MORE THAN A COINCIDENCE

The following story was told me by a middle-aged man:

“My name is Dave. When I was 17, I got a summer job, near an ocean beach, as a lifeguard. One day I felt prompted to use my binoculars and scan the water in front of me, several yards out. At first I didn’t see anything unusual, but after taking a closer look, I could see someone struggling to stay afloat. I quickly got in touch with the Coast Guard, told them where I was headed and why. They agreed to send a rescue vessel that direction and I then plunged into the Pacific and headed toward the person in trouble.

As I approached the person, I could see that it was a young woman, nearly exhausted. Shortly thereafter, a Coast Guard boat arrived. We got on board the craft and she thanked me repeatedly. After I made sure she was OK, we went our separate ways.

A couple years later, I was a young Mormon missionary, working with my companion in the Seattle area. We were tracting in a housing area. Shortly after we knocked, a man opened the door. We told him who we were and he let us know in clear terms that he was not interested. We left and moved on toward the next house, but then I promptly stopped; feeling a strong impression to go back to the house we just left.

I told my companion that we needed to go back to the former house, for I had a certain feeling that we were to return. He began to argue with me and refused to go back. However, I was adamant and returned without him; knocking again on the door and staring into the eyes of the same man. The man was very agitated and began to scold me for coming back, when suddenly I heard a voice from behind him saying, ‘Daddy, who is it? Dave…Dave…is that you?’

She enthusiastically introduced me to her father, explaining to him that I had been the one that had rescued her years before. Her father apologized for being rude and meanwhile my surprised companion rejoined me at the door. The father invited us in and over the next few weeks we taught and then baptized the entire family. I am too old to believe that this was all a coincidence, for similar things have happened to me many times.”

SONGS OF JOY

I never have claimed to be a real, skilled singer. My mother loved it and knew what she was doing, but for me it’s always been a time for spiritual uplift. Getting the song right “calms the troubled heart,” so to speak. Still, I’ve often enjoyed singing in a congregational choir, although it doesn’t do much ‘calming,’ at first.

The routine usually runs something like this: This piece of music is too hard; we’ll never get it right. Frustration, practice and prayer for help. Some of the other members of the choir are beginning to get their parts down, but I’m floundering. Frustration, practice and prayer for help.

I must admit this is a beautiful song, but it’s not the easiest song to master. Frustration, practice and prayer for help. We sing tomorrow at Church, I’d better get it down.

He answers our prayers and helps, despite our frustration the song sounds wonderful. There is gratification in getting the song performed correctly. The choir gets praised but He deserves the credit. Soon we’re telling the choir director, “This piece is too hard, we’ll never get it right.” She looks at us knowingly and smiles. “With His help, is anything too hard?”