by John Edmund Haggai
One winter morning in 1931, I came down to breakfast – and found the table empty. It was cold outside. The worst blizzard on record had paralysed the city. No cars were out. The snow had drifted up two stories high against our house, blackening the windows. “Daddy, what’s happening?” I asked. I was six years old. Gently Dad told me our fuel and food supplies were exhausted. He’s just put the last piece of coal on the fire. Mother had eight ounces of milk left for my baby brother Tom. After that – nothing. “So what are we going to eat?” I asked. “We’ll have our devotions first, John Edmund,” he said, in a voice that told me I should not ask questions. My father was a pastor. That morning, Dad read the scriptures as usual, and afterwards we knelt for prayer. He prayed something like this: “Lord, Thou knowest we have no more coal to burn. If it can please Thee, send us some fuel. If not, Thy will be done – we thank Thee for warm clothes and bed covers, which will keep us comfortable, even without the fire. Also, Thou knowest we have no food except milk for Baby Thomas. If it can please Thee…” For someone facing bitter cold and hunger, he was remarkably calm. Nothing deflected him from completing the family devotions – not even the clamour we now heard beyond the muffling wall of snow. Finally someone pounded on the door. The visitor had cleared the snow off the windowpane, and we saw his face peering in. “Your door’s iced up,” he yelled. “I can’t open it.” The devotions over, Dad jumped up. He pulled; the man pushed. When the door suddenly gave, an avalanche of snow fell into the entrance hall. I didn’t recognize the man, and I don’t think Dad did either because he said politely, “Can I help you?” The man explained he was a farmer who’d heard Dad preach in Allegan three years earlier. “I awakened at four o’clock this morning,” he said, “and I couldn’t get you out of my mind. The truck was stuck in the garage, so I harnessed the horses to the sleigh and came over.” “Well, please come in,” my father said. On any other occasion, he’d have added, “And have some breakfast with us.” But, of course, today there was no breakfast. The man thanked him. And then – to our astonishment – he plucked a large box off the sleigh. More than sixty years later, I can see that box as clear as yesterday. It contained milk, eggs, butter, pork chops, grain, homemade bread and a host of other things. When the farmer had delivered the box, he went back out and got a cord of wood. Finally, after a very hearty breakfast, he insisted Dad take a ten-dollar bill. Almost every day Dad reminded us that “God is the Provider.” And my experience throughout adult life has confirmed it. The Bible said it. But Dad and Mom showed me it was true.
Bible readings: Matew 6:25-34
25 “For this reason I say to you, do not be worried about your life, as to what you will eat or what you will drink; nor for your body, as to what you will put on. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothing? 26 “Look at the birds of the air, that they do not sow, nor reap nor gather into barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not worth much more than they? 27 “And who of you by being worried can add a single hour to his life? 28 “And why are you worried about clothing? Observe how the lilies of the field grow; they do not toil nor do they spin, 29 yet I say to you that not even Solomon in all his glory clothed himself like one of these. 30 “But if God so clothes the grass of the field, which is alive today and tomorrow is thrown into the furnace, will He not much more clothe you? You of little faith! 31 “Do not worry then, saying, `What will we eat?’ or `What will we drink?’ or `What will we wear for clothing?’ 32 “For the Gentiles eagerly seek all these things; for your heavenly Father knows that you need all these things. 33 “But seek first His kingdom and His righteousness, and all these things will be added to you.
34 “So do not worry about tomorrow; for tomorrow will care for itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own
34 “So do not worry about tomorrow; for tomorrow will care for itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own
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