A number of years ago I received an email from a neighbor about a lost dog spotted repeatedly in our neighborhood. I immediately sent out an email alert to my neighbors to be on the lookout for this little creature asking them to leave out food and water.

I worried about this little dog exposed to the 100 degree temperatures that week, all alone without any food or water, frightened, and vulnerable to snakes or other dangers at night. I prayed a lot for that little dog and was determined to catch it and return it to its owner.

Each day I looked for it while on my morning walk and also after emails of sightings that also occurred daily. But it would always run away out of fear. One day there were several of us trying to corner it, but it ran into and out of a storm drain faster than lightning. On day six of this saga, a neighbor saw the dog in her yard but couldn’t catch it.

I found an article that suggested if you see a lost dog, sit down and let it come to you. I emailed this information to the neighbors. On day seven, the neighbor who had previously seen the dog in her yard emailed me. She had seen the dog in her yard minutes earlier, so she sat on the grass and endured the 100 degree heat and waited for the dog to come to her just like the article suggested. After a few minutes, it approached her, and she was able to grab it. I went to see her right away. She was an adorable Chinese Crested female that weighed about ten pounds. Sometimes one ear pointed up and the other pointed down.

Another neighbor who had a small dog volunteered to give her a bath and feed her while I tried to locate the owner. I called the local Animal Shelter giving a description of the dog to see if anyone had reported theirs missing.

“We had a call seven days ago from someone about a mile away looking for their dog who fits that description,” the officer said. “I’ll give you their phone number.”

“My name is Mary,” I informed the prospective owner moments later. “We found a dog that fits the description of yours who has been hiding in our neighborhood for about a week. Is your dog still missing?”

“Yes she is,” she said.

“Can you text me a photo of your dog right away to see if it’s the same one?”

“Of course,” she replied.

As soon as I saw the photo, I knew it was the same dog, but I wanted to be sure.

“Also, she has a distinctive feature about her. Can you tell me what it is?”

“Sometimes one of her ears points up while the other one stays down,” she said excitedly.

“That’s it! Well, we have your dog.”

“It’s actually my boyfriend’s dog” she informed me. “He’s been crying for a week.”

She told me that while they were away, their pet sitter found the gate open and their three dogs missing. The other two were located right away.

Shortly thereafter, Taylor was reunited with her owner.

I’ll never forget the efforts we made to rescue her. Her fear of us prevented her from being rescued much earlier.

Revelation 3:20 says, “Behold I stand at the door and knock. If any man hears my voice and opens the door, I will come in to him and sup with him, and he with me.”

Taylor’s story reminds me of myself when I tried to avoid my newly converted Christian friend who kept telling me about Jesus many years ago. But, six months later I became a Christian. I learned that all Jesus wanted was to “rescue” me by having a relationship with me.

I’m glad Jesus had the patience to wait for me to go to him, just like my neighbor had the patience to sit in the sun waiting for Taylor to go to her.

Recently a Virginia woman was shopping in a Goodwill thrift store as she did on a routine basis. While there, an unusual clear glass vase with imbedded colored stripes caught her eye. She noticed a “Murano” mark on the bottom and suspected the vase as high quality Italian glass. She brought it home for $3.99.

Curious about her find, she posted a picture of it to a Murano Glass Facebook group. Some group members recognized the vase as a rare piece designed by an Italian architect. One poster even offered her $10,000, but she passed on the offer. Another poster suggested she contact a particular auction house in New York which she did.

When staff at the auction house saw the vase, they recognized it as a rare piece by Venetian architect Carlo Scarpa. The auction house dispatched two experts to inspect the piece in person and verified its authenticity. Much to the young woman’s surprise, her vase sold at auction for $107,100.

It’s very rare for someone to find a valuable item at a thrift store. But when it happens, it usually makes the news. One wonders how the vase ended up at a thrift store to begin with. Whoever donated the vase, surely didn’t recognize its value. Quite possibly they were handling someone’s affairs after their death and donated the unwanted items. The thrift store employee who unpacked the donation box didn’t recognize its value either. Nor did any of the other shoppers that overlooked it since it appeared on the shelf.

The story of this vase reminds me of Christmas. All over the world, people are busy getting ready to celebrate the holiday. Whether they’re in the Far East, Europe or the United States, they’re decorating their homes, attending Christmas parties, baking cookies, and shopping for gifts. But how many really stop to think about the value of what Jesus when he was born in a little town called Bethlehem?

