Pastor
George W. Nubert looked at his watch and took a deep breath. His wife was
busy making dinner in the kitchen, and he had ten minutes to get over to the
church, light the coal furnace, and be back in time for dinner. Sometimes he
felt like he was performing a circus act, twirling plates in the center ring.
He had to keep a dozen plates spinning at all times; not one of them could
crash to the ground. |
But Pastor
Nubert didn't mind. |
Over the
years he had learned to deal with the pressures that came with the ministry.
Inevitably his life was surrounded by crises while he was expected to remain calm.
Through prayer and discipline, he had discovered one secret to being
dependable for those around him. He was organized and punctual beyond
reproach. And so although he would rather have sat down and rested for a
moment on that cold March evening, he slipped into a jacket and kissed his
wife goodbye. |
"Be
right back," he said. "I need to light the furnace for
tonight." |
At |
Pastor
Nubert made his way inside the church building and climbed down two flights
of stairs to the basement. There he lit the coal furnace, making sure it was
working before he turned to leave. Next he walked up to the sanctuary where
twenty rows of wooden pews made up the seating for Sunday mornings. Glancing
at the thermostat, he adjusted it so that the building would be warm in
exactly one hour. It was Wednesday. And that year—1950--choir practice was
always at |
Glancing
once more at his watch, Pastor Nubert quickly left the church and headed home
for dinner. He intended to be back at his usual time, no later than 7:15 P.M. |
|
Martha
Paul had been the choir director at |
"That
way I have time to get the hymnals ready," Martha liked to tell her
husband. "I can be sure there's enough sets of choir music, get the
lights turned on, and still have time to catch my breath." |
Martha had
often impressed upon her choir the importance of being on time, reminding
them that nothing could be accomplished until every choir member was in his
or her place ready to sing. |
"A
choir is not one or two voices," she would say. "The plan is not to
arrive at seven-thirty but to begin singing at seven-thirty." |
That
particularly cold Wednesday evening in March, 1950, Martha had every
intention of being at church as usual by |
But she
had run into a problem. |
Her
daughter, Marilyn, had been attending junior college and working part-time to
pay tuition. That evening she returned home from her afternoon job and gave a
weary nod to her mother. |
"I'm
going to sleep for a while," she had said. "Wake me up for
practice." |
Marilyn,
nineteen, was a pianist and was scheduled to play the piano for the Easter
Cantata. Although she had missed choir practice on occasion, her attendance
was crucial that evening. So at |
"Wake
up!" she announced. "We're leaving in twenty minutes for
practice." |
Marilyn
moaned and rolled over once in bed. Certain that her daughter was awake and
would now get up and get ready for practice, Martha returned to the kitchen. |
At |
"Marilyn,"
Martha said loudly, moving toward her daughter. "What's wrong with you?
You need to wake up right now and get ready for practice. We have to
leave!" |
Slowly
Marilyn turned over in her bed, obviously still very much asleep. Martha felt
the girl's head and found it cool. Marilyn typically had plenty of energy,
and Martha couldn't remember the last time she had come home from work only
to fall into such a deep sleep. |
"Marilyn!"
Martha said in a still louder voice. She placed her hand on the girl's
shoulder and shook her gently. "Marilyn, wake up!" |
Gradually
Marilyn's eyes opened, and she narrowed them as she tried to focus on her
mother. |
"Mama?"
she mumbled. |
"Marilyn,
please wake up! We're going to be late if you don't get up this
instant!" |
"I'm
up, I'm up," Marilyn croaked, sitting up in bed and rubbing her eyes.
"I'll be right down." |
But
fifteen minutes later, at |
"Marilyn!"
she yelled up the stairs. "Get down here right now or I'll leave without
you." |
"Mama?
