Am I the Only One Who Believes in Miracles?

By:  Donna Hale Chandler

Do you believe that Christmas is the season of miracles? I believe that every season is filled with miracles. My life has been filled with them, some small, some amazingly unbelievable. The first that comes to mind happened in 1968.

I lived in Kentucky. I was 19 and I was waiting for my 21 year old husband to return from Vietnam. Around midnight the phone rang. It was him! He had just arrived at the Lexington airport and would need to take a bus the remaining 125 miles. He’d been told that there was only 1 bus per day and that would be the next evening. After much discussion and happy crying, we agreed that he would stay right where he was and I would come to him – be there in 2 hours or so.

I knew that Lexington was an exit off of I-64 and I knew how to get onto I-64 so I figured I was all set – grabbed my keys and my purse and set out. As I neared Lexington I realized that I really had no idea how to get to the airport once I exited the freeway. The worry gnawed away at me until I spotted an all-night diner just off to my right.

When I walked in the diner there were two men sitting at a table watching me closely. I tried to look brave as I walked up to the men and asked for directions to the Lexington Airport. One man was quick to answer with a, “Which one ya going to darling?” Which one? There was more than one? Oh no!

The other man took pity on me and asked why to needed to get to the airport in the wee hours of the morning. Once I explained about my husband returning, he said, “Oh you want the big airport” – and gave me directions.

I found it with no problem but had failed to ask my husband which airline he’d arrived on. No matter, I parked in the first space I found and ran into the first doors I saw. As I stood inside the airport wondering what to do next, I heard footsteps coming closer. When I turned to look, it was him!

You don’t see the miracle? There were so many miracles that night. My husband was returning safely. A 24 hour diner appeared just when I was beginning to despair. A kind gentleman had decided to meet his friend at the right time to give me directions. I found the airport and somehow parked at the exact terminal where my husband was waiting. My 19 year-old Kentucky steps had been guided that night. Nobody can convince me otherwise.

Full story can be found  in Life Happens (My Story)

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Gram use’ta say

“The man always walks closest to the street
when he’s walking with his sweetie.”

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