Inspirational stories of God's love and grace...

With hindsight, I usually pick up on an inordinate amount of good following in the path of catastrophe. I am always one to believe that we learn, grow, and become stronger from any misfortune life deals us. In fact, I have benefitted through so many disasters in my life, this new feeling...that I'd finally reached the saturation point...was alien to me.

It all started when my husband was involved in a head-on collision and hovered near death in a hospital thirty miles from where we lived. I found a baby sitter for our three children, borrowed a car and got there to see him. When I arrived back home again, I learned my father had been taken by ambulance to our local hospital. Again, I negotiated for a sitter and transportation in order to visit him. Dad died that night, but I felt his comforting, guiding presence and knew I'd get through the difficult days ahead.

My husband had no social security benefits...no disability. When his sick time expired, we were without any income and his recovery was painfully slow. After spending six months in a body cast, he came home from the hospital. Several more months followed, before he was able to return to work on a part-time basis. We had simple priorities and were grateful for each other, a roof over our heads and food on the table. Nothing else really mattered.

With a small monetary award from the insurance company, we purchased a building lot and constructed our own home. The small, three bedroom ranch was the largest investment we'd ever made. After the birth of our fourth child, I started working on weekends and, whenever our means allowed, we added to our investment. During the next five years, we sodded a front lawn, planted shrubs, built a patio, bought furniture and did all the things most proud homeowners do. Then, a sump was installed in the woods across the street from us. Thereafter, every time it rained, the street flooded. It was obvious this channelled water had no place to go. That winter, the combination of melting snow, frozen ground and pouring rain brought a wall of water through our house. All six of us managed to get out and jump off the front stoop into the swirling, icy water below. Soaking wet and freezing cold, we made our way to the top of the hill to a neighbor, who drove us to the house of a friend, who took us in.

A week later, the water receded enough for us to don hip boots and survey the damage. We pumped water out of the house day and night. We cleaned up the mud, removed the rats, ruined furniture, appliances and other belongings, then moved back in. Our attempts to salvage our car, which had been totally submerged in the flood water, were unsuccessful. We took out loans to pay off the car, reinforce the basement and try to meet the staggering electric bills caused by the incessant pumping. That tremendous wall of water hit us over and over again...five times in thirteen months...and we ended up losing everything we owned. Our attorney claimed it was God who caused our ruin. He drew up papers and persuaded us to sign them whereby we were released from any further financial obligation provided we surrendered all property to the mortgagee. Less than two weeks later, the sheriff arrived at the door with an eviction notice.

Divine Providence intervened in the form of a co-worker who had just inherited an old home in another part of town and offered to rent it to us for one year. She planned to sell her present home, then move in and remodel the old one. Gratefully we accepted her offer and moved in with what little belongings we had. The "act of God" had left us with our simple priorities intact but with a seemingly insurmountable amount of debt, as well. I began working full time and we purchased another car. Every weekend we would get in it and comb an area within a ten mile radius for any available rental. We discovered the rentals were much higher than our previous mortgage payments. We were so deeply in debt, we wondered if we would ever find a place to live before our time ran out. A friend of ours mentioned a house nearby that had stood vacant for four years, ever since the owner passed away. She even managed to track down the name and address of the man, Mr. Carver, who had inherited it. Dutifully, I wrote to him explaining our plight and asking if he'd be willing to rent the house to us. Months passed by with no response from him.

The year passed quickly and my co-worker sold her house. We now had two weeks in which to find another place to live. I did not want to accept the fact that we had reached a dead end, but even if there were another place for us to live, I had no idea how to find it. Every day found me looking at my children through my tears. All my prayers seemed to go unanswered. Didn't Jesus tell us we were not to worry about what we were to eat, or what clothes we were to put on our backs, for He would provide all we needed? Did He not tell us to ask and we would receive?

I grew weary of sitting in our temporary shelter feeling sorry for myself; so, I gathered the children together and we headed for the car. When they asked me where we were going, I replied, "To find a place for us to live." We pulled out onto the main highway leading out of town. I drove aimlessly for about twenty minutes until I spotted a sign, "Our Lady of the Island Shrine." Abruptly, I turned off the highway and wound my way up the hill towards the shrine. Upon arrival, I noticed shrubbery in the shape of a rosary. After pulling into a side parking lot, I announced to the children that we were going to pray. Stunned into silence, they scrambled out of the car after me and we headed for the Rosary Walk.

I could never adequately describe the feeling of peace wafting through me, as we made our way through the recitation of the rosary. The rhythm...my voice softly leading, the young voices of the children answering...lulled me into believing there was a safe haven all around us. When we finished, the children looked around expectantly. Soon they discovered the Stations of the Cross and we walked quietly from one to another. Finding solace in church was not new to me, but this was the first time I'd experienced the awesome Divine presence in a cathedral of nature. The tension left my body as I followed after the children who had raced toward some buildings. We entered a little chapel and there, again, I felt we were surrounded by love.

After plowing through the gift shop next to the chapel, the children and I then proceeded on a path leading up a steep hill. At the very top of the hill, overlooking many outstretched miles of Long Island, stood a tremendous statue of Mary holding Jesus. I knelt before the statue and poured my heart out to the Lady and Son who love us so deeply. I told them I was beaten, that I had tried but failed. I did not ask, but told them I was leaving the problem in their hands. Somehow I knew that was all I needed to do. I gathered up my children and went home.

As we arrived I heard the phone in the kitchen ringing. The voice at the other end belonged to Mr. Carver. He apologized for not having responded to my letter sooner, but he'd just returned from his winter home in Florida. He told me he would love to unload that old house of his mother's. He hadn't done so before, because it was sorely in need of repair and he hadn't gotten around to it. He would sell it to us for a ridiculously low amount or we could rent it with an option to buy. And, if our past misfortunes had jeopardized our credit rating, he would gladly hold the mortgage. He wanted us to meet him there the following weekend and, he assured me, he saw no problem with our moving in right away!