2300 Miles of Miracles

2300 MILES OF MIRACLES
©copyright 2009 Bonita M Quesinberry


It was 1986, a HOT Texas July: I was faced with a 22-year marriage ending. My children and grandchildren lived in Texas, my father in California with deadly lymph sarcoma cancer in 90% of his body, and my Aunt Jan— only 6 years older than me and closer than a sister— lived on Vashon Island in Puget Sound, Western Washington. My sensitivity to heat was worsening exponentially, so I felt the need to move to a kinder climate.

I'd been left with an expensive car and an even more expensive large home, about which my husband wanted to fight. He could have them; after all, there was no way I could pay for either one. I made really good money but not that good! Fortunately, everything in the house was clear. My option was give to the kids what they needed or wanted and sell the rest: I needed a car, expenses for a big move and to live on until I found work.

At the time, I felt I could get a good used car from my daughter Maria's Godfather for about $1,500 plus $1,500 for the trip and to fly my nephew— he and my sister had insisted I not travel alone— back to Fort Worth. Surely, $2000 would cover rents, et cetera until I had work, plus $500 for unexpected repairs and incidentals: roughly $5,500. One bedroom suite alone, an antique, was worth more than that; so, I felt confident.

Through the remainder of July and most of August, I prayed unceasing over where to move while my almost-life-long best friend Anita and I marked items for sale and packed what could be carried in a 6-ft by 12-ft U-Haul trailer. About midnight the night before my sale, Anita and I carried a sign down the street and across a field to a light pole on the heavily traveled main road. Anita decided to take a short cut across the field, only to quickly disappear.

"Anita!" I shouted, "Where are you?"
An invisible voice called back, "I'm over here."
Hmmm, I saw no one, "Where?"
That tiny voice again, "I fell in a hole!" then I hear her laughing. By the time we got to the pole, we both were laughing so hard we had a tough time getting the sign in place. Thirty minutes later we still were laughing about her falling into a hole to be completely hidden by two-foot tall Johnson grass! I think that's why I didn't cross the field.

Mother had died in 1985 then the car was parked in my drive: Dad had his Van, a Harley and later bought a new pickup. He felt it was the least he could do for the 6 months I'd spent renovating their home in order to get maximum value when sold. He got it: $49,500 MORE than the $20,000 a neighbor offered! I had estimated its value at $69,900 and it sold two weeks after the sign went up. The buyer saved $400. Everything to Dad was clear because the house had been paid off the year before.

Thanks to Dad, a car was gained BUT the garage sale did not reap what I had hoped: $3,500, out of which first would be trip costs and lodging, then Jimmy's airfare home— I wired $2,000 to an Island bank and put $1,500 in travelers' cheques. By now, the Lord had pointed to Washington and I hoped He was right about the amount of money. So, I serviced the car, overload springs installed, trailer rented-packed-set on hitch. Jimmy and I— plus 4 ferrets in two cages squeezed into the packed back seat— hit the road August 27th just a few minutes short of midnight.

We arrived in Seattle without incident and in what seemed record time: it was the 31st of August 1986. We even found Fauntleroy Ferry Dock, rolled onto Vashon Island at 7am, then called my Aunt for directions to her house.

MIRACLE ONE was getting a car for the cost of servicing. MIRACLE TWO was a safe trip, no unexpected costs, finding the right ferry dock in a very large, strange city littered with docks going to varied points north, south, and west. I think I have a good sense of direction. Hear my laughter!

Uh-Oh! Then we suffered a hiccup that resulted in MIRACLE THREE. While on the road, my aunt's son and girlfriend moved in with her: a 650 sq. ft. house. There wasn't room to hang me off the rafters! Then, I'm told "no rentals this time of year. You might need to go back to Seattle." Got a copy of "The Islander," the local paper, made calls, 2 hours later paid fees for place, unloaded trailer, delivered it on time next morning.

Unfortunately, that hiccup was really big but also brought MIRACLE FOUR: "there is no way you can get work on Vashon because you're not an Islander." Seems they are rather clickish. A few days later, Jimmy flew home, I job hunted for almost all of September. Near its end, I had $300 left, no job; rent, groceries, and utilities soon due.

Voila! I found a job; albeit, I took an insane dip in wages: way below my norm. In short order, I got two more jobs and made it just fine until MIRACLE FIVE: I got the Water District Manager's job. PRAISE THE LORD, I now could work only one job! Good thing, too, because my doctors said I could not work at all. God showed them.

In the space of three months— the first downside being a divorce— I was given a car, made a major move 2300 miles from Fort Worth, paid my nephew's flight, found a rental when supposedly none were available, got employment on Vashon despite not being an Islander and, ultimately, landed the most coveted job on the Island.

Was I worried at any time? No— that is spelled N-O! There already had been so many miracles in my life over the years, which only convinced me that God always takes care of His own. So, why in the world should I think He would drop me in 1986? The one thing I know for sure is that as long as I obey and do what I can do in any given dire situation or whatever circumstances, God will take care of what I cannot and handle the things over which I have no control. I easily could have believed there was no place to live on Vashon Island and believed I'd never get a job there; but, I certainly did not want to work in the huge city of Seattle!

The second down side in this chain of events was my father in California, who died just 5 months after I arrived in Washington: he had lived two years longer than the 3 months the doctors had predicted and spent only the last month of that in the hospital. Oh, and during that two years Dad added a sunroom to the back of their home! Fortunately, my daughter and I had spent 2 weeks with Dad in May before moving in August; and, I'd kept in touch as well as reassured him I was doing fine.

I did not have airfare, so bless my stepmother— and my brother who needled her— she flew me down for Dad's funeral. This was MIRACLE SIX, because for some odd reason she hated me and adored my brother: I looked too much like my mother but my brother like our Dad. Hear my laughter!

Six miracles in five months! No, there is MIRACLE SEVEN, which was that $3,500 turning out to be exactly enough! You see, God is even better at finance than we mere accountants. Oh, and there is MIRACLE EIGHT, if you count the extra two years our Lord gave us with Dad and God waited to take him until after I was settled. Dad was right when he said, "Three months? I'm not leaving one second before God says I am!"

When we step out in blind faith, we are assured in God's Word that He is farther up the road ahead of us preparing the way for us and He covers every contingency: we are assured of success in the endeavor. It doesn't matter how many obstacles might appear along the way: those are the contingencies Satan throws out to get us to let go of blind faith, so Faith just goes around or over or under those barriers.

In my case, that old Devil waited to toss out what appeared to be roadblocks until I was on Vashon Island. What better time? By then I was 2300 miles from everything and everyone I knew, including done-deal job opportunities, and he knew I did not have the money for a return trip to Texas.

WIRE UP YOUR BLIND FAITH TODAY AND TURN IT ON! The wiring materials are free but faith sure irritates Satan: kicks him in the teeth, as it were. Love it!