Come here, please," Marilyn said, her voice shaky. |
Martha
marched up the stairs and stomped into her daughter's room. Her car keys were
clenched in her fist, and her purse hung from her forearm. She stared at her
daughter in frustration. "Are you ready?" |
"Mama,
I'm sorry, but I fell asleep again," Marilyn said. "I can't
understand it. I've never felt like this. It's like I couldn't wake up. Every
time I tried to move out of bed, my eyes got heavy and I closed them. The
next thing I knew I was asleep." |
Martha
looked at her watch and sighed loudly. It was |
"Well,
this will really be something," she said. "I ask everyone to be on
time for practice, and now my own daughter makes me late." She shook her
head. "I know you didn't mean to fall asleep, honey, but if you're
feeling okay, can you please get ready quickly?" |
Marilyn
nodded. "Yeah, I think I'm awake now," she said, shaking her head
and opening her eyes wider. "I'll get ready fast as I can." |
"All
right, then, I'll be downstairs waiting. Please hurry." |
Just as
Martha turned to leave, the house went pitch black. She groped in front of
her until she felt the door frame and steadied herself. |
"Great,"
Martha muttered. "Now we'll really be late." |
"What
happened?" Marilyn asked. |
"Electricity's
out," Martha said. "I'll work my way downstairs and see if I can
find a candle." |
|
Donna,
Rowena, and Sadie had been best friends since grade school. As far back as
they could remember, their families had attended |
Now that
they were teenagers, too old for the youth choir and too young for the senior
choir, Martha Paul had devised a way to keep them involved. She created the
West Side Girls' Trio, a special choir for the three friends in which they
could work on musical pieces and perform them occasionally for the
congregation. |
The number
they had been practicing for the Easter Cantata was their most beautiful yet,
and none of the girls could wait to present it that evening at practice. |
"Let's
get there early," Rowena suggested to the others. "That way we can
visit a while before practice." |
The girls
made a plan and arranged for Donna to borrow her father's car and pick Rowena
and Sadie up at their homes by |
But at |
"Hello?"
Donna answered. |
"Donna?
What are you doing? You're supposed to be here to pick me up.” |
"Rowena,
what are you talking about?" Donna said. "I'm waiting for Sadie. I
thought she was going to pick both of us up." |
"No,
that wasn't the plan," Rowena said. "I can't believe this! Now
we're all going to be late and no one's going to take us seriously." |
"Ro,
I'm telling you Sadie is supposed to be doing the driving tonight." |
Rowena
sighed. She had no transportation other than catching rides from her friends,
and she was determined to work out their misunderstandings so that they could
get to choir practice. |
"Listen,
Donna. I'll talk to Sadie and see what's happening, and I'll call you right
back." |
Sadie
answered her telephone immediately and Rowena discovered that she had been
right. Sadie, too, was waiting for Donna, since her mother had taken their
family car and she had no way to get to choir practice unless Donna could
drive. |
Rowena
called Donna once again and explained the situation to her. "So, if you
can't drive us, I guess we won't be going," Rowena concluded. |
Donna
apologized and promised to ask her father about borrowing the car and call
her friends back as soon as possible. At |
|
Theodore
Charles was not accustomed to being apart from his wife, Anne. The couple had
been married fifteen years and had rarely spent a day away from each other
during that time. But that spring Anne had some family matters to attend to
in nearby |
"Don't
worry, Theodore," she told him before she left. "I've made plans
for you and the boys. You'll be having supper with the McKinters on Wednesday
night while I'm in |
Theodore
was pleased with this arrangement. The McKinters were a kind couple well past
retirement age, and Margaret McKinter was one of the best cooks in Beatrice.
He knew that he and the boys, ages eight and ten, would be in good hands
while Anne was gone. |
They even
had plans for after the meal. Wednesday night was choir practice, and he and
Anne usually took the boys along with them. The fact that Anne was gone
didn't change things. Theodore and the boys would have dinner at the
McKinters at |
As he'd
expected, Margaret McKinter's meal was wonderful, corned beef with biscuits
and gravy, and homemade apple pie for dessert. |
"I
must say, Margaret," Theodore commented after the meal. "You make
the meanest apple pie this side of the |
"Oh,
now, that ain't so," Margaret gushed. "That pretty, little wife of
yours makes a pie just as fine as any around town. I remember the time when
she was just a wee little thing, that Annie girl. Yes, sir, just a little
girl with the prettiest dresses and ..." |
Theodore
had expected this. Along with Margaret's good cooking she was also quite the
conversationalist. Often a person could rest ten or fifteen minutes while
Margaret did a fine job of carrying on a conversation all by herself. |
That being
the case, Theodore was not surprised to find himself nodding in agreement and
glancing at his watch as |
"And
so like I was saying," Margaret McKinter drew in a quick breath,
"whenever Thelma does her laundry without the bleach, I'm talking about
her underclothes and all the rest, and then hangs them out to dry on the
..." |
Suddenly
everything in the McKinter house went dark, and for the first time in nearly
an hour there was utter silence in the room. |
|
Gina Hicks
was unsure about what to do that evening. She very much enjoyed being a member
of the |
But then
there was her mother to consider. |
Norma
Hicks was a charter member of the Ladies' Missionary Group which met one
Thursday each month at a different home. That month the women planned to meet
at the Hicks' home, and the meeting was set for the following night. |
"Gina,
I know you need to go to practice," her mother had said earlier in the
evening. "But I could really use your help. Besides the cleaning, I have
some baking to do, and I'd like to get it all finished tonight." |
Gina's
younger sisters and brother would be taking their baths and getting ready for
bed, and Gina knew there was no one else to help her mother. Still, she
struggled with her decision. She lived so close to the church she could hurry
right home after practice to help her mother. But maybe her mother really
needed her, and in that case she would definitely stay home. |
Gina
looked at the clock. 7:20. There was still time to get to the church before
practice. She began searching for her coat when just then she heard her
mother struggling to break up an argument between her two sisters. |
Gina
sighed softly. |
"Mom!"
