I’m a big fan of simple things, aren’t you?
How did I guess? You’re holding this book, not a thick erudite one.
If you were a kid growing up in America during the ’70s or ’80s, perhaps you saw some simple programs under my charge at ABC TV. Scheduled in between Saturday morning cartoons, they were three-minute programs called SchoolHouse Rock that brought you simple messages through music and animation. They entertainingly taught the parts of speech, such as in “Conjunction Junction”; taught the math tables, including “My Hero Zero”; and included a favorite history program, “Preamble.”
At the time it never occurred to me that we were doing something with lasting value because of its simplicity. No—from my perspective, I was just a young TV exec trying to identify with kids and their ability to process information.
As a side note, my own children laughed at me, saying I was trying to identify with young people too much. The month I took over Children’s Television at ABC, my dentist advised that the only way to get rid of the David Letterman-space between my front teeth was to wear braces. So there I was, ABC’s first vice president in charge of kids programming, wearing braces.
In any case, today I get a great lift when someone tells me that those simple little ABC SchoolHouse Rock programs helped them through school. And to prove it, they dig into their memory banks and burst into “I’m just a Bill on Capitol Hill . . .” the story of how a bill goes through Congress, or “Conjunction junction, what’s your function?”
I think simple is good.
Don’t you cherish the simple moments in life? When you look at the beauty of a butterfly or the intricate construction of a bird’s nest with your child? Or when you walk hand-in-hand on a sunset beach with someone you love?
Simple gifts are God’s best gifts.
Perhaps I love simple because I grew up in a simple home in northern New York in a small town with a simple name—Adams Center.
People there believed that God communicates with each of us in simple ways. I can still hear the voice of Mama Alice, my rosy-cheeked, large-bosomed grandmother, in her lingering British accent: “Remember dear, God always speaks to you in a small, still voice.”
When I began to write the stories about coincidences in all aspects of our lives—history, medicine, sports, relationships—and wondered what they meant, the term “godwink” came into mind and I thought of Mama Alice again—her loving, reassuring wink to me across the dining room table. That’s when I heard the small, still voice telling me that a wink from God was the same thing—a sweet, personal communication directly to you; a simple statement of hope and reassurance from God to you.
Perhaps by learning the story of how these when God winks books evolved, you will have a clearer picture of how God has built hope and reassurance for me, and how He also works in your life in small, simple ways, often accompanied by His signature—godwinks.
Though it may seem to be, this story is not really about me.
It’s about the series of when God winks books and the unbelievable godwinks that lifted them from obscurity to land on Oprah Winfrey’s bedroom nightstand.
But I must fully confess, right here and now, that because I have been led to every story in them, each book has been coauthored.
By God and me.
He is the Author.
I just wrote down the stories He gave me.
It all began at the little church on Quaker Hill in upstate New York where I was invited to speak. What a coincidence that I ended up at this church, well off the beaten path. It turned out to be across the road from the country home of my hero, Dr. Norman Vincent Peale, the prominent author of The Power of Positive Thinking.
Several months in advance of my talk, I chose a topic that had always fascinated me: “Coincidence: Is It Evidence of a Grand Plan?” Then just days before my talk, Dr. Peale died—on Christmas Eve—and was buried behind that little church, causing me to alter my opening remarks.
“The president of the United States said something this week that resonated with each of us. He said, ‘What a coincidence that Dr. Peale, who gave his life to the celebration of Christ, should be called to God’s side on the very eve that the world celebrates the birth of Christ.’ Coincidence? I-e-e-e wonder.”
Well, that started it.
Sharing incredible coincidence stories that I encountered over the years connected me with my audience like never before. I was looking into the faces of adults who appeared like children listening to a bedtime story. My audience was engaging me with smiles, nods, and wide-eyed wonder.
I knew then and there that I had come upon a topic that touched people. Somehow I struck a nerve with the question: “Is it possible that coincidence has something to do with God and His grand plan for you?”