It’s really quite remarkable when you think about it. Jesus gave up everything He had in Heaven, humbled himself to become a baby to live for 33 years as a man on this earth. And He knowingly and willingly endured a horrendous death as the ultimate sacrifice for man’s sin to provide a way to reconcile us back to God.

Luke 2:10 says: “I bring you good news of great joy that will be for all the people. Today in the town of David a Savior has been born to you; he is Christ the Lord.”

Forty-three years ago this Christmas Day, I accepted Jesus Christ into my life and became a Christian. If you know me or have read my book, you know my life hasn’t been the same since. I’m so glad I finally recognized the true value of Christmas. Christ’s birth on this earth is still truly priceless for all who accept this wonderous gift. God blessed us–everyone.

Before I started writing my blogs I drafted a list of topics I would eventually write about. My dearest friend, Vera, was on my list. We had a truly special friendship for over thirty years. Not one argument, cross word, or criticism. We were both kind to one another, and there when needed. We valued each other and knew that God brought us together.

Every month for three years I scanned my list for inspiration. Sometimes I wrote about an answer to prayer or a “divine appointment.” And sometimes I wrote about an approaching holiday, an inspirational movie or book. For some reason, I kept bypassing the topic of my friendship with Vera.

Last month I decided it was time. Now 101 years old, I knew her clock was ticking. Not that she was on her deathbed, but I wanted to read her my blog.

I penned and posted “I’ll See you in Heaven.” Four days later I went to visit her in her health care room at the retirement community, as I did on a regular basis. When I arrived, she was sitting in her chair as usual.

“Hi Vera,” I announced after I tapped on the open door. I pushed the pink stroller inside that carried my little shih tzu, Prissy, who always brightened Vera’s day.

“I have a new blog to read to you today,” I announced. It’s called, “I’ll See You in Heaven.”

“That sounds nice,” she grinned.

Vera enjoyed me reading to her since she developed macular degeneration. Sometimes she would ask, “Have you written any blogs lately?” I couldn’t wait to read her my latest.

It described our meeting in our previous neighborhood thirty-three years earlier, our friendship, and how I knew she would be leaving for Heaven someday, and eventually I would too. When I finished reading the blog, she smiled, grabbed my hand, and said, “thank you for being such a good friend.” And then she said a prayer for me, and I said one for her.

Afterwards, I talked about Heaven. I told her about a documentary, “After Death,” recently released in the theaters. In it, multiple people described what’s referred to as Near Death Experiences (NDEs). Some described seeing a bright light, meeting Jesus, and feeling overwhelming love emanating from him. Some even described seeing the gates of Heaven. In each case they were told they had to go back, though none wanted to leave. Moments later they woke up in their earthly bodies.

After I described these stories, Vera replied, “It sounds wonderful.”

Ten days later I received a text from her daughter telling me Vera went to Heaven.

Psalm 37:23 says, “The steps of a good man are ordered by the Lord.”

I believe God guided the timing of Vera’s blog, and our conversation that day. This Thanksgiving I’m thankful I had the opportunity to read it to her. Though I’m saddened at her departure, I’m also thankful for the special friendship we shared. Now that’s a real gift.

“I’ll see you in a few weeks,” I told my friend Vera after a quick prayer and hug goodbye. “If not, I’ll see you in Heaven.”

Those were the last words I said to her two weeks ago as I left the health care unit of the retirement community where she lived. Now 101 years old, I had been using these same parting words for the past few years.

Two days later I received a text from Vera’s daughter informing me that Vera was in quarantine sick with Covid. I wondered if she would survive.

I thought back on our friendship which began thirty-three years earlier when I moved to Virginia.

I was walking in my new neighborhood when I came upon an older woman at her mailbox. We exchanged greetings, and a few minutes later she invited me in for tea. As we chatted, I found out that she too was a Christian. The next Sunday I began attending church with her and her husband.

Every year Vera would have my husband and me over for dinner to celebrate my birthday. With my own family being over 500 miles away, it made my birthday special.

Over thirty years apart, I never looked at Vera as a mother figure. My own Mom was still alive at the time and was my best friend. Though miles apart, I spoke with Mom almost daily. Vera and I were simply “close friends.”

Seventeen years ago Vera’s husband passed away, and she moved into a retirement community a few miles away. We continued getting together, even during Covid when I would sit outside her apartment window and have the allowed “window” visits.

Not long after Covid, Vera moved into the assisted living unit. Several weeks ago I went to visit her and discovered she had been moved once again. This time to the health care unit. Two days later I received that text that she had Covid.