she yelled across the house. "Don't worry about things. I'll stay and
help." |
After all,
she figured, God might want her to sing in the choir--but first he'd want her
to help her mother. She began humming the melody to her solo number and
headed toward the kitchen. Quickly she dialed her friend and fellow choir
member, Agnes O'Shaugnessy. |
"Aggie,
I won't be there tonight. Tell Mrs. Paul I'm working on my number, and I'll
get with her about it later." |
"Okay.
Mary and I are just about to leave. We'll let her know." |
Gina hung
up the phone, but just as she began washing dishes, there was a distant
roaring sound. Suddenly the windows began rattling and the ground beneath her
feet began to shake. |
Norma came
flying down the stairs with the younger girls racing behind her. "Oh,
dear, Lord!" she cried out. "What in Heaven's name was that?" |
At that
instant they were enveloped in black. |
|
Mary Jones
and Agnes O'Shaugnessy were young mothers who always carpooled to choir
practice at |
That
Wednesday it was Mary's turn to drive and she arrived at Agnes's house at |
"This
is great," she said. "You've got to see this guy." |
The
program was one of the neighborhood favorites, and Mary soon found herself
hooked. Even after the phone call from Gina Hicks, Mary and Agnes continued
to watch the program. Before either women realized what had happened, it was |
"Oh,
no!" Agnes gasped. "We're going to be late. I'm so sorry, Mary. I
lost all track of time." |
Mary stood
up quickly, eyes still turned to the final moments of the television show.
Just then Agnes's husband, Paul, joined them with the baby in his arms. |
"Aren't
you going to be late, girls?" he asked, looking at the clock. |
"Nah,"
Mary said. "Besides, I love this show, and we'll still be there by |
In less
than a minute the credits began rolling on the screen as the program ended
and both women said goodbye to Paul and headed for the car. Just as they
opened the car door they heard the sound of a terrifying explosion, the force
of which shook the ground and nearly knocked them off their feet. |
"What
in the world was that?" Mary said, straining to look in the distance
toward where the sound had come from. |
"I
don't know, but we'd better get to practice before we're in deep trouble with
Mrs. Paul," Agnes said, getting into her car. "Come on, let's
go." |
Pastor
Nubert had finished dinner by |
"Should
be a good turnout tonight," he commented to his wife. |
Before she
could answer, Susan walked into the kitchen. |
"Daddy,
I'm thirsty," she complained. |
Pastor
Nubert looked at the clock on the wall. 7:05. They needed to leave in the
next two minutes if they wanted to arrive by |
"Honey,
can't you wait until after practice? We'll have punch and cookies when we're
done singing," he said, stooping to her level and brushing a lock of
hair from her eyes. |
The little
girl shook her head adamantly. "My throat hurts and I want a drink now,
please," she said politely. "Please, Daddy." |
The pastor
sighed. "All right, but we have to leave in just a minute. Drink it
quickly, okay?" |
Susan
clapped her hands happily. "Yes, Daddy. I will." |
He walked
to the refrigerator and pulled out a pitcher of red punch, then poured some
into a cup and handed it to her. |
"Thanks,
Daddy," she said, turning around and walking out of the kitchen. Pastor
Nubert watched as the child rounded the corner into the living room and then
tripped on the throw rug, dumping the red drink down her white pinafore
dress. Immediately the liquid seeped into the beige rug, and Susan cried for
help. |
"I'm
so sorry, Daddy. I didn't mean to." Tears had formed in her eyes, and
the pastor's heart went out to her. He moved quickly to the little girl's
side. "It's okay, sweetie, we'll clean it up." |
In an
instant the child's mother joined them with a rag and a bucket of water,
working as fast as she could to dilute the stain on the carpet and clean off
Susan's dress. |
"You'll
need to change, dear," she said patiently. |
The pastor
looked at the clock once more. |
"We're
going to be late," he muttered as their daughter left the room. |
"Everybody
should be late once in his life," his wife said with a smile.
