Many of us had seen things on television or read about events in books or magazines that were considered by some to be miracles. Very few of us have ever thought we experienced a miracle, although in retrospect, many of us probably have. There is no set definition as to what a miracle is. Miracles can be of any size or of varying degrees of significance. In short, the only common denominator for miracles is that they are divine in nature.
While I was in the Navy, I was twice stationed in Pensacola for schooling. Both times, I witnessed what I believe to be miracles. During my first visit to Pensacola when I was very young and early in my Navy career, I was selected to attend Cryptology School. The rule of this school was because it was very expensive to attend, failure was not tolerated and there would be no second chance for those that failed. The next tour of duty was out to the fleet to be a general Seaman doing deck duties.The rumor mill had it that Cryptology School was the second hardest school in the Navy, right behind Nuclear School. The segment of the school that I was enrolled in consisted of learning Morse code and then increasing in proficiency (speed and accuracy) every week. This was coupled with considerable (and difficult) book work. My cousin Betty was now living in Pensacola and resided at the local convent. I would go over to the convent on weekends and the nuns accepted me as if I lived there. Once in a while I would take my Jewish roommate, Ira, with me. Ira loved the nuns and they loved him. There was never any conversion talk by anyone. Every time that Ira and I would get back to the base from visiting the convent, Ira would call his parents in New York City and ask that question from Funny Girl, “Would a convent take a Jewish boy?”
As time went on, the coursework grew harder and I started to fall behind. My parents were scheduled to visit Pensacola and Betty had secured lodging for us while they were in town. I did not have the courage to tell my parents that I was failing and would probably not be able to spend any time with them. The school dictated that immediately prior to a failing student being dismissed and sent to the fleet, the failing student was put on mandatory overtime. Everything was done to attempt to get the failing student caught up. Every student had to achieve the “speed of the week” by close of class every Friday. The “speed of the week” was the number of words per minute of Morse code that could be copied at 95% accuracy. The week before my parents were to arrive, I was five going on six speeds behind the speed of the week. I would be on mandatory overtime the week that they were there and probably dismissed the week after. In other words, if things did not turn around in a monumental way, my parents and I would both be leaving Pensacola the following week.
The Sunday before my parents arrived, I was at the convent for dinner. I guess I did not have much of a poker face since Betty asked me what was wrong. I poured out my heart and felt so lost. The nun that was in charge of the convent, told me that they would pray for me the next morning at vespers. I thanked her. To me, telling someone that you will pray for them was like saying “good luck”. It was a nice gesture and I appreciated it. I did not think that it would do any good, but it was kind to offer.
Monday morning I entered the classroom, got behind my typewriter and put on my earphones. I was ready for another day of frustration. As the code started to come across my headphones and filter into my ears, it was clear and concise. I knew which keys to hit. It was no longer code – it was another language that I understood as clearly as English. To make a long and glorious story short, by lunch time, I had passed five speeds and caught up to the speed of the week. My instructors were mystified and I know they were trying to find out if (or how) I was cheating. By the end of the day, I passed another four speeds and was way ahead of the speed of the week! My parents came down, Betty and I were able to spend time with them, and I was going to be able to finish my training.
The postscript to this story is as follows: I never again doubted the power of prayer. Was this a miracle that happened? It was to me. It had a profound effect on my life and I will never forget it. I was so far ahead in my speed of the week, I ended up getting promoted to the class ahead of mine and finished third overall.
On that Monday in Pensacola, God in his infinite wisdom said “No, this will not be a day of frustration; this will be a day of victory”. Why did God lift me up that day? I don’t know – but I do know it was for a reason. Maybe the reason was for what I am doing right now. I have told this story many times and will continue to tell it in the future. My belief is that God loves to shine His light at many different times, but it shines the brightest when the room is the darkest.
The second miracle of Pensacola happened a year and a half later. I had finished by first tour of duty in Okinawa, Japan and was accepted into Direction Finding School in Pensacola. Again, Betty was still living in Pensacola, but this time not in the convent. She and another nun had moved out of the convert and were living in an apartment. My parents thought it would be fun to again come down to Pensacola to visit while I was stationed there. Cousin Betty was able to find lodging for us on Pensacola Beach.
Both Betty and I
were accomplished swimmers. Betty had at one time had obtained a life guard certificate. I had just received my training and certificate prior to entering the service. Shortly after my parents arrived, we were having a nice afternoon of visiting and telling old family stories. It was not a very nice day for weather however, as there was a weak tropical depression off the west coast of Florida. The waves and surf were spectacular to look at from the beach home.
Betty and I decided out of pure foolishness to get our suits on and go “body surfing” in the storm driven waves. It was tough surf that day. If you could get beyond the first sand bar, the chances of catching a huge wave was excellent. The trick was getting past the first sand bar in that wild surf. The rip tide was so strong, it would take your legs out from under you. The under tow and the waves were in a constant struggle to see which could pull you the hardest. However, to catch one of those huge waves and have it take you twenty or thirty yards, made it all seem worth it.