I determined from that experience to write a book.
I soon began to learn the cold, hard lessons of becoming an author. If you’ve ever thought about writing a book, this might be helpful information.
It’s a long process.
Finding and developing the discipline to write daily—five to seven every morning before my day job—took me four years to figure out.
Ferreting out the book’s “voice” and style took another two years.
Finding a literary agent who believed in it—and me—was in the seventh year.
Getting a publisher to gamble on an unknown author—even though I once ran Good Morning America, which clearly impressed me much more than it did them—was a “lesson in rejection” into my eighth year.
I had thirty turndowns before a small Northwest publisher, Beyond Words Publishing, took a chance on me and released my first when God winks book.
Then there was another awakening. I naively learned that after years of writing, a finished manuscript was only the beginning.
“My publisher’s job is to get the book into the store,” counseled one veteran author/speaker. “My job is to get it out!”
In that clear, cold assessment, I realized that no matter how excited you think your publisher is about your baby—and its multiyear gestation period—it’s just one more book on the company’s plate. At Barnes&Noble, where seemingly a million books reside, you’re just one more slice of baloney on the shelf.
How does one little book scramble to the top and get attention over all the rest?
Publicity, of course!
And one soon concludes that there’s an unspoken expectation that you, the author, will be generating most of that publicity. The publisher may give you some help, a three-month window with a PR person, but then you’re generally expected to be on your own. You need to hire your own PR representative and/or make relentless calls to the media.
It is now understandable to me why famous people who are not good writers are more readily published than good writers who are not famous. Having access to TV and radio talk shows and the fortitude to keep plugging away is simply what is expected of you—in addition, of course, to having the manuscript that you’ve sweated and slaved over.
All right, enough whining about that! Let’s get to the big question: How does one get booked on The Oprah Winfrey Show?
During the first two years that when God winks was on the bookshelves, published by Beyond Words in Portland, I hired four different PR people to make pitches to Oprah Show producers. What a thrill it was the day one of the Oprah producers called back and said the most enchanting words any author can hear:
“I love your book. Oprah will love your book!”
My heart soared.
One week later was the tragedy of 9/11. All shows for the entire season—Oprah and every other talk show—were revamped to deal with a nation in mourning. And no one in the mainstream media could envision the merit of a segment about the inspirational stories in my little book.
I did receive support from The 700 Club on the ABC Family Channel and a considerable number of radio programs, but national television turned a deaf ear. People who worked with me when I ran Good Morning America were now employed by virtually every major talk show, yet the answer to my PR people was pretty much the same: “Tell SQuire we love him. We hate the title of his book.”
Yes, that three-letter word, G-O-D, was the impediment for many bookers. Ironically, the title was the reason so many people said they were drawn to the book in the first place.
Then a major godwink occurred. I was scheduled to appear on the Hour of Power at the Crystal Cathedral in Garden Grove, California, on Mother’s Day, 2003. I told my publisher that this powerful TV ministry was viewed in more than 150 million homes every Sunday morning.
“You better get a lot more books in the pipeline,” I counseled the publisher, Richard Cohn, ever certain that my publisher’s maintenance of supply was falling short of my whipping up demand.
“I think we can afford to put five thousand books in the system,” said Richard, consulting his checkbook.
“What? That’s not enough,” I complained.
That’s when I realized the downside to a small publisher. While I was elated with Beyond Words’s creativity, design, and editorial sense under Editor-in-Chief Cindy Black, and I loved the friendly accessibility to Richard, the ability of most publishing companies to quickly put large numbers of books into the pipeline is dictated by the vagaries of their cash flow. Subsequent to 9/11, through no fault of their own, many of Beyond Words’s vendors were considerably late in their payments. My publisher was struggling to find sufficient capital with which to operate.
Looking skyward, I prayerfully complained: “What am I going to do, Lord? I finally get international TV exposure, and there aren’t going to be enough books in the stores.”