Twenty-four hours after the text from Vera’s daughter, she sent me another text. This time it included a video of Vera walking with the aid of her walker and alongside one of the health care workers. She had made a miraculous turnaround in one day.

I know one of these days I’ll get a call from her daughter telling me Vera has passed away.

John 14:1-3 says, “Do not let your hearts be troubled. Trust in God; trust also in me. In my Father’s house are many rooms; if it were not so, I would have told you. I am going there to prepare a place for you. And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come back and take you to be with me that you also may be where I am.”

When Vera does leave this earth, I have no doubt where she will go. I also believe she’ll be on my welcoming committee when I arrive in Heaven. And just perhaps we’ll be fortunate enough to be neighbors once again.

My husband and I recently returned from vacationing in France. While there, we went to one of our favorite Parisian restaurants for their delicious onion soup. Throughout our meal we struck up a conversation with our young male waiter who conveniently spoke perfect English. We finished our meal and said our goodbyes.

We were about fifteen feet from the restaurant when we climbed a few stairs to a concrete sidewalk in a park like setting. There were many people walking by, riding their bikes, or sitting on a short wall that surrounded the area. We had only gotten about three feet from the top of the stairs.

Is that a wallet?

It was upside down with the flap facing the ground. It was brown checkered leather with two metal snaps.

“Look Wally, a wallet,” I said as I picked it up. The front flap was snapped shut.

Inside was a five euro bill and two credit cards bearing an unusual name of the owner.

“I need to go back inside and ask our waiter to help me.”

“I just found this wallet outside, and it has credit cards and euros in it,” I told him. “We’re leaving Paris tomorrow for Strasbourg. Can you help me find the owner?”

He looked at the contents.

“This would have been bad for the owner if someone would have gotten this credit card,” he said as he held up one of the cards.

He took out his cell phone, went on Facebook, and typed in the name.

“Looks like she recently moved to Paris from England according to her posts,” he told me. “She’s from Copenhagen,” he said before he sent her a private message.

“I’ll bring you over to the manager. You can give him the wallet.” He assured me it would be safe.

“Thanks for your help,” I said with a sigh of relief.

Once again I told my story to the manager. He logged in the wallet in a “lost and found” book and told me he would lock it up.

I headed back out and up the stairs to find Wally.

“She just called me back,” the waiter yelled as he found us. “She’s coming to retrieve it later.”

“Thank you so much,” I said as I gave him a big American hug.

Remembering her unusual name, I sent her a private message on Facebook a few days later to make sure she received all the contents.

“Yes,” everything was in there, she replied. “This isn’t the usual response one would find in Paris when someone loses their wallet.”

“You were lucky,” I told her. “I’m a Christian.” She thanked me once again.

I’m sure there are non-Christians who would have done the same thing. But, as Christians, we are always to be lights to the world.

Matthew 5:16 says, “Let your light so shine before men so that they may see your good works and glorify your father who is in heaven.”

Years ago my husband and I were travelling to Paris from Dulles Airport on an all business class airline called Open Skies. A subsidiary of British Airways, Open Skies only flew 757 aircraft directly from Dulles to Paris at a reduced rate. However, they only flew several flights per week.

We arrived at Dulles five hours ahead of time. Our check-in was to be at the British Airways counter. From time to time we would check the flight departure board.

“Oh no, our flight’s been cancelled,” I told Wally. He checked the board to confirm. We knew there wasn’t another Open Skies flight for two nights and the British Airways ticket counter wasn’t open yet to check in.

We said a quick prayer and stood first in line at the ticket counter.

About twenty minutes later a middle-aged man with glasses and thinning hair went up to the counter in preparation for checking people in. I patiently waited for him to call us up.

“I see our Open Skies flight has been cancelled,” I told him calmly.

“We’re rebooking everyone on our British Airways flights,” he responded. “You’ll have to fly to London first, and then on to Paris.”

I prayed silently that the next British Airways flight wasn’t full as he busily worked away on his computer.

“Here you go,” the ticket agent said. “Your flight leaves in three hours.”

“Thank you so much,” I replied with a sigh of relief. Wally and I thanked God for helping us.

We discovered we were on a 747 seated upstairs in the ‘bubble’ in first class. We were treated like royalty with all the special amenities.

When we returned to Dulles weeks later, we searched for the ticket agent that had helped us.

“There he is,” I pointed out to Wally.

“I don’t know if you remember us, but our Open Skies flight was cancelled several weeks ago, and you put us in First Class. Why did you do that?”

