through a strange set of rare circumstances he was there that night for us. After he left the accident, Craig went home to get his wife, Corinne, who was Michael’s secretary at work. They came to the house, and stayed with us for hours. Craig took Ben on a walk alone that night, letting him ask questions about the accident.
Even though Rozina had a son getting married the next day, she and her daughters stayed with us until I sent them home. People came all night. Pastor Donato and his lovely wife, Penny, came and then stayed until dawn. Pastor Donato asked if he could stay to be there when Mike Jr. got home. Mike Jr. was living with the Mejia family in NH, and was planning to move home after his graduation the next day. Phil Mejia (the father of the house) put Mike Jr. in his own car, and drove him home. It was a four-hour trip, and they got home around 2:30 AM. In the meantime, Kathy Mejia (the mother of the house), and their two children, Meg and Chris, packed all of Mike’s belongings into his car, and then drove it up to our house, arriving around 4:30 AM. Phil had slept for a couple of hours outside in his car. I had brought in a couple of mattresses from the camper to put on our living room floor, thinking the Mejia’s would want to catch a few hours sleep before they went back. But they declined, and drove back home. They had stayed up all night for us.
That was just the beginning of a very long list of things people did for us. I could write a thick book detailing all of the kindnesses that have been bestowed on us since that fateful night. The one couple I will tell you about is Jim and Sandal Keeffe, dear friends from NH who always camped with us. A short time after Craig and Corinne went home, Sandal called, and at the sound of her voice I started crying uncontrollably. (Craig was also friends with them, and had called, waking them up to tell them about the accident.) I couldn’t talk, and I don’t remember much of the conversation. But this one thing I will never forget, they said: “We’re coming.” They didn’t go back to bed. Instead, they took their motor home out of storage, packed it up, contacted their employers, and set out for our house, arriving by 11:00 AM that morning. They took complete care of us for eight days. Their motor home stood sentinel in our yard. They nursed, chauffeured, delivered messages, cleaned, fixed and did many other endless tasks that needed to be done over the next week. They worked very hard every day, never once asking for recognition or recompense! We found out later that summer that Jim lost his vacation time because he gave it to us. They were forced to miss a vacation that they’d taken every year for 25 years. They gave it up for us.
The purpose of this story isn’t to extract pity from its readers. Instead, it’s to give praise to our wondrous God, Who never fails. Within hours of the news of Michael’s death I felt the presence of the Lord fill our home! As I walked from room to room, it was as if I was walking through a cloud filled with the Glory of God. I had never experienced anything like it before, nor have I since. His presence was palpable to me. The intense awareness of His Presence stayed with me for over a week. It kept reminding me that we weren’t alone.
I’ve never been angry at the man who killed my husband. The police report shows that the driver of the car didn’t see my husband, even though the conditions were perfect. Michael was going straight down the road, and the man turned left into him. His car broadsided Michael, who died instantly. I know the police report calls it an ‘accident’. But Michael loved the Lord, and God has never had an accident. It was Michael’s time to go Home, and that was how God chose to take him. It really is that simple.
When Michael died I didn’t know how to do a lot of things. I didn’t know how to run the snow blower, how to order garage doors or how to use the Sawzall. Since then I’ve learned all of that, and a whole lot more! At first if something came up that I didn’t know how to handle, I felt like I was taking a sharp corner in life’s road. I held my breath, wondering how I’d figure out that next situation. Then, as I rounded the bend, I discovered that God had already been there, and taken care of the situation ahead of me! I’ve learned not to worry about the next turn in the road. I know that He’s already there, getting things ready for my arrival!
Honestly, this new journey has been sweet! Although there have been barrels of tears, endless sleepless nights, and incredible heartaches, I still give God thanks! I could never have come this far without His tender hands guiding, holding, and reassuring me! He is indeed a loving Father to the fatherless, and a caring husband to the widow!
The night of the accident, as I walked toward the red flashing lights, I was filled with dread at what I might find at the front of the line. Then, these words started going around and around in my head: “An open door, I set before you an open door….” That weekend I found those words in Revelation 3:8. “I know your works. See, I have set before you an open door, and no one can shut it; for you have a little strength, have kept My word, and have not denied My name.” I realized that God’s will for me was to walk through a different door, down a different path, and into a different life. I chose to accept that door, and go through it. I’ve never regretted that decision!
Remember the Jacobi family...remember our emergency workers...
Heavenly Father,
Bless these people of yours who are hurting and who seek your face. Grant us endurance and faith that is supernatural. Lord we lift you up even when we feel down in despair. grant us wisdom and assured peace, in Jesus name, amen
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