My hopes were crashing.
But my wonderful wife, Louise, had an idea. “We can’t let this opportunity pass,” she said. “Let’s put $20,000 worth of books on our credit card.”
Gulp—that was my gulp.
The second gulp came from my publisher.
But when the Hour of Power went on the air and when God winks shot to number twenty-one on Amazon.com, there were indeed enough books in the stores.
What we didn’t know was that our faith in the book was opening the way for another extraordinary godwink to unfold a few weeks later.
Judith Curr, the president of a new Simon & Schuster imprint, Atria Books, was making the annual pilgrimage—like most publishers—to Ann Arbor, Michigan, headquarters of Borders and Waldenbooks. At the conclusion of Judith’s presentation of the new fall catalog, a young woman named Marcella Clashman came up to her and said perfect words to a publisher’s ears:
“The book you really ought to get is when God winks—we can’t keep it on the shelf.”
Marcella had been monitoring increased book sales every time there was media attention, particularly after the Hour of Power broadcast.
“What’s it about?” asked Judith.
“The power of coincidence in our lives,” replied Marcella.
Judith was very attentive. Marcella had no way of knowing that years before in Australia, Judith Curr became a star in publishing circles by launching an unknown book called The Celestine Prophecy—all about coincidence.
Marcella’s perfect words, striking the perfect ears, was an incredible godwink.
That was on a Friday. The following Monday an offer was placed on the table to license from Beyond Words the right to publish an Atria Books / Simon & Schuster edition of when God winks. There was never again a question of having enough books in the stores.
Oprah continued to be in our prayers. An appearance on The Oprah Winfrey Show was what the book needed to get it into the national consciousness. When you think of it, Oprah’s name probably shows up in more daily prayers than anyone else in the country.
Mostly authors’ prayers.
By 2004, I felt I had made some real progress. I was told that a specific producer had been assigned to when God winks. Ahh . . . finally there was someone my PR people could bug.
But on the morning of May 9, 2004, I saw myself like a little kid trudging to the end of the line with my baseball hat in my hand. Oprah was winding down for the season. In just three weeks, it would go into summer hiatus. I knew in my heart that I would have to wait until the show started up again in September. Again, my hopes plummeted.
“I don’t think we’re going to make it this year,” I grumbled to my wife, Louise, as we finished our morning prayer time.
Brightly, she looked at me and said with authority: “If God wants you on that show, He’ll find a way!”
Because I tend to believe everything my wonderful wife says, I nodded, accepted, and perhaps for the first time, let go—and let God.
Three days later, we were driving through Virginia Beach, Virginia, where Louise travels one week a month to tape her talk show, Living the Life (ABC Family Channel).
My cell phone rang. It was a woman’s voice—a friend, breathless with excitement.
“Oprah just held up your book!” she said quickly.
My eyes squinted. Slowly, I shook my head, and looked at the phone as I said good-bye.
“She’s obviously mistaken,” I said to Louise, “probably has it confused with someone else’s book.”
Then three more calls, including Richard Cohn, my first publisher. The same message.
We were astounded.
Here’s what happened: Oprah was giving her TV audience a tour of her Chicago home. Entering a bedroom, she mentioned that rather than having a TV in that room, she liked to keep favorite books by the bed. She reached down and picked up the top one.
“I have a book called when God winks . . . I love that . . . cute little stories about how there are no coincidences in our life.”
Oprah set the book down and went on with her tour. But on Amazon.com and Barnes&Noble there was a flurry of activity. The book shot into the top ten in a matter of hours.
A few weeks later, Louise and I were at home to see the rerun of the show, sitting right where I had “let go and let God.” As we sat before the TV, eagerly anticipating that Oprah was going to pick up my little book and that it was again going to zoom into the top ten, the bigger question—the one that really fascinated us—was, How did God get my book into Oprah’s bedroom just three days after our prayer?