On one set of waves, Betty was ten to fifteen yards further out that I was. She was standing on the “sweet spot” the final sand bar where the big waves really cranked up. As she was getting ready, I could see a monster wave develop right behind her. I yelled at her to watch out, but she could not hear me over the roar of the surf. I watched in horror as the wave hit her while she was in an unprepared state. The wave then hit me and I struggled to keep me head above water to I could keep my eye on Betty. She came to the surface in serious trouble. The next thing I could see was another big wave catch her again. This time she did not reappear.
Here I was, maybe thirty feet away from where Betty went under the water that was so churned up that I could not see six inches below the surface. The rip tide was dragging me down the shore and the waves were knocking backwards. I did not have a clue on where to start looking for my cousin. I had a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach that Betty and I had made a foolish decision and we were about to pay for that decision with Betty’s life. I knew that I had a slim chance or no chance of finding Betty. However, I did remember the lesson that I learned from my first trip to Pensacola – the power of prayer. I prayed, “Oh dear God, please help me and give me the strength to find Betty, please!” I dove under the churning water and reached out with all my might. Into my hand came Betty’s arm.
Now I could say that I found her by luck, good guessing or dead reckoning. Or I could say that God used me to rescue Betty because He had other plans. Betty and I have talked about that day many times in the following years. Betty knew as she was loosing conciseness that she was probably going to die. She knew the chances of me finding her in that surf was very remote. That day, in the ocean, in the middle of a turbulent storm, God again taught us all a lesson. He is in control. Absolutely, constantly, undeniably, in control.
I thank God for the many years that we had with Betty after that day. Yes, God did finally call Betty home – but it was when He wanted her there. Betty was here to attend our wedding, knew both of our children and continued to be the selfless, giving saint to the entire family. Perhaps the reason God gave us Betty for all those extra years was to bless our family. I don’t know, but I do know this. Betty and I did something foolish on that stormy day in Pensacola and did not deserve anything but a bad outcome. God in a demonstration of His magnificent grace said, “No, not this day. You will live to do wonderful things for my glory”. Amen.
Both Betty and I
were accomplished swimmers. Betty had at one time had obtained a life guard certificate. I had just received my training and certificate prior to entering the service. Shortly after my parents arrived, we were having a nice afternoon of visiting and telling old family stories. It was not a very nice day for weather however, as there was a weak tropical depression off the west coast of Florida. The waves and surf were spectacular to look at from the beach home.Betty and I decided out of pure foolishness to get our suits on and go “body surfing” in the storm driven waves. It was tough surf that day. If you could get beyond the first sand bar, the chances of catching a huge wave was excellent. The trick was getting past the first sand bar in that wild surf. The rip tide was so strong, it would take your legs out from under you. The under tow and the waves were in a constant struggle to see which could pull you the hardest. However, to catch one of those huge waves and have it take you twenty or thirty yards, made it all seem worth it.
On one set of waves, Betty was ten to fifteen yards further out that I was. She was standing on the “sweet spot” the final sand bar where the big waves really cranked up. As she was getting ready, I could see a monster wave develop right behind her. I yelled at her to watch out, but she could not hear me over the roar of the surf. I watched in horror as the wave hit her while she was in an unprepared state. The wave then hit me and I struggled to keep me head above water to I could keep my eye on Betty. She came to the surface in serious trouble. The next thing I could see was another big wave catch her again. This time she did not reappear.
Here I was, maybe thirty feet away from where Betty went under the water that was so churned up that I could not see six inches below the surface. The rip tide was dragging me down the shore and the waves were knocking backwards. I did not have a clue on where to start looking for my cousin. I had a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach that Betty and I had made a foolish decision and we were about to pay for that decision with Betty’s life. I knew that I had a slim chance or no chance of finding Betty. However, I did remember the lesson that I learned from my first trip to Pensacola – the power of prayer. I prayed, “Oh dear God, please help me and give me the strength to find Betty, please!” I dove under the churning water and reached out with all my might. Into my hand came Betty’s arm.
Now I could say that I found her by luck, good guessing or dead reckoning. Or I could say that God used me to rescue Betty because He had other plans. Betty and I have talked about that day many times in the following years. Betty knew as she was loosing conciseness that she was probably going to die. She knew the chances of me finding her in that surf was very remote. That day, in the ocean, in the middle of a turbulent storm, God again taught us all a lesson. He is in control. Absolutely, constantly, undeniably, in control.
I thank God for the many years that we had with Betty after that day. Yes, God did finally call Betty home – but it was when He wanted her there. Betty was here to attend our wedding, knew both of our children and continued to be the selfless, giving saint to the entire family. Perhaps the reason God gave us Betty for all those extra years was to bless our family. I don’t know, but I do know this. Betty and I did something foolish on that stormy day in Pensacola and did not deserve anything but a bad outcome. God in a demonstration of His magnificent grace said, “No, not this day. You will live to do wonderful things for my glory”. Amen.
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