"Don't let it kill you, George." |
He sighed
again and began helping with the clean-up. "You're right. Go help Susan.
We'll get there when we get there." |
Fourteen
minutes later, just as the Nuberts had finished cleaning up the mess and were
preparing to leave for practice, the house suddenly shuddered and the lights
went out. They were left standing in utter darkness. |
"What
is it, George?" his wife whispered. "What do you think
happened?" |
The pastor
held his car keys in his hand and led his family carefully through the unlit
house to the front door. "I don't know. Let's get down to the church and
see if the lights are off there, too." |
|
Herb Kipf
had finished dinner and was working on a letter he was writing to the
secretary of another Baptist church across town. He often helped out with
paperwork in the church office and that included writing letters. |
At age
twenty-nine Herb was a machinist and a bachelor who lived at home with his
parents. He often worked long hours and nearly every day volunteered some of
his time down at |
In fact,
most of the choir was made up of a core of people who had sung together for
the past seventeen years. Even after many members left to fight in World War
II, every original member had returned and continued on as part of Beatrice's
|
"Herb,
aren't you going to be late for choir?" his mother called to him that
evening. "It's |
Herb glanced
at the clock in his bedroom and was surprised to see that the time had
slipped by so quickly. He had planned to be at practice by |
Racing
down the stairs of his parents' home, Herb shouted goodbye to his family and
ran outside to his car. But just before he drove away, his mother burst
through the front door and motioned for him to roll down his car window. |
"What
is it, Mom? I'm in a hurry," he yelled. |
She jogged
to the car, and Herb could see that she looked deeply distressed.
"Herb," she said breathlessly. "Gladys just called and it's
the church. It blew up! Just a minute ago, at |
Herb's
face fell and his stomach turned over. If the church blew up at |
As he
approached the church, Herb could see numerous fire trucks and police
officers and dozens of people gathering on the sidewalk to see what had
happened. Herb stared at where the church should have been and was horrified.
The building had been leveled and was nothing but a smoldering pile of
splintered wood and crumbled bricks. He moved his car slowly around the
emergency vehicles and saw the towering white steeple. The twenty-foot high
section of the building had been severed from the church in the explosion and
now lay exactly where he and the other singers usually parked their cars. |
"Dear
God, who was inside?" Herb whispered in horror as he made his way
quickly from his car to the fire chief. |
"Ernie!"
Herb called frantically. He could hear people screaming and crying as they
stared at the flattened church, and he tried not to imagine how many of his
friends had been inside the building when it exploded. Sirens wailed through
the night, and the air was filled with heavy smoke and settling debris. It
had been dark for a couple of hours, and it was difficult to see clearly. |
"Thank
God," the fire chief said as he made his way to Herb and put an arm on
his shoulder. "I thought you must have been inside. Don't you have choir
practice tonight?" |
Tears
filled Herb's eyes as he nodded. "Yes. I was late. But the others ...
Ernie, they must be inside. It's after seven-thirty. What happened?" |
"The
whole thing just blew up. Probably a natural gas leak. The steeple sliced
through the power lines, knocked out power all over town. Windows are blown
out, too. Up and down the block." Ernie bowed his head a moment. "I
hate to tell you this, but if anyone was inside they didn't have a
chance." |
"Have
they looked?" Herb strained to see the area where the church once stood.
"Someone might need help inside." |
Ernie
shook his head. "They've given a quick check, Herb. There wouldn't even
be any bodies to identify. It looks like a bomb went off. And anything in the
basement is buried under tons of rubble." |
The fire
chief looked intently at his friend, not sure if he was up to the task he was
about to give him. |
"Herb,
there's a lot of frantic people standing around, and they need some answers.
Please, walk around and gather all the choir members you can find. We need to
know who's missing." |
It was the
most frightening task Herb had ever attempted. He took a deep breath and
headed toward the church looking desperately into the night for the faces of
choir members among the crowd. Debris cluttered the area and Herb had to step
over piles of shattered church pews and roof tiles as he began his search. |
Just then
he saw the three teenagers who had planned to join them that night, Donna,
Rowena, and Sadie. He was filled with relief as he reached them and pulled
them into a group hug. |
"Thank
God," he said. |
Donna was
crying too hard too talk, and Rowena seemed stunned. "We got mixed up
about who was driving," she said, staring at the flattened church.