Unquestionably, the taping of Oprah’s visit to her home occurred many days or weeks before Louise and I uttered our prayer. One can only conclude that from God’s perspective, it’s just part of His much larger yet simple plan. God’s simple plan to provide hope and reassurance.
Think about it. Where would my little when God winks books be today without all those god-winks? The ironic connection between my original pulpit talk at a little country church and Dr. Peale’s death on Christmas Eve, the “perfect words” spoken by a young book buyer to the “perfect ears,” and the incredible godwink of the book ending up in Oprah’s bedroom just three days after we had “let go and let God.” They are all downright baffling.
I have good plans for you, not plans to hurt you. I will give you hope and a good future.
—JEREMIAH 29:11 NCV
So many times in life, we look plaintively skyward, uttering frustration or a complaint. We think we aren’t being heard. But we are. Our complaint is a prayer that God hears and truly understands. He just may have a plan to answer it differently than we expected.
My plan was to be a guest on Oprah’s show. God’s plan was different—an unsolicited endorsement for my book—Oprah saying, “I love it.”
In the final analysis, I wasn’t the only benefactor of God’s blessings. Beyond Words, my publisher who had faith in the godwinks concept and developed the original when God winks book, received blessings as well. Richard Cohn and Cindy Black acquired the rights to a book called The Hidden Messages in Water by a Japanese researcher named Masaru Emoto and subsequently watched the book hit the New York Times bestseller list. And to top it off, Judith Curr— my publisher at Simon & Schuster’s Atria Books—who got to know Richard and Cindy through our experience, offered Beyond Words a deal to become a new imprint of S&S.
All journeys have secret destinations of which the traveler is unaware.1
—MARTIN BUBER
God’s overall plan for you and me is so much bigger than our small, simple minds can possibly comprehend. When we demonstrate our faith in Him, He provides us with hope and reassurance, revealing a portion of His plan for us.
Fred Travalena is an incredible impressionist. He conducts a conversation between nine presidents—with voices from JFK to George W.—that makes your head spin. He also sings like Tony Bennett and Frank Sinatra; you’d swear they were right there onstage.
The time Fred wished he could truly be somebody else was when he found out that a tennis-ball-sized lymphoma had formed in his abdomen—cancer. Every conceivable thought rushed into his mind:
Why me?
What will this do to my career?
How long is it going to take us to lick it, God?
He knew he had to focus on the finish line. That’s why, as he commenced treatment on June 5, 2002, it resonated with him when the nurse holding his chart said: “You’re going to love the day I write down N.E.D.”
“What’s that?”
“No Evidence of Disease.”
That’s how Fred made it through weeks of chemo that sapped his strength and stole his hair. He and his wife, Lois, “kept God on the line,” entering into prayer more times a day than ever before, riveting their positive attention on total healing.
Seven months along his road to recovery, a writer called and said he wanted to do a magazine story. Fred wrestled with that, wondering if publicity of his cancer would harm his ability to secure work in the future—you never know why a talent booker might turn you down. But then, he wanted to help others who might find themselves in his shoes. So he decided he’d give the interview.
Months went by; nothing happened with the story. Apparently, no magazine had picked it up, and it drifted from memory.
Fred continued to make what his doctors called remarkable progress. His daily regimen of prayer and nutrition to augment medical science was working. On June 5, 2003—one year to the day that he had started his fight—he had a doctor’s appointment. The nurse smiled as she pointed to the three letters on Fred’s chart: N.E.D. No Evidence of Disease.
“You can’t imagine the elation I felt,” said Fred. “The first call I made was to the Man Upstairs. I said, ‘Thank you, God.’”
On the way home, he received a return call—a godwink—at a magazine stand. There, in The National Enquirer magazine, was Fred’s story, published exactly one year to the day that he’d begun his victorious battle against cancer.
