- Miraculously saved from death
- A bush pilot in Colombia faces an impossible decision at a remote airstrip.
- With her life preserved in a horrendous car accident, a young woman finds her way back to God.
- A real estate agent loses everything in the recession, but finds Christ and hope.
- A little girl’s unexpected words brings her parents back to the reality of Christmas.
These are great stories, and I know yours will be too. Take the plunge, send your story today!
The light is too bright!
Keith Wheeler
In the 1980s I was carrying the cross from Panama through Central America to Mexico. My travels took me through the wars in Panama, Nicaragua, El Salvador, Honduras, and Guatemala. During the day, I carried the cross. At night I slept in an old plumber’s van that a friend drove ahead each day. The van was equipped with two fold out cots and mosquito netting that hung from the ceiling.
It was common for people to come to the van at night, and knock on the door. They wanted to talk about Jesus. Some brought us food or even flowers. On the third night after we had crossed from Guatemala into Mexico, about two o’clock in the morning, there came a knock at the door.
My friend Jerry said, “Keith, it’s for you.”
I pulled the mosquito net back, grabbed my Bible, opened the door and closed it behind me. As I closed the door, someone grabbed my shirt and pulled me forward. The cross, twelve feet long, lay between myself and the person who grabbed me. As this person pulled me forward, the cross stopped me, but my face hit something hard. As I struggled to wake up and get my bearings, I tasted blood in my mouth. My nose was bleeding; my mouth was bleeding. In addition, we were in the jungle. There were no streetlights, no city lights, no lights at all. We couldn’t even see the sky.
As I was taking all of this in, I was hearing in Spanish, “We’re going to kill you. We’re going to kill you.”
My eyes adjusted, and I saw men standing in front of me arranged in two semicircles. The first row contained six or seven guys, and the one behind it had ten to fifteen guys. Then I noticed they were all holding guns—automatic weapons.
“We’re going to kill you!”
I held up my hands. “No drugs! No drugs!” I said. I thought this was the narcotics police.
That’s when they started counting.
“One!”
I tried to explain, “No, this is a holy cross. Maybe you’ve seen this in the newspaper or on television. Maybe you’ve heard about it on the radio. I’m walking from Panama to Mexico.” I was doing my best to say all of this in Spanish. “Jesus died on the cross so you could be forgiven.”
“Two!”
“He rose again. He’s alive. You can know him personally. Just open your hearts, and you can receive Him. You can know for sure that your sins are forgiven, and that you’ll live with Him forever in heaven.”
I heard the shick-shick sound of them preparing to fire.
That scared the Spanish right out of me. All I could remember in Spanish was: “Jesus loves you. Jesus loves you.” So I held up my Bible and said, “Cristo te ama. Cristo te ama.”
What happened next is hard to explain. When they pulled me forward, they were close enough for me to hit one of their guns. But the next thing I knew, they were thirty to fifty yards away, knocked to the ground. I never saw them move. I never saw anybody walk, jump, crawl, fly. It was like a dream. It was like I missed a frame. Their guns were scattered all over the ground. And these grown soldiers who were so tough moments before were now screaming and crying like little girls. They were covering their faces and saying, “La luz, la luz es muy brillante, es muy fuerte.” Translation: “The light, the light is too bright, is too strong.”
Then they fled. Leaving their weapons behind on the ground, they ran, climbed into two large trucks and drove away.
I pinched myself. I would have thought I had dreamed the whole thing, if it hadn’t been for the automatic weapons lying all over the ground.
How do I explain it? I can’t. I didn’t see anything. I didn’t hear anything. I didn’t feel anything. It’s like I missed a frame in life. What happened? I don’t know. Was it a lightning bug with a 100,000 watt taillight? Was it a tourist with a flash camera? Was it a bolt of lightning that I didn’t see with thunder I didn’t hear? I don’t know. But maybe—just maybe—Jesus said, “My servant’s days are not yet fulfilled,” and He sent an angel, angel armies, or stepped out of Heaven itself and stood between them and me. I don’t know…and it doesn’t matter! All that matters is that ALL glory goes to God!
As a witness for Christ, Keith Wheeler has been carrying a 95 lb 12 foot cross for twenty-nine years. His travels have taken him through more than 200 countries including 40 nations at war. Forty times he has been jailed for his activities. More than once he has been shot at, run over, chased by wild animals, beaten and left for dead. But God has preserved his life. Learn more about Keith and watch for his soon-to-be-released book, Living in the Shadow of the Cross at kw.org or search for Keith Wheeler on Facebook.
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Saved by the storm
My copilot Ron and I flew a missionary Bible translator and his supplies into a remote and rugged jungle area located in the western foothills of the Andes Mountains in Colombia—one of the rainiest places of the world. The annual rainfall can top 400 inches. This was the first time we ever used this airstrip. We didn’t know—until we landed—that the heavy rainfall on the surrounding mountains drained into this little valley and created a gigantic mud puddle.
