The smell of rain.
Her husband, David, held her hand as they braced themselves for the latest news.
That afternoon of March 10, 1991, complications had forced Diana, only 24-weeks pregnant, to undergo an emergency Cesarean to deliver couple's new daughter, Dana Lu Blessing.
At 12 inches long and weighing only one pound nine ounces, they already knew she was perilously premature. Still, the doctor's soft words dropped like bombs.
'I don't think she's going to make it,' he said, as kindly as he could.
'There's only a 10-percent chance she will live through the night, and even then, if by some slim chance she does make it, her future could be a very cruel one”.
She would never walk, she would never talk, she would probably be blind, and she would certainly be prone to other catastrophic conditions from cerebral palsy to complete mental retardation, and on and on.
'No! No!' was all Diana could say.
She and David, with their 5-year-old son Dustin, had long dreamed of the day they would have a daughter to become a family of four.
Now, within a matter of hours, that dream was slipping away.
But as those first days passed, a new agony set in for David and Diana. Because Dana 's underdeveloped nervous system was essentially 'raw', the lightest kiss or caress only intensified her discomfort, so they couldn't even cradle their tiny baby girl against their chests to offer the strength of their love.
All they could do, as Dana struggled alone beneath the ultraviolet light in the tangle of tubes and wires, was to pray that God would stay close to their precious little girl.
But as the weeks went by, she did slowly gain an ounce of weight here and an ounce of strength there.
At last, when Dana turned two months old. her parents were able to hold her in their arms for the very first time.
And two months later, though doctors continued to gently but grimly warn that her chances of surviving, much less living any kind of normal life, were next to zero, Dana went home from the hospital, just as her mother had predicted.
Five years later, when Dana was a petite but feisty young girl with glittering gray eyes and an unquenchable zest for life.
She showed no signs whatsoever of any mental or physical impairment. Simply, she was everything a little girl can be and more. But that happy ending is far from the end of her story.
One blistering afternoon in the summer of 1996 near her home in Irving , Texas , Dana was sitting in her mother's lap in the bleachers of a local ball park where her brother Dustin's baseball team was practicing.
As always, Dana was chattering nonstop with her mother and several other adults sitting nearby, when she suddenly fell silent. Hugging her arms across her chest, little Dana asked, 'Do you smell that?'
Smelling the air and detecting the approach of a thunderstorm, Diana replied, 'Yes, it smells like rain.'
Dana closed her eyes and again asked, 'Do you smell that?'
Once again, her mother replied, 'Yes, I think we're about to get wet. It smells like rain.'
Still caught in the moment, Dana shook her head, patted her thin shoulders with her small hands and loudly announced, 'No, it smells like Him.
It smells like God when you lay your head on His chest.'
Tears blurred Diana's eyes as Dana happily hopped down to play with the other children.
During those long days and nights of her first two months of her life, when her nerves were too sensitive for them to touch her, God was holding Dana on His chest and it is His loving scent that she remembers so well.
THE WHIPPING
There was a school with a class of students that no teacher had been able to
handle. Two or three teachers had been run off from this school in one year by the unruly students.
A young man, just out of college, heard about the class and applied to the
school.
The principal asked the young man, 'Do you know what you are asking for? No one else has been able to handle these students. You are just asking for a terrible beating'. After a few moments of silent prayer, the young man looked at the principal and said, 'Sir, with your consent I accept the challenge. Just give me a trial basis.'
The next morning the young man stood before the class. He said to the class,
'Young people, I came here today to conduct school. But I realize I can't do
it by myself. I must have your help.'
One big boy they called Big Tom, in the back of the room whispered to his
Buddies, 'I won't need any help. I can lick that little bird all by myself.'
The young teacher told the class that if they were to have school, there
would have to be some rules to go by. But he also added that he would allow
the students to make up the rules and that he would list them on the
blackboard. This was certainly different, the students thought!
One young man suggested 'NO STEALING.' Another one shouted 'BE ON TIME FOR CLASS.' Pretty soon they had 10 rules listed on the board.
The Teacher then asked the class what the punishment should be for breaking these rules. 'Rules are no good unless they are enforced', he said. Someone in the class suggested that if the rules were broken, they should receive 10 licks with a rod across their back with their coat off. The teacher
thought that this was pretty harsh, so he asked the class if they would
stand by this punishment. The class agreed.