“That was a real booster from the Lord,” said Fred, still concealing those moments when he’d secretly wondered if he was going to survive. “That godwink gave me hope.”
There are times in life when we get a double whammy we just can’t explain. Three months later, Fred was diagnosed with another form of cancer. Prostate cancer. He immediately underwent surgery while Lois reactivated the prayer chains.
Twice Fred Travalena faced the battle of cancer.
Twice he was the victor.
Being out of circulation for any length of time in the entertainment business, where dates are booked many months in advance, can cripple career momentum.
At a family gathering in spring 2004, Fred’s two sons were kicking around ideas to help their dad revive his entertainment schedule. Freddy, Jr. had a wild idea.
“Hey Dad. Why don’t you get a star on Hollywood Boulevard?”
“Oh sure,” said Fred. “Just like that!”
His son shrugged and smiled. “Why not?” he said softly.
It was a big idea, thought Fred. Only a couple of thousand people had ever been given that honor. Such a thing would let people know he was back, in great shape.
“Just thought I’d throw it out there,” continued Freddy, Jr.
“Tell you what,” said Fred, “I’ll make one call—to Johnny Grant, the honorary mayor of Hollywood—to find out what it takes.”
Count it all joy when you fall into various trials, knowing that the testing of your faith produces patience.
—JAMES 1:2–3 NKJV
He was surprised. Johnny Grant came right on the line.
Fred asked his question: How does someone get nominated for a star on the Walk of Fame?
“Your timing is impeccable,” bubbled Johnny over the phone. “I’m just going in to our annual nomination meeting. If you’d called fifteen minutes later, you’d be too late—you’d have to wait ’til next year.”
He laughed.
Fred hung up the phone. Converting his face into Goober from The Andy Griffith Show, he said: “Hey—maybe we got a shot.”
In June 2004, two years after Fred had faced and conquered cancer with God’s help and excellent doctors—twice—he once again stopped at a newsstand. This time he picked up a news paper to find this joyous news: Fred Travalena was to be one of the celebrities honored with a star on the Hollywood Boulevard Walk of Fame the following February 3rd, star number 2277.
Fred and Lois reflect that their faith has grown stronger. And they know that God will use Fred’s experience in overcoming cancer to help others come to the Lord.
Moreover, with clarity of hindsight, they see that the god-wink of The National Enquirer story happening one year to the day of his commencement of treatment, and the godwink of making the phone call about the star on Hollywood Boulevard exactly one year after that, within fifteen minutes of the key person going into a nomination meeting, were extraordinary messages of hope and reassurance from the Almighty . . . that Fred Travalena will be around for a long time.
CATCHING HOPE
Hope is a powerful force in life. It’s like going into the kitchen, turning on the faucet, and being surprised by the water pressure. You almost jump back, giddy that there’s so much energy pouring out.
Your hope is stored up inside and wants to burst out of you the same way. You need to turn on the faucet of your faith and then feel the surge of hope that springs forth.
If you are fully hopeful, you’ll cause other people around you to almost jump, happily splashed with your enthusiasm.
Reinforced by the wonderful godwinks that happen to you, hope is contagious. Go ahead. Spread it around!
“I was searching. Even though my life was in a good place—fairly happy—I was searching for direction,” said Lisa Gilpin.
She and her husband Sandy had been earnestly trying to get pregnant, but their continued disappointment raised unspoken doubts. Would they be able to have a baby? Was there something wrong with one of them?
Then there was the nagging career question. What direction? Should she go back to school or stay the course in the workplace?
Thank God for the church tour to the Holy Land. It would be a welcome distraction. Organized by fellow members of New York’s Marble Collegiate Church, accompanied by their pastor, Dr. Arthur Caliandro, Lisa and Sandy were looking forward to exploring ancient places of the Bible and walking where Jesus had walked.