The moment we touched down, we knew we had made a mistake. The airplane sank up to the axles in mud.
We were stuck!
Trained at Moody Bible Institute, in the finest missionary aviation school in the world, I was taught to take off from soft, wet airstrips. But none as soft and muddy as this one.
This was not a good situation. There were no good options. On one hand we could take the airplane apart and hire workers to carry it out piece by piece. The walk to the nearest road would take several hours. We then would need to hire a truck to make the long, expensive trip back to our center of operations for reassembly.
On the other hand, we could fly it out. Here’s the catch: We could probably work up enough speed to crash, with no guarantee of lift off.
We weighed the options and decided to attempt a takeoff. After unloading the missionary and his cargo, apologizing for planning never to return, we boarded the aircraft.
If the airplane couldn’t approach takeoff speed as we neared the end of the runway, we would cut the power and settle back into the mud. But if our airspeed indicator read near takeoff velocity, I would try to pull it out of the mud. Ron would carefully adjust the engine turbocharger for maximum power, while I piloted the aircraft.
We started the engine and looked down the short runway. Anything could happen.
Bowing our heads, we prayed. “Lord, help!” What else could we say? We felt like the disciples on the Sea of Galilee.
As we lifted our eyes from that prayer, there was the answer in the sky right in front of us. A big black rain cloud came boiling over the nearest ridge. And as that storm approached, the wind began to blow, and blow hard, right down the runway. Exactly what we needed!
Ron applied power to the engine, and the plane just sat in the mud, vibrating from the surge of power. Then the wind began to provide lift to the wings, lightening the load on the landing gear. The wheels began to turn slowly and plow mud. The lift on the wings increased as we slowly crept down that runway. Which would come first, the end of the runway or takeoff velocity?
I watched the airspeed indicator creep forward, and as we neared the runway end, I pulled back on the controls. The aircraft staggered out of the mud.
Unstuck! Airborne!
Whew!
We climbed out of that steamy valley and dodged the storm. As we set our course for home, our hearts filled with thanksgiving. The same Lord who calmed the storm on the sea and saved the disciples’ lives, sent us a storm just when we needed it and saved us from a difficult situation.
We all face challenges in life where it seems like there are no good options. I am glad that we serve a God who can make a way for us, even when we’re stuck up to the axles in mud.
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Finding my way back to God through a car accident
When I was nineteen, I started working at Burger King and my boss had been radically saved. He started going to a Charismatic church, and started asking me tough questions about my relationship with God. I started thinking, Maybe I’m not saved. I hadn’t been to church, and I hadn’t been walking with the Lord for about five years.
As I was processing all of this, something happened that changed my life. I was driving a Volkswagen Beetle when I missed a stop sign. A palm frond covered the sign, and I just didn’t see it. Volkswagen had redesigned the suspension of the car I was driving, making the car much easier to roll.
And roll I did. I was hit from the side, and I rolled three and a quarter times, landing my side down. As the car was tumbling, I heard an unfamiliar authoritative man’s voice speak to me:
“Grab the wheel.” I grabbed the wheel.
“Put your elbows into your belly.” I obeyed.
“Lean to the right.” I leaned.
“Lean to the left a little.” I shifted left.
“Now hold on!” I held on. (No shoulder straps in those days.)
Somehow I knew that I had to obey this voice. Later, when I looked at the car and put together in my mind what had happened, I realized that if I hadn’t followed those instructions, I would have been slammed repeatedly against the side of the car. I could have been seriously injured or killed. As it was, I escaped with strained neck and shoulder muscles, nothing else.
A friend of mine was on the ambulance crew that arrived a few minutes later.
“Are you okay,” he called.
“Yeah, John. I’m okay.”
“That guy who hit you—he said he killed you. He’s afraid to get out of his car. He thinks you’re dead.”
“No, I’m not dead. Go tell him I’m okay.”
I crawled out of the passenger window, and surveyed the damage. The windows were broken. The top was caved in a little. And I couldn’t find my glasses. But I was okay.
Even though it was hot as Hades—August in South Florida—some neighbor ran out with an itchy wool blanket and wrapped it around me.
The ambulance transported me to the hospital where they checked me out and declared that I was fine. My parents picked me up, and I went home.
But that night I couldn’t sleep. I knew I hadn’t been practicing my faith. I realized for the first time that death could come at any moment. There was no guarantee that I would live through the night. If I died, what would happen to me. Would I die in my sins? Would I end up separated from God forever? I agonized over this for hours. Finally, at four o’clock in the morning, I felt peace in my heart from God. Everything was okay between God and me. I had recommitted my life to Him, and there was no turning back.