"We were ten minutes late. Just ten minutes!" |
Herb
pointed the girls toward the fire chief and told them they needed to wait
there. "We have to find out who was inside," he said. |
At that
Rowena began to sob. |
"Rowena,
keep hold of yourself," Herb said. There was no time for hysterics, not
with so many people still unaccounted for. |
"Pray,
Rowena," he said. "Just, pray." |
The girls
followed Herb's orders, and he continued through the crowd, which was growing
constantly. Just then he saw Theodore Charles with his two young sons huddled
next to him. The men were such good friends, and Herb began crying
unashamedly in relief. "Theodore!"
Herb yelled. "Over here!" |
Theodore
spotted Herb, and with his sons in tow he walked quickly to meet him.
"We were late," Theodore said. "Mrs. McKinter talked too
long." He looked at his friend intently. "Otherwise we'd be
dead." |
"I
was late, too," Herb said. "Writing a letter, time just got away
from me." He paused a moment. For the first time he considered the
truth. He should have been inside the church when it exploded. Every other
Wednesday night as far back as he could remember, he had arrived at choir
practice fifteen minutes early. He hugged his friend tightly and sent him
toward the fire chief. |
For
fifteen minutes Herb maneuvered frantically through the crowd. He found
Pastor Nubert, his wife, and their daughter, Susan. There were quick hugs
exchanged, and Herb pointed them toward the fire captain with the others. A
few minutes later he found Mary Jones and Agnes O'Shaugnessy, and three
retired women, each of whom came separately and had a different reason for
being late to practice that evening. Soon afterward he found a young couple
who had only joined the choir the year before. They had received a
longdistance phone call, which had made them late that evening. |
Finally
Herb came upon the choir director, Martha Paul, and her daughter, Marilyn. |
"Martha!"
Herb hugged the crying woman and let her rest on his shoulder for a moment.
"I thought for sure you'd be inside." |
"Marilyn
couldn't wake up," she sobbed. "I tried and tried to get her up,
but she just kept sleeping." She looked up at Herb, her eyes red and her
face tear-stained. "Do you know that in sixteen years I've never been
here later than seven-twenty?" she asked, her eyes filled with awe. |
"The
church blew at |
Herb felt
as though he were in the middle of a strange and twisted dream. First there
was the horror of seeing the church leveled by an explosion, and then the
miracles, one after another, of finding each choir member alive. How was it
possible that so many people had been late for so many different reasons? |
There were
fourteen choir members, three teenage singers, and three children who should
have been at choir that night. After a quick count, Herb was stunned to learn
that only one person was missing. |
"Gina
Hicks?" he yelled so that the other choir members could hear him.
"Anyone seen Gina?" |
"She
couldn't come tonight," Agnes said happily, wiping tears from her eyes.
"She called and said she had to help her mother." |
That made
twenty people. Every choir member was accounted for. |
Just then
Erma Rimrock, a retired woman who had been a member at the church for forty
years, approached the huddled choir. |
"Thank
God, you're all alive," she said. Then she turned to Pastor Nubert.
"Pastor, last week my brother and I purchased the old closeddown |
The pastor
was stunned. There was no explanation for anything that had happened that
night, including Erma's offer. He hugged her and thanked her, and then turned
back to Herb. |
"We're
all accounted for?" he asked, still amazed. |
Herb nodded
and looked at the faces in front of him, each struggling with the nearness of
disaster as they stood silent and shivering in the freezing March night. For
nearly a minute no one said a word as they realized the certainty of the
miracle they had been a part of. |
"I
think we should join hands," Herb said softly. The choir separated
itself from the milling crowd and found a spot in the middle of Court Street
where they formed a circle. |
"Do
you understand this?" he asked them. "Every one of us was late tonight.
Every single one of us." |
"Let's
pray," Pastor Nubert suggested, and instantly everyone in the circle
bowed their heads. |
"Dear
Lord," the pastor's voice cracked with emotion, and he struggled to
continue. "Lord, we know that you saved us tonight from certain death.
By delaying each of us just ten minutes, you have proved yourself beyond a
doubt, and we thank you." |
The pastor
squeezed the hands of his wife and daughter and looked at the other faces
around him. Then looking upward, he spoke in a voice that was barely audible.
"Thank you, God. We will not forget this." |
|
From:
ANGELS, MIRACLES AND ANSWERED PRAYERS. (It must have been a miracle –
Everyday lives touched by miracles) Vol 1. Kelsey Tyler. Angel encounters in
everyday life and everyday lives touched by miracles. Pag. 53-70, Guideposts.
|