Everything went along pretty good for two or three days... Then Big Tom came in one day very upset. He declared that someone had stolen his lunch. After talking with the students, they came to the conclusion that little Timmy had stolen Big Tom's lunch. Someone had seen little Timmy with Big Tom's lunch! The teacher called little Timmy up to the front of the room. Little Timmy admitted he had taken Big Tom's lunch.
So the teacher asked him, 'Do you know the punishment?
Little Timmy nodded that he did. 'You must remove your coat,' the teacher
instructed..
The little fellow had come with a great big coat on. Little Timmy said to
the teacher, 'I am guilty and I am willing to take my punishment, but please don't make me take off my coat.'
The teacher reminded little Timmy of the rules and punishments and again
told him he must remove his coat and take his punishment like a man. The little fellow started to unbutton that old coat. As he did so, the teacher saw he did not have a shirt on under the coat. And even worse, he saw a frail and bony frame hidden beneath that coat. The teacher asked little Timmy why
he had come to school without a shirt on. Little Timmy replied, 'My daddy's
dead and my mother is very poor.. I don't have but one shirt, and my mother is washing it today. I wore my big brother's coat so that I could keep warm.'
The young teacher stood and looked at the frail back with the spine
protruding against the skin, and his ribs sticking out. He wondered how he could lay a rod on that little back and without even a shirt on.. Still, he knew he must enforce the punishment or the children would not obey the rules. So he drew back to strike little Timmy. Just then Big Tom stood up and came
down the aisle. He asked, 'Is there anything that says that I can't take little Timmy's whipping for him?'
The teacher thought about it and agreed.. With that Big Tom ripped his coat
off and stooped and stood over little Timmy at the desk.
Hesitatingly the teacher began to lay the rod on that big back. But for some
strange reason after only five licks that old rod just broke in half. The
young teacher buried his face in his hands and began to sob.
He heard a commotion and looked up to find not even one dry eye in the room. Little Timmy had turned and grabbed Big Tom around the neck apologizing to him for stealing his lunch. Little Timmy begged Big Tom to forgive him. He told Big Tom that he would love him till the day he died for taking his whipping for him.
Aren't you glad that Jesus took our whipping for us? That He shed His
precious blood on Calvary so that you and I can have eternal life in Glory with Him? We are unworthy of the price He paid for us, but aren't you glad He loves us that much?
This is a story everyone needs to know. So if you know anyone else who may be blessed by this story, please pass it on..
May God bless you, and keep you safe... Don't tell the Lord how big the
problem is, tell the problem how Great the Lord is!
The SON
A wealthy man and his son loved to collect rare works of art. They had everything in their collection, from Picasso to Raphael. They would often sit together and admire the great works of art.
When the Vietnam conflict broke out, the son went to war. He was very courageous and died in battle while rescuing another soldier. The father was notified and grieved deeply for his only son.
About a month later, just before Christmas, there was a knock at the door. A young man stood at the door with a large package in his hands. He said, 'Sir, you don't know me, but I am the soldier for whom your son gave his life. He saved many lives that day, and he was carrying me to safety when a bullet struck him in the heart and he died instantly. He often talked about you, and your love for art.' The young man held out this package. 'I know this isn't much. I'm not really a great artist, but I think your son would have wanted you to have this.'
The father opened the package. It was a portrait of his son, painted by the young man.. He stared in awe at the way the soldier had captured the personality of his son in the painting. The father was so drawn to the eyes that his own eyes welled up with tears. He thanked the young man and offered to pay him for the picture. 'Oh, no sir, I could never repay what your son did for me. It's a gift.'
he father hung the portrait over his mantle. Every time visitors came to his home he took them to see the portrait of his son before he showed them any of the other great works he had collected.
The man died a few months later. There was to be a great auction of his paintings. Many influential people gathered, excited over seeing the great paintings and having an opportunity to purchase one for their collection.
On the platform sat the painting of the son. The auctioneer pounded his gavel. 'We will start the bidding with this picture of the son. Who will bid for this picture?' There was silence. Then a voice in the back of the room shouted, 'We want to see the famous paintings. Skip this one.'
But the auctioneer persisted... 'Will somebody bid for this painting? Who will start the bidding? $100, $200?'
Another voice angrily. 'We didn't come to see this painting. We came to see the Van Gogh's, the Rembrandts. Get on with the real bids!'
But still the auctioneer continued. 'The son! The son! Who'll take the son?'
Finally, a voice came from the very back of the room.. It was the longtime gardener of the man and his son. 'I'll give $10 for the painting.' Being a poor man, it was all he could afford.
'We have $10, who will bid $20?'
'Give it to him for $10. Let's see the masters.'