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Financial meltdown brings a real estate investor to God
My house of cards started to to crumble in 2007. The market crashed. Tenants moved out leaving me to pay the bill. I needed to refinance to stay afloat, but I couldn’t. My income as a realtor started to slide. I relied on my line of credit at the bank just to pay living expenses. Sales will be better next month, I told myself. But sales didn’t get better. Pretty soon I was $60,000 in the hole.
No problem, I thought. I’ll just get another $30,000 loan, and I’ll be fine.
When I went to meet with my lender, he sat there with a couple of board members and delivered the news: No more credit. I was officially broke. I had hit bottom. No more money, nor would they cover the negative balance in my checking account.
I needed to sell everything. I went home and drove a “for sale” sign into the yard, putting our expensive house up for sale. Then I went to my office, and broke the news to my team: “You don’t have a job, because I can’t pay you any more. By the way, the paycheck I just wrote you—it’s going to bounce. I’ll have to find some other way to get you paid. I’m sorry.”
It was the hardest thing I’ve ever done.
I sold my big house and took a loss. I sold my vacation home, my boat, my cars—everything. When all was said and done, I had stacked up a loss of $250,000. In the middle of selling our house our septic tank backed up into our basement. We spent an entire day pumping water out of our basement. It was a nightmare, the final kick while we were down.
We were on our knees, completely broke, trying to navigate through this downturn. I went from making more money than I could imagine, to barely being able to put food on the table. Desperate to make ends meet, I started delivering newspapers. I got up at one o’clock in the morning and delivered newspapers until six am. I took a little nap, and then sold real estate the rest of the day.
We cut our expenses to the bone. Instead of two new cars, we went down to one car worth $500. We moved to a house the size of our old garage.
But, in the middle of all these changes, something happened that I never expected.
It started when I attended Dave Ramsey’s Financial Peace University. When I was at rock bottom, this course gave me hope. I quickly developed a great deal of respect for Ramsey and what he taught. During the course, Dave Ramsey often talked about his faith in Jesus. I found that to be really interesting.
I thought I had faith. I mean, I grew up Lutheran. I was baptized and confirmed Lutheran. But I no longer went to church. And I didn’t follow Jesus. Yet, here was a man whose faith in Jesus was relevant. His faith shaped how he conducted business, and how he managed money.
As I was pondering this, a friend invited me to church. This was the first time I had been to church since I was a kid. As I sat in that service, I began to comprehend what Jesus did for us on the cross. I realized that I had been living for myself, instead of living for God and for others. I sat there with tears rolling down my cheeks. Jesus met me there that day, and radically changed me from the inside out. I made Jesus the leader of my life.
That’s when a shift started happening in my life. I started to realize that none of this money was mine. It all belonged to God. It was just flowing through my hands. I started trusting God. I figured, Hey, if I do what’s right, God will take care of my needs.
That really changed my perspective. I stopped looking at people as transactions. They were no longer objects that made me money. They were people—people who deserved to be valued, listened to and cared about. I started to see that if I put their interests ahead of mine, that God would work it out for me. Even if He didn’t, I knew it was still the right thing to do.
Even though I needed sales now more than ever, I stopped being a pushy salesman. I determined that I would take good care of people. I chose not to declare bankruptcy.
As time went on, I began to see that doing things God’s way was good business. Today I’m doing better than ever. I’m on track to pay off my debt. I don’t push people any more. Instead, people come to me wanting to do business with me. I don’t worry about where the next sale will come from. I just focus on helping people. I’ve found that if I trust in God, He will provide.
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Good News of Great Joy
(Note: While this one is longer than the 700 words, we’re making an exception because this story has touched many lives all over the world.)
“Do not be afraid. I bring you good news of great joy … ” Luke 2:10
I remember my first Santa Claus doubts. How could a fat man get down a skinny chimney, not just at our house, but at the houses of little boys and girls all over the world? I mean there must be hundreds.
Then came the fateful day when I learned the Truth. Two truths, in fact. My mother was cleaning something in the living room and she said, “You know the Easter Bunny is just make believe.”
That didn’t bother me. The Easter Bunny always hid the baskets behind the TV. He was expendable.
Then she added, “You know, make believe, just like Santa Claus.”
I nodded like I had known all along. But inside this revelation hurt. I wanted to believe that somewhere there was someone who cared enough about me to find out just what I wanted and to risk getting stuck in the chimney to bring it to me.
I missed Santa Claus. He had been a good friend.
I think my dad missed Santa Claus too. Now he had to take the place of the man from the North Pole. And my dad’s sack of toys wasn’t as big as he wanted it to be. Every December he sat us down and delivered the sad news. “I’m afraid there won’t be much of a Christmas this year,” he told us. “We just don’t have the money.”
I felt for him. I wanted to tell him it was okay.
