A Drug Deal Gone Bad--But God Intervenes

The house is dark, outlined only by the light of the moon shining brightly overhead. The sounds within the confines of the wood walls are only of silence mingled with deep-sleep breathing and the tick-tock of the grandfather clock in the dining room. Natalie stirs in the warmth of her bed and feels a surge in her soul. Her eyes flash open as she lays still and listens—what has awaken her? Her pulse begins to race—did she hear something in her sleep? She waits….nothing. Moments click by and she feels a pressure within her chest as a flash of her younger brother smolders in her mind. Derrik? Fear overwhelms her as she ponders if she has glimpsed things to come, if Derrik is in danger, if Derrik is dead. But, the pressure continues to press against her chest and she realizes the time has come—not to worry or fret, but to pray. Natalie begins to pray a feverish prayer for Derrik’s life and protection on him—wherever he is.

Derrik’s lifestyle is no secret to their family—he is an alcoholic, a drug abuser, a drug dealer—who knows where that life leads him every day. He is in and out of their lives in bursts of family gatherings—always reeking of alcohol, always needing money. His eyes wild, his sweet personality hiding beneath the high he is on—the high he feels he needs to be in their presence.

Natalie pushes those thoughts from her mind as she continues to talk to God, to plead for Derrik’s life, to intercede on his behalf. Even as she prays, she feels her eyes closing, her lids becoming as heavy as iron fetters, pushing her into a deep sleep. She feels the pressure again and hears the whisper of God’s word stirring up from her soul—reminding her of Jesus’ rebuke to his disciples when he asked them to pray in the garden to only find them sleeping when he returned. I must pray—Derrik’s life is at stake, she whispers to herself forcing her eyes to open and her mind to focus on Derrik—her baby brother.

Later, she wouldn’t recall how long she prayed, how long she thrashed in her bed begging God to spare his life, reminding God that He had planned a purpose in Derrik’s life—Derrik could be saved. She would only remember that at last her tormented soul rested and she felt spent and satisfied. Then she slept only to wake the next morning with the vivid memory of her desire to pray. She called Derrik’s cell phone. It rang and went to voice mail. She left him a message telling him that she was worried about him, that she had prayed for him during the night. “I just wanted you to know that. I love you, Derrik,” she blurted into the phone wondering what he would think when he got the message--if he got the message.

She couldn’t know that in that moment she had interceded for her brother’s life—that the pressure she felt to pray was the voice of God whispering hope in her life. Years later while she sat across from her brother talking about the addictions he still had, he would ask her if she remembered the time she called him and told him she had prayed. She would said she did—she remembered both times. Her baby brother would then look straight into her eyes and tell her he remembered both times well also. He remembered both times because he knew exactly where he was during those nights when she prayed—he remembered why his life was in danger—a drug deal going bad and a car driven with the hands of a driver high on cocaine. His life was spared both times—he knew it and because of Natalie’s obedience he also knew that a greater being existed, able to connect the breath of God in his life—even when he was running as quickly as he could from the breath of God whispering hope in his soul.

Whispering Hope

Soft as the voice of an angel,
Breathing a lesson unheard,
Hope with a gentle persuasion
Whispers her comforting word.
Wait till the darkness is over,
Wait till the tempest is done,
Hope for the sunshine tomorrow,
After the shower is gone.
Whispering hope,
O how welcome Thy voice,
Making my heart in its sorrow rejoice.

When we look into the life of an addict—we see no hope. When we see a homeless woman on the street—we see no hope. When we look at the ruins of our own dreams—we see no hope. God sees hope, God sees restoration, God sees his plan from start to finish. God sees the fig tree bearing fruit, not withered and wasted in a desert land.

In Romans chapter 5 we are reminded that our sufferings build perseverance, perseverance builds character, and character—well it builds hope. We all want to be of strong character. We want to be able to weather any storm without fear, with the full faith that we will persevere through the trial and come out the other side victorious. God wants that for us also, but he knows that in order for us to become that person, we have to make it through those trials. We have to be tested in the fire. We have to battle our demons, relying on God to help us forgive those who have hurt us, to leave our despair and doubt behind us, to look forward to the prize and claim it for our own. When we fill our lives with our weaknesses, we hinder God’s plan for our lives.

But OUR God is a God of impossibles. He is the God of the hopeless. He is the God of the drug dealer, the homeless, the dreamer, the broken-hearted, the sinner. He is the God who allows you and me to intercede on His behalf while we walk this weary wasteland.

The Time for a Miracle Baby

Liz had been thinking of a baby for many years—soft and warm, cuddly and loving—and all hers. The time was right, she and her husband decided they should wait no longer and then it happened—she was pregnant. The test she held in her hands in a country far away from her own homeland was enough to convince her that her missed period could mean only one thing—life grew within her. She immediately felt the presence of life, she carried herself with greater ease and thought about the food she ate, how many hours she slept, what she lifted, how she sat, and so on. She was excited and mesmerized by the miracle of life that had been created within her own body—her own body.

Maybe that’s why the day the Lord spoke to her she could not understand—would not understand. It happened as she sat in her living room, sorting through clean laundry, the rush of a whisper, the nudge of her spirit, she heard it within her being—not as an audible proclamation, not as an angel glowing gloriously from heaven, but in a still small voice from God, “You will not have a baby now. You will wait.” She furrowed her brows together in the middle of folding a wash-worn towel and wondered how she could have misunderstood God, for she was having a baby—she was pregnant after all. She shook her head and whispered to God in her heart, “What do you mean?” Silence. She pushed aside the heavenly conversation and finished the laundry, began supper, and waited for her husband. When he came through the door, she didn’t mention God’s words, instead they talked about names for the baby. As they readied for bed she almost built up the courage to tell him and ask him what he thought about the happening, but knew he’d tell her that it was some pregnancy horomone kicking in making her mind run ninety miles an hour on a collision course with itself. She instead slept next to him pondering God’s nudge in the silent places of her heart.

The next day when the bleeding began only eight weeks into the pregnancy, she cried and he cried. She lay in the floor and knew that life no longer grew within her body and she wailed, pulling her legs into a fetal position her heart broke a thousand times for the life she would not know. Each day she walked further away from that day, she felt like she were walking in a shell of her former self, she grasped for breath and her heart burned. She saw children in the park and her arms ached. She heard the wails of a baby on the bus and sparks of pain flew through her body. She questioned her own body. Were she the reason? She questioned her doctor’s care. Was he the reason? She questioned her husband’s DNA. Was he the reason? Had she jumped too high? Had she bent too low? Had she ate too much? Had she tried too hard? Was there a secret to baby-making that she did not know?

But in the quite of the day, when she had exhausted herself with the whys of tragedy, she knew in faith that God’s words spoken so softly to her in her living room had not been only preparation for the loss, but assurance of His constant companionship with her. He had not said her loss would be easy, He had said that the time was not now. He had not said why, He had said. And by Him saying anything at all, He had assured Liz that He was with her—through Her pain, He was with her.

Does God still speak to us?

Come along with me as I investigate the relationship between God and man. I want to ask you if God has spoken to you--not necessarily in an audible fashion. In this blog I will explore the ways God communicates with His children as we trudge along our earthly pathway. I'll share with you true, but fictionalized accounts of stories I've gathered from you about times God spoke to you. They will be true because they will be your account. They will be fictionalized because I'm a writer and that's what I do. I'll change the names and places when I retell the story on my blog. Your stories become my stories once you submit them--but really they are His stories, about communing with a lost world and a lost people. Come along - I can't wait to hear your story! Send your personal stories to me at .