“Because you were so calm,” he replied.

He went on to tell me how some people yell and carry on as if the flight cancellation was his fault. I have seen situations like that myself and felt bad that he had to endure such abuse at times.

“Well, we really appreciated it. The flight was great, and my husband always wanted to fly in the ‘bubble.’”

“These are for you,” I said as I handed him a package of cookies from France. His face lit up as if I had given him a valuable gift. I think the fact that we remembered him, and appreciated him, was what touched him.

We chatted for a few more minutes before leaving for home.

Luke 6:31 tells us, “Do to others as you would have them do to you.”

I believe God rewarded us with those first-class seats because we treated that agent with kindness. Would that all men would do so, Christians or not. If only.

I was shopping at Whole Foods recently when I took a second look at a petite woman perusing bottles of protein beverages. Wearing a black veil and floor length pleated black tunic, her little face peered out of the white headpiece (called a coif) underneath her veil. I hadn’t seen a Catholic nun in full floor length garb in about twenty years since I was in the waiting room at my orthopedic’s office for an appointment. Since then, any nuns I’ve encountered were wearing below the knee plain skirts with a simple cotton blouse and small veil.

I just had to speak to her.

“Excuse me Sister, my name is Mary….” I asked her about the Order she was with and told her about my time in Catholic school.

“Our convent is about thirty minutes away. I never come to this store,” she informed me, “but we were given a gift card. I’m taking one of the Sisters to an appointment and this store was on the way.”

Even though there was another nun waiting for her in the car, she seemed very eager to converse.

At some point in the conversation, I shared how God spared me from being murdered as a child, and how I became a Christian in my 20s, eventually forgiving my abuser and leading him to Christ at the end of his life. “I even wrote a book about it,” I told her. “It’s called, ‘The Road to Mercy.’”

“That is so encouraging to hear,” she said. “All we ever hear about is the bad that’s on the news every night.”

A few minutes later we said our goodbyes and headed in different directions. The whole experience left me pleasantly surprised that my story was an encouragement to a nun.

Romans 12:6 says, “We have different gifts according to the grace given us…..If it is serving, let him serve; if it is teaching, let him teach; if it is encouraging, let him encourage; if it is contributing to the needs of others, let him give generously; if it is leadership, let him govern diligently; if it is showing mercy, let him do it cheerfully.”

God uses us all in different ways, and we don’t have to be a man or woman of the cloth for Him to do so.

This month my husband and I will celebrate Easter and our 33^rd wedding anniversary on the same weekend. It’s hard to believe it’s been that long.

After I became a Christian, I asked God to send me the right mate. I even made out a list of the qualities I was looking for in a spouse.

I believed that God would honor my request in accordance with Genesis 2:8: “It is not good for the man to be alone. I will make a helper suitable for him.” I expected my prayers would be answered within a few months. However, the months turned into years.

Sometimes I got discouraged as the years went by, but God would encourage me somehow. On occasion a particular co-worker mocked my faith and inaction to look for someone. I had told him I was no longer interested in the bar scene since I had become a Christian, and also wasn’t interested in joining any singles dating clubs. “What do you think God is going to do,” he sneered, “drop him in your lap?”

“I don’t know what he’s going to, but I know he’s going to do it,” I retorted.

I arrived at work in upstate New York one morning and noticed a handsome stranger meeting with my boss in his office. Shortly thereafter, they emerged. “Mary, this is Wally Hutchinson. He’s a CPA from Virginia here to do an audit for the next several months,” he informed me. “If he needs assistance locating documents, please help him.”

While Wally worked in my building, we spoke to each other frequently. Two weeks later, we went to lunch. On our second lunch date, an inner voice told me, ‘this is the man you are going to marry.’ He seemed to check every box on my prayer list I had made out seven years earlier. We began to date on a regular basis. When his audit ended, he returned to Virginia without any mention of continuing our relationship. I was saddened, confused and discouraged once again, as I was sure he was the answer to my prayers.

Three mornings later, Wally called me at work to tell me he was returning for another audit. “I knew it,” I thought. Eighteen months later we married.

As Easter approaches, I think back on the discouragement and devastation Jesus’ disciples must have felt when he was crucified, which was so much more than my own discouragement and sadness when Wally left New York. Jesus told his disciples multiple times that he would die and be raised up on the third day. But, I don’t believe they understood what he was saying for they were clearly distraught when he died.

But, oh the joy when He was resurrected and appeared to them three days later!