As they arrived in Israel, Lisa’s personal uncertainties seemed thousands of miles away—six thousand, to be exact. Early in the trip was a journey to Jerusalem. From there the group boarded a bus for an excursion to the ancient biblical town of Jericho. But before they could depart, the bus broke down.
“We have to wait. Another bus is coming to replace this one,” shrugged the driver.
Deep within you . . .
nothing is hopeless. You are a child of God, and hope has been planted in you by God.2
—NORMAN VINCENT PEALE
After a frustrating and seemingly interminable delay, the second bus arrived and they got under way. As they approached the first scheduled rest stop, the driver further irritated his captives by electing to pass it by.
“It was too crowded,” he said to his groaning passengers, whose impatience was escalating as rapidly as their need to visit a restroom.
“There’s another stop a few miles ahead,” he added.
When the bus finally did roll into a rest stop, Lisa bolted down the steps, heading directly for the ladies’ room as quickly as possible.
The men’s and the women’s rooms were separated by a partition and identified in both English and Arabic. As one additional distinguishing characteristic, on the door for women was a picture of a lady.
Thankfully, Lisa was one of the first to rush into the restroom. But as she exited, she found that a line had formed and the women had broken into an excited titter.
Lisa was the subject of all their attention.
Excitedly they pointed to the woman’s picture on the ladies’ room door. It was a picture of her!
Her?
Yes.
Looking more closely than her urgings of nature had previously permitted, Lisa looked at her face in a photo taken twenty years earlier, when she was a nineteen-year-old college student. Her memory rushed to that moment in her life—another time of searching because of an uncertain relationship with a boyfriend—and she recalled the day that she had been asked to pose for a Red Cross volunteer poster.
“How did your picture get here?” animatedly asked the other women.
“I . . . don’t know. It must be some kind of joke,” she replied, almost dazed. Her mind was racing, wondering if, as a gag, someone could have preceded them to the rest stop.
Her pastor, Arthur Caliandro, joined the gathering to see what all the fuss was about.
“Is this a joke, Arthur?” asked Lisa.
He, too, was momentarily stunned . . . shook his head, and replied with a wide-eyed smile: “No. It’s no joke, Lisa.”
How did Lisa’s picture end up at an unscheduled countryside rest stop, in a land she’d never visited, six thousand miles from home?
No one knows.
In subsequent years, Arthur asked Lisa several times: “How do you interpret that experience?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know,” was always her reply.
Before leaving the rest stop that day in the countryside of Israel, Lisa asked the manager if she could have the picture. He gave it to her. And every time she looked at it, she thought long and hard about the power of the godwink that she experienced. Only through the distance of time and greater insight has the event become clearer. She now realizes that at the time the god-wink occurred, she was unknowingly crossing the bridge from a time of uncertainty into a pleasant place of certainty. Her searching was coming to an end.
Shortly after Lisa and Sandy returned to America, she was overcome with the kind of joy that could originate only from the Almighty—with an assurance that her prayers had indeed been heard. She was able to tell her family and friends that she was pregnant. She later gave birth to a beautiful baby boy.
During the same period, Lisa began to have clarity about the direction of her career. She reenrolled in school and earned a master’s degree in social work.
Nothing can be done without hope or confidence.3
—HELEN KELLER
God’s wink had been a reaffirmation of His presence in her life.
Dr. Caliandro agreed: “Your experience describes the existence of God; a demonstration that there is something beyond us. It’s mystery, it’s awesome, and we need to pay attention to it.”
John Francis knew about crossroads.
“I’ll keep you in my prayers,” he said to Ron Mechlin, a member of his congregation whom he had just asked how things were going. He knew Ron was in a highly dangerous profession as a Boeing test pilot.
“We’re at a crossroads,” said Ron. “This week we’re testing a new rear rotor for helicopters.”
Something from the writings of Herbert O’Driscoll skittered across John’s mind: Crossroads call for choices, and the choices we make will change the pattern of our lives. God and the devil are both waiting at the crossroads, each attempting to direct one’s paths, to heaven or to hell.