“We don’t have the money,” he said and so my brother and I prepared ourselves to face the sparse holiday my father had predicted. Yet, on the morning of the 25th, we came downstairs to find our stockings stuffed and the floor beneath the tree littered with presents.
Santa slipped out of my life, and, as I grew older, a chilling realization slipped in — one that haunts me even to this day. In every city and scattered across the country, little ones, with hearts full of hope, hang up their stockings with care. But the man in red flies by their homes without stopping. In the morning their stockings look no different than they did the night before.
These children don’t need to be told that there is no Santa Claus. They find out quite on their own.
Now I’m a dad. My little girl never heard of Santa Claus until one of the neighbors told her. And, at bedtime, she doesn’t ask me to tell her about a man with toys and eight reindeer. Instead she says, “Tell me about when Jesus was born.”
She knows the story well, but she asks me to tell it to her just the same.
I start with the decree from Caesar Augustus that all the world should be taxed. I tell her that Joseph and Mary had to walk a long time. And when they got to Bethlehem, no place was found for them to stay.
My daughter and I ponder that in the silence of our own thoughts. I suppose she thinks of how it would be to never find a McDonald’s with a Playland and how it would be to ride on a donkey without a car seat. But I think of Joseph. There he was, pushed out of his home by a senseless decree from a Roman emperor. He comes to the town that is rightfully his own, but no one greets him. No one takes him in. Worried, he asks around for a midwife and a dry, warm, comfortable bed for Mary. “Sorry,” people say. “Sorry, we can’t help you.” In the end, he takes shelter in a barn. And all he can offer the one he loves is a wool blanket and some straw.
I feel for him.
Then my mind goes back to my dad. I see him there at the kitchen table, sifting through a stack of bills, wondering where he will get the money to buy toys for his children. And for the little ones everywhere whose stockings are empty, I hurt. I wish I could shower gifts on them all. And I wonder, Where is the outrage from heaven?
My daughter tugs at my arm. “Tell me the rest of the story, Daddy.”
We switch to the hills around Bethlehem. “On the night Jesus was born,” I tell her, “in the hills, the sheep were sleeping — sleeping away. ‘Baaa. Baaaa.’ They were dreaming sheep dreams. The shepherds were there, watching over their sheep.
“All of a sudden, an angel appeared to the shepherds! They were afraid.
“But the angel said, ‘Do not be afraid.'”
My daughter always smiles when I tell her this.
“The angel said, ‘I bring you good news of great joy. For tonight unto you in the city of David is born a Savior, who is Christ, the Lord. And this will be a sign unto you: You will find the baby lying in a manger.’
“And suddenly, all across the sky, the night was bright with angels. And they were singing, ‘Glory to God in the highest. And on earth peace, goodwill to men.'”
My little girl’s eyes get big as we look at the bedroom ceiling together. And I wonder to myself, Can she see what my eyes cannot? Can she see the heavens filled with angels?
What would it be like to see the heavens open? I ask myself. But, though I try, I can see no vision of angels. Instead of angels, I see a man. But he’s not in a shepherd’s field; he’s in a hospital room. And he’s not singing. He’s dancing, holding his newborn daughter in his arms, filled with emotions he could never put into words. I see him there, spinning and twirling, and I realize that man is me.
“Daddy, tell me the rest of the story.”
The reason for the angels’ visit begins to make sense. So, tonight, I change the story. “What do you suppose those shepherds saw when they came to the barn where Jesus was born? Do you think they saw Joseph out in front, dancing under the stars?”
“Daddy, you are silly. They saw the baby Jesus lying in a manger.”
Oh, yes. I sit there for a long time while my daughter falls asleep and dreams of angels. I sit there and think about those words from heaven: “Do not be afraid.”
And, suddenly, I want to rush back through the years and talk to a little boy who grew up to be a daddy himself and say, “Have you seen the angels? Have you heard their song? Did you know that Jesus is here?”
And then I want to stop at a kitchen table and speak to my tired and discouraged dad. “Do not be afraid. What you cannot give has been given for you.”
And I want to swoop down chimneys everywhere with angels at my side and bring the good news to every little one whose heart was filled with hope. “Do not be afraid. The heavens have opened for you. The angels are here for you. Immanuel has come. Do not be afraid.”
If I could, I’d bear presents to them all. Not because I think the trinkets I can give will satisfy Christmas needs. Instead, I’d bring gifts as tokens of a giving, caring God. And I’d pray that when the children finally unwrapped the paper, they’d find not a doll nor a toy truck, but rather a tiny baby, wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger.
The next morning, my wife and I are busy in the kitchen. Company is coming. Our little girl is talking to her dollies and her stuffed animals, saying this and that. We don’t pay much attention, glad to have a few minutes to straighten the house and make a meal. All at once we are arrested by her words:
“Do not be afraid. For I bring you good news of great joy.”
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