This blog is simply the telling of one helpmeet and mother's quest to fulfill her God-ordained destiny. It is written with the hopes that other young women will embrace their calling to be godly wives and mothers; that they will be encouraged to love their husband and children and will find contentment in being keepers at home.


Wednesday, October 17, 2018


THE FIFTEEN YEAR MIRACLE
By:  Anna Pritchard

I was five years old that day. I saw the sign in our yard, not knowing what it meant or comprehending the significance. A car slowed beside our country driveway. It was a strange car. Not anyone I knew.

A few days later everyone was at our house. It was empty. The blue and white linoleum floors were gleaming quietly as the last few belongings were pushed outside to Dad's straight truck. I thought the lift on the back was incredible.

We all had a big picnic before saying goodbyes. There were tears. Why?

Dad let me and Kara ride in the sleeper part of the truck, with all the curtains closed. I looked outside, down into the car that followed behind us. The baby swing was stuck sideways in the back seat. Mom waved from the window.

It would be years later before I understood the full story - How God had so burdened my Dad for the people in Wisconsin. No rationalizing, or struggling could quiet the pull in his heart. He fasted and prayed for an answer. God gave him one;  a dream. Still trying to be sure, he put a "fleece" before the Lord. If the house would sell within 30 days, he would go.

30 days to the date we pulled out of our driveway with everything we owned.

A new house. New family. A new library, and town, and church.

All of a sudden, there were people in our house on Sundays and Wednesdays.

One family. Two. Three.

It grew slowly. I grew as well; understood more, felt more.

We rearranged the house and cleaned all day before services.

Dad turned down better paying jobs so he could have more time for studying and counseling.

Goodwill clothes. Unfinished floors. Tired furniture. Warm meals. Shared stories. People in and out, constantly. It became the life I loved. It shaped me.

Years passed. Mom was pregnant. She threw up a lot, but acted like she was fine. Complications, a C-section, God-given strength. His faithfulness, new every morning.

I remember happy songs, and clapping, and laughter.

I saw Dad and Mom more discouraged than I'd ever seen them before.

I felt anger shiver over me. I felt God quiet my soul. I watched forgiveness and learned it myself.





I heard Dad and Mom praying in their bedroom; door closed. "Is it Your will for us to stay here? Is our work finished in this place?"

A scripture verse: "For the vision is yet for an appointed time, but at the end it shall speak, and not lie: though it tarry, wait for it; because it will surely come, it will not tarry." God had answered.

Then there were smiles and quiet determination. Quiet forgiveness. Quiet pouring out, and surrendering, and loving anyway.

My hands were helpless to give them what they needed; to be anything that could give them strength. "Why so long, Lord?" I wondered, "Why do we have to wait to have a building?” His ways were perfect. His strength was enough.

"Anna," Now her voice comes over the phone, a thousand miles away. "Can you write our story."  It all comes flying back to mix with the present. Tears overwhelm me.

I grew to know what all those moments and conversations meant. I blessed every word of encouragement that came to my Dad and Mom. My heart broke inside me with every unkindness.

Oh, the hundreds of times I’ve seen their tears. The hundreds of times I heard the courage come back to their voices, saw the strength return in their steps.

 God tarried. Still, they trusted; knowing that He had called them; “His will be done.”

The church members faithfully pushed into the cramped quarters with eager hearts. Folding chairs. One bathroom. Sunday meals that spilled out into the lawn, and crept upstairs into the bedrooms and office... All for love of Christ. All for love of each other.

And then, one day... It had been fifteen years of serving in that house. It was enough.

A church building was listed for sale in a nearby town. A quick call to the pastor. A visit scheduled.

It came fully equipped; stained glass windows, pews, pulpit, a kitchen, fellowship hall, nursery, it was handicapped accessible...everything that was needed.

It was like God had planned for years and years, every tiny detail of this place. He foresaw all the needs - every possible scenario that might come up - and guided the owner to make provision for all of it.

As if that wasn't enough, the owner also proposed an incredible offer: he would lower the purchase price by over half, if they could pay him cash. Everything would be given over completely. It would be theirs.

We watched, almost breathlessly, as God worked. Days passed. Days of prayer; I clung to a hope that seemed afraid to grow, but grew steadily, nonetheless. God could. Was it His will?




The church vote. The building inspection. Pledges of monies available. A text from a brother wanting to know how much they still needed after the pledges were made. A phone call to tell them that anonymous brothers would cover the rest of the cost - brothers in Christ who had never met them. Another brother offered to pay for the insurance. Jehovah-Jireh, our provider.

Then came the official closing, the moving in, and the cleaning of the church.

Finally, the realization sunk heavy, and hard, and deep: It was all God. He provided miraculously: the building, everything in it the money -- all because He wanted us to know that it was doubtlessly HIS TIME, and HIS POWER, and HIS GRACE. He was reminding us that not one, single word of those honest prayers went unheard, though He tested us greatly. 

Tomorrow morning will be the very first time that my Dad gets up to preach there. The pews will fill with the family and friends that I’ve loved all my life. The same songs they've sung for fifteen years will rise up like they always did before, only now, this time, with fifteen years of answered prayers all around, and above, and behind them. It doesn’t get any more real than this.

And so, the next chapter begins.





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