TUESDAY'S MIRACLE

Tuesday’s Miracle

People “of a certain age” will remember the draft system—the time when the Armed Forces were not a volunteer force.

Upon attaining the age of 18, every young man had to register and make himself available to be called into the military.  In the early 1970s, there was a “lottery system” whereby each young man received a number upon registering.  If his number was called up, he went into the military; if his number was not called up, he remained a civilian.

A friend spoke frequently of the probability of being drafted.  He was a teacher, and indeed a very good one.  My response to his assertions was always, “You’re too good a teacher to be called into the service.  God knows how much these children need a teacher like you so He won’t let you be drafted.

One night there was a knock at my door.  It was my friend.  He handed me an envelope and said, “This is how God doesn’t want me in the Army.”  It was a draft notice.

I responded, “I don’t care what this paper says, God doesn’t want you in the Army and you’re not going in the Army.”

The one thing I could think to do was to have the children in his class and mine write letters to the draft board giving the students’ requests that their teacher not be taken from them.

The weeks passed between his draft notice and the day he was to leave for boot camp and his departure was a little more than a weekend away.  Nothing, including the children’s letters seemed to be of any avail.

I was very depressed because I had been certain that what I told him had been correct, but I was four days away from being proven terribly wrong.  I’d done a perfect job of making an idiot out of myself—proving myself to be the religious kook he said I was—and making my faith sound ludicrous.

On Sunday evening, some dear friends called to tell me they were picking me up to go to church with them.  I said I wasn’t in the mood to go.  They informed me that they were coming anyway and if I wasn’t dressed, they’d take me in my pajamas.

I wasn’t in the mood for church or for God.  I couldn’t have felt like a bigger fool.

The church was a thriving Pentecostal house of worship, appropriately called Wildwood Chapel, and the singing and worship were very lively.  I stood stoically with my arms folded, without singing.  My mood was heavy and I didn’t care to be lifted out of it by the music or by the Holy Spirit who seemed to be touching everybody else but me.

The music stopped when there was a message in tongues.  In spite of myself, something quickened within me.  When the interpretation of the message was given, I knew it was for me, for I felt the presence of the Holy Spirit upon me.

If I live to be 100 years old, I will always remember the words of that interpretation:

“There’s a daughter of Mine here tonight, and she thinks she’s made a fool of herself and cast aspersions on her faith.  I want her to know that tomorrow morning she will see My glory.”

Monday morning began as usual until I pulled into my parking spot at work.  He pulled in right behind me.

He said, “You’ll never guess who called me last night.”

Of course, I had no idea.

He continued,” It was Mr. Robert Ford, the head of the Selective Service System.  He called to say that the draft board had reviewed the letters from the children and agreed with them that I am needed more here at school than I am needed in the army.  I don’t have to report to boot camp on Tuesday.”

That day, JESUS proved HIMSELF to be GOD over every aspect of life, including the draft board.

The GOD who framed the heavens and the earth had called me HIS daughter, and my life hasn’t been the same since.