In the aftermath of Isabel

I WRITE THIS BY CANDLELIGHT —pen in one hand, candle in the other. It has been four days now since Hurricane Isabel hit the east coast of the United States. No electric power yet. Authorities have cordoned off my street. Phones work, then don't work. But everyone has running water again. It's 6:00 a.m. Outdoors I see nothing but darkness, hear nothing but heavy rain. Will there be flooding conditions, too?

I live in Richmond, Virginia, population about 750,000. Normally it's a quiet, unassuming community. Isabel temporarily changed that. The storm's eye passed just outside of town. The high winds and rain didn't—they hit dead center.

My subdivision is a pleasant, prosperous-looking one. It didn't make any difference, though. Hurricanes aren't choosy, I found. Before Isabel, I had only read about them. Now I see what one did to my neighborhood: devastation. Eighty-foot pine trees crashed all around—on houses, roads, automobiles, power lines. At least 15 trees fell within 500 feet of my house. There are 30 tall pines on my property. Not one fell or broke. Nothing but small debris. Everyone looks up in amazement. Those who believe in chance call it "luck." Those who believe in divine Providence call it a "miracle." I'm just grateful.

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Testimony of Healing
A healing of diagnosed cancer
October 13, 2003

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