God speaks to us in different ways. Sometimes it’s in a still small voice, sometimes through His word, or sometimes through other means. John 10:27 says, “My sheep hear my voice, and I know them, and they follow me.” I pray I always listen to his voice.

Whenever March arrives, St. Patrick’s Day pops in my head, along with pictures of shamrocks, corned beef and all things green. Did you know it’s one of the biggest drinking days of the year? I remember that oh too well in my pre-Christian days when I would join co-workers after work to indulge in beer–and lots of it. Some of it was even green! I was celebrating a holiday I knew nothing about, except that St. Patrick was referred to as the “Patron Saint of Ireland.”

Until the other day that is when I watched the documentary, “I am Patrick.” It was eye-opening. I learned that Patrick wasn’t even Irish. He was British! His father was a wealthy British Senator and also a member of the clergy.

In the 5^th Century, when Patrick was about sixteen, he was kidnapped from his home in what is now known as England (part of the Roman Empire at the time), along with others, by a band of Irish raiders/pirates. He was brought to Ireland into slavery as a shepherd. During that very difficult time, he surrendered to God entirely, and became a very devout Christian, in a country void of Christianity. One night, God showed him in a dream that he would soon be returning home.

Six years after his captivity, he escaped. He walked miles for many days and found a ship leaving for Ireland. He convinced the Captain to take him aboard. (He is the only known slave to have ever escaped captivity in the Roman Empire.)

When he eventually found his way back home, he studied to become a clergyman. Years later, he was appointed Bishop.

Once again God came to him in a dream and told Patrick he wanted him to return to Ireland to evangelize the pagan country. The church higher ups resisted his request, as hardship and even death could await him. But Patrick convinced them it was the will of God, and they allowed him to go as the first Christian missionary to Ireland.

For decades, Patrick worked tirelessly to evangelize a country who had their own ‘gods’ and who had never heard the Gospel of Jesus Christ. He endured many hardships along the way, including beatings and imprisonments. Some of his new converts were even slaughtered, but Patrick never gave up. He dedicated his life to God and to the people of Ireland, never returning to his home country.

God didn’t cause those raiders to kidnap Patrick, as all men are given a free will to do good or evil. But God will take what Satan means for evil, and turn it around for good, just as it says in Romans 8:28: “And we know that in all things God works together for good.”

So when you celebrate St. Patrick’s Day, think about St. Patrick and all he sacrificed, in obedience to the one who sacrificed for all.

Recently, two Christian friends died suddenly under different circumstances during a three-week period. As I thought of our friends, I imagined them coming out of their earthly bodies to depart for their heavenly homes.

Some of this imagery came from a book I read a few months ago called “Imagine Heaven” by John Burke. A New York Times bestseller with over a million copies sold, it describes over 100 near death experiences (NDEs). Those who had the NDEs died from various causes and were deceased for a very short period of time.

When some died they recounted hovering over their bodies and remained there before they returned, while others saw a light and went through a tunnel. Some even described going to heaven and encountering Jesus, only to be told it wasn’t their time. And some sat with Jesus while watching portions of their lives replayed as if watching a movie.

While I never had an NDE, years ago my husband and I met two individuals who did. One was a furniture store salesman. We chatted with the salesman, George, for a while before he and my husband discussed how they had lived in Roanoke, Virginia years earlier.

George proceeded to tell us how he had been shot during a robbery in Roanoke. He described how he came out of his body in the operating room and hovered over it, watching the surgeon, Dr. Shelton, work on him. He even remembered some of the surgeon’s negative comments about his poor prognosis. At some point, he went back into his body.

Dr. Shelton came to see George in the recovery room.
“Let me tell you what I did,” Dr. Shelton said.

“You don’t have to,” George replied. “I saw the whole thing.”

Dr. Shelton was amazed when George described what he had done during his surgery, and the statements he made about George’s small chance of survival.

“It made a believer out of me,” George said casually.

Several years later we were having repairs done to our cable television and chatting with the technician, Jeff. During the conversation, Jeff told us his story. He had been playing in a high school football game when he was hit with a deadly blow by his opponent.

“The next thing I know I’m hovering over my body watching a medic perform CPR,” he said. “Then I woke up.”

1 Thessalonians 4:13 says, “Brothers, we do not want you to be ignorant about those who fall asleep, or to grieve like the rest of men, who have no hope. We believe that Jesus died and rose again and so we believe that God will bring with Jesus those who have fallen asleep in him.”

Though we grieve with the families of our two friends, the one hope we have is that we will see them again. And the next time it will be for all eternity.