The crowd was becoming angry. They didn't want the picture of the son.
They wanted the more worthy investments for their collections.
The auctioneer pounded the gavel.. 'Going once, twice, SOLD for $10!'
A man sitting on the second row shouted, 'Now let's get on with the collection!'
The auctioneer laid down his gavel. 'I'm sorry, the auction is over.'
What about the paintings?'
'I am sorry. When I was called to conduct this auction, I was told of a secret stipulation in the will. I was not allowed to reveal that stipulation until this time. Only the painting of the son would be auctioned.. Whoever bought that painting would inherit the entire estate, including the paintings.
The man who took the son gets everything!'
God gave His son 2,000 years ago to die on the cross. Much like the auctioneer, His message today is: 'The son, the son, who'll take the son?'
Because, you see, whoever takes the Son gets everything.
His name was Robert Matthews. These are his words:
A few weeks before Sept. 11th, my wife and I found out we were going to have our first child. She planned a trip out to California to visit her sister. On our way to the airport, we prayed that God
would grant my wife a safe trip and be with her. Shortly after I said 'amen,' we both heard a loud pop and the car shook violently. We had blown out a tire. I replaced the tire as quickly as I could,
but we still missed her flight. both very upset, we drove home.
I received a call from my father who was retired NYFD. He asked what my wife's flight number was,
but I explained that we missed the flight.
My father informed me that her flight was the one that crashed into the southern tower. I was too
shocked to speak. My father also had more news for me; he was going to help. 'This is not something
I can't just sit by for; I have to do something.'
I was concerned for his safety, of course, but more because he had never given his life to Christ.
After a brief debate, I knew his mind was made up. Before he got off of the phone, he said, 'take good
care of my grandchild. Those were the last words I ever heard my father say; he died while helping
in the rescue effort.
My joy that my prayer of safety for my wife had been answered quickly became anger. I was angry at God,
at my father, and at myself. I had gone for nearly two years blaming God for taking my father away. My
son would never know his grandfather, my father had never accepted Christ, and I never got to say good-bye.
Then something happened. About two months ago, I was sitting at home with my wife and my son, when
there was a knock on the door. I looked at my wife, but I could tell she wasn't expecting anyone. I opened the
door to a couple with a small child.
The man looked at me and asked if my father's name was Jake Matthews. I told him it was. He quickly grabbed
my hand and said, 'I never got the chance to meet your father, but it is an honor to meet his son.'
He explained to me that his wife had worked in the World Trade Center and had been caught inside after the attack.
She was pregnant and had been caught under debris. He then explained that my father had been the one to find
his wife and free her. My eyes welled up with tears as I thought of my father giving his life for people like this. He
then said, 'there is something else you need to know.'
His wife then told me that as my father worked to free her, she talked to him and led him to
Christ. I began sobbing at the news.
Now I know that when I get to Heaven, my father will be standing beside Jesus to welcome
me, and that this family would be able to thank him themselves .
When their baby boy was born, they named him Jacob Matthew, in honor of the man who
gave his life so that a mother and baby could live.
This story should help us to realize this: God is always in control.
We may not see the reason behind things, and we may never know this side of heaven, but
God is ALWAYS in control.
For much of the way, the Lord's footprints go along steadily, consistently, rarely varying the pace.
turnarounds, circles, departures, and returns.
but gradually your footprints come more in line with the Lord's,
soon paralleling, His consistently. You and Jesus are walking as true friends!
Your footprints that once etched the sand next to Jesus' are now walking precisely in His steps.
you and Jesus are becoming one.
The footprints inside the large footprints seem to grow larger.
There is only one set of footprints. They have become one.
Zigzags all over the place. Stops. Starts.
Gashes in the sand. A variable mess of prints.
I was a new Christian;I was just learning.
But You walked on through the storm and helped me learn to walk with You.' 'That is correct.' 'And when the smaller footprints were inside of Yours, I was actually learning to walk in Your steps, following You very closely.' 'Very good.. You have understood everything so far.' When the smaller footprints grew and filled in Yours,
I suppose that I was becoming like You in every way.' 'Precisely.'
The footprints separated, and this time it was worse than at first.' There is a pause as the Lord answers, with a smile in His voice. 'You didn't know?
It was then that we danced!'
...And david danced before the Lord with all his might...2 Samuel 6:14
To everything there is a season, a time for every purpose under heaven: A time to weep, a time to laugh, a time to mourn, and a time to dance. Ecclesiastes 3:1,4.