Grasping Ron’s hand, John repeated himself.
“I’ll keep you in my prayers.”
Just three years into his tenure as the pastor of a church outside of Philadelphia, John was at a crossroads of his own on some sticky issues; he had to make a stand on controversial policies of the church. That worried him. Would the outcome of his choices keep him in good favor with his congregation? Would he also be serving God in the manner expected of him?
A day or two later, John was a bit cranky that he’d been delayed by four hours in a drive to a summer cottage on the eastern shore of Virginia. He wondered if he were annoyed with his tardiness or just troubled by the tough choices looming before him. His mind went to a book he’d read that paralleled everyday choices with the choices Dorothy had to make in The Wizard of Oz—at each crossroads, she was challenged by the forces of good and evil.
Was he making the right choices as he traveled his own “yellow brick road”?
“God, please give me a sign,” he said out loud.
Just then, John was approaching one of several milestones along his frequent drive to the house at the shore—New Castle Airport. He had a sudden, inexplicable urge to turn into the airport. As he did so, he heard sirens, people were running, and he saw smoke rising from a runway.
Internally, he felt a “powerful push” to get out of the car and run to the wreckage.
He knew that New Castle Airport was a National Guard facility, and it came back to him that he’d heard that the airfield was also used as a test facility.
He encountered a military guard post.
“I’ve got to get over there,” he said to the MP at the gate. “I’m the pastor of a church. I think one of my parishioners needs me.”
The guard looked at him up and down. John was wearing blue jeans and a T-shirt—hardly the attire of a pastor.
The guard paused and with a doubtful expression motioned John to pass through.
The fire engine and ambulance were already at the site of the wreckage. It was as he suspected . . . a helicopter. Someone was being pulled free. It was Ron Mechlin, his friend the test pilot. John spoke to an emergency worker, learning that, fortunately, Ron suffered only a broken arm and minor injuries.
Following the ambulance to the hospital, John was able to be at Ron’s side, to contact his wife, and to comfort the two of them.
Later that day as John continued his journey along his own “yellow brick road” to the Virginia shore, he realized that at his crossroads, he’d asked for and received a sign from God —an extraordinary wink from above that caused him to be delayed by four hours, placing him at the New Castle Airport just when God wanted him there. And the powerful push to go to the crash site, where he would find Ron Mechlin in a helicopter crash, was God’s way of confirming His presence at John’s crossroads.
Man is a creature of hope and invention, both of which belie the idea that things cannot be changed.4
—TOM CLANCY
THE INCREDIBLE, UNBELIEVABLE CALL
Uncertainty was pressing on Ken Gaub.
Self-pity enshrouded him.
What do you want with me, Lord? he silently demanded as the family’s two Silver Eagle motor coaches traveled along I-75 somewhere near Dayton, Ohio.
Ken’s two sons were driving, keeping in touch with a CB radio. The rest of the family members were snoozing, reading, or lost in their own reverie.
“Let’s make a stop at that exit,” radioed one son to the other.
The Gaub family was a traveling ministry, covering fifty thousand miles a year, taking their family entertainment act into churches, schools, and on the back roads of America.
Ken was feeling tired. Unsatisfied.
Where am I, Lord?
He wondered about his purpose.
Couldn’t we serve you better by staying put—making a lot more money to support other ministries? Lost in thought, Ken was almost unaware that the family had decided to take a break and had pulled up to a small-town diner.
“You go ahead,” he said to the others. “I’m just gonna stretch and take a walk.”
He crossed through a gas station, walking past an empty phone booth. Suddenly it began to ring.
He stopped. Looked around. It kept ringing.
He started to step away.
He paused again.
What if it’s for the gas station attendant? he thought, looking around for someone who might be the target of some unknown caller. Maybe it’s an emergency.
That consideration caused him to step into the