Sweet Seasons of Miracles The Miracle of a Safe Landing Chapter - 1 Even as a child, I always wanted to travel. I lived in a little house with my parents and two brothers in the heart of the city of Bombay, India.  Home to me was a cross between a secret garden in the midst of a lush green village and a humming township in a city that was the commercial capital of India. While other girls my age were playing with dolls, I would clamber up a giant mango tree, look toward the horizon and dream of other lands and other people.  I loved to read, and stories from distant lands fascinated and inspired me. By the time I was eighteen I was consumed with the idea of hitchhiking through India and someday, the whole world.  My mother’s good sense kept me from doing something as dangerous as hitchhiking at eighteen but that did not keep me from flying on wings of imagination, every so often, into distant lands. Now in my thirties I was actually flying to Europe.  I had been invited by a church to come and speak about what God was doing in my life, in India, and about the work with the street kids. It was an exciting opportunity.   I waved good-bye to my two little girls. I knew they would be okay with my brother and his wife. I would be gone for about twenty-one days. My girls would be busy with school and other activities.  As I prepared to board my flight on October 20, 1995, I was excited. Stuttgart was my first destination. Then I was going to other cities and possibly to Paris.  Now the little girl who dreamed of traveling was actually doing it. My wings of imagination had been replaced with wings of aluminum and steel. I was embarking on an exciting journey. Little did I know how exciting. The flight was delayed by two and a half hours due to technical difficulties. I became so nervous I almost wanted to run away and not board that flight. I did not know how to back out of that. So I just read and waited for the technical difficulty to be fixed. A little less than two and a half hours passed before we boarded the plane. I had a lingering, nagging, feeling that all was not going to be well. Oh well, it could be just me. Before boarding I called my friends Cozi and Heather; a couple that loved me and prayed for me. I told them I sensed all was not well and needed their prayers. They assured me they would be on their knees till I arrived in Germany and that was an eight hour flight. Friends like them are precious. The flight was packed. I found my seat and sat down as quickly as I could as I did not want to be in the way. I would make myself comfortable later. The take-off was uneventful. About an hour into the flight, as we cruised at thirty thousand feet, I opened the screen on the window to see the view. Truthfully, I expected to see nothing but perhaps the stars and the moon, as it was about two in the morning.  Yet I thought there might be the slightest chance of seeing something amazing at that altitude and I did. It was a huge orange flame.  For a moment, I thought it might be the sun but it was too early in the morning for that. I looked again and realized that the engine was on fire. What happened?  It is an amazing story of a miraculous survival. Like other stories in the book knit with the power of who God is and His divine and amazing plans for us. The Miracle of a Doorless Home Chapter - 2 The sun shone through my bedroom window facing the east. New frustrations, new tears, new beginnings, new hopes and new challenges pretty much summed up a day in my work with street kids. Gingerly I got ready to greet the day. Not that I wasn’t excited. So much happened in a day with thirty plus children and just two of us volunteering; that a slow morning kind of built up the much needed energy for the day. Fuel for the fire one should think! As I stepped from the bridge on to the railway platform I was greeted by a bunch of assorted children. They came in all sizes, shapes and ages. Their smiles and gay abandon set my spirit soaring. I knew it was going to be another good day, tears and all! As we began our day with the literacy program little Lucy tugged at my sleeve, “look”, she said, “that lady has been there awhile.” I looked up, and just behind the tree in the railway yard sat a lady, emaciated and sad. I took a break from the class. I went over and sat next to her under the giant mango tree to find out her plight.  Her name was Rosie but she had no color in her cheeks, not even a fragrance worth! Haltingly she narrated how she had worked as domestic help for a family for some years.  Now that she was sick they did not want to take care of her and had thrown her out. There were no laws or unions to protect such maids. Rosie whispered weakly, “Can you find me some medical care and help me get back home?” New tears, new fears, new challenges! My friend Charmaine stood next to me quietly taking everything in. She nodded. That meant that we were in agreement to get her some help.  Private nursing homes were much too expensive for a couple of mad caps for God, operating a faith-based ministry. So we did what was best under the circumstances.  We put Rosie in a rickshaw (she could barely walk) and checked her in at the nearest government hospital. Their care wasn’t the best but we had to depend on them. Two hours later, after preliminary tests, it was decided by the doctors that Rosie needed fresh blood and at least a couple of days in the hospital. We left Rosie in the capable hands of medical professionals and headed for home, happy that she would be taken care of and now had a chance to survive.  We visited her regularly for a couple of days, but then decided to take a break for a day. The hospital was an hour away from where I lived and with two little children of my own, I was exhausted. That afternoon I lay in bed enjoying the quiet and listening to the birds in the tall gulmohour tree next to my window. Suddenly I felt impressed in the spirit to go and see Rosie. I began to argue with God. “Not now Lord, I am so tired!” The spiritual nudging grew stronger until I could stand it no more. I telephoned Charmaine and in a couple of minutes we were on our way to the hospital. New challenges, new hopes! As we got to where Rosie was supposed to be, her bed was taken up by another lady. Rosie was standing in the corner crying and afraid. “Rosie!” I exclaimed, “What’s the matter?” Before she could answer a nurse came up and rudely interjected that Rosie’s time was up in the hospital. Someone with a more serious medical condition needed her bed. A mega city has its own share of problems, this was one of them! We had arrived just in time! Now we had a sick Rosie and no hospital. She had now developed a cyst on her thigh and needed further treatment for that. We did the rounds of a few public hospitals but all were full. Frustrated, we drove homewards still trying to decide what to do with our sweet Rosie, who by now had become very dear to us. My home had it share of marital problems and bringing her in would not be the best thing. Charmaine lived with her parents and she could not even consider the possibility of asking them. We called up a couple of our acquaintances who owned spacious houses and asked if they could help. They all said, “No.” It was way past nine and still there was no solution in sight. We bowed our heads in prayer. We looked up and thought about Effie. She had a little hut on the roadside and we didn’t have to bother about knocking on her door; she had no door! We stood respectfully outside her tiny house and Charmaine called her gently through the curtain that shielded her and her little family, from the rest of the world. The curtain parted and there stood Effie wearing a faded blue dress and a bright smile. “What’s the matter, sisters?” she said, bewildered to see us out so late.  Effie was about thirty-five years old. Her hair oiled and neatly pulled into a bun. I noticed that her fingers had a lot of cuts. Her hands appeared rough, but as she clasped our hands in hers the warmth of her love and her soft gentle touch melted our apprehensions and fears. We quickly told her the story. Effie did not hesitate. She motioned us into her humble but warm home. In a few minutes she made up a bed, hugged Rosie and tucked her in. We heaved a sigh of relief as we waved them both good-bye promising to come and see Rosie the next day. Effie’s three little children waved us good-bye. Effie was a single parent. We soon arrived back at my house. Waving a good bye to Charmaine as she got into a rickshaw, I started to walk back home. The cool breeze blew a wisp of hair on my face. As I brushed it aside, I caught a tear.   Effie lived in a 20 ft x 20 ft hut. She had no house room but she had plenty of heart room and that is what made the difference between a door without miracles and a miracle without doors.   Oh, that we would have no doors on our hearts; we would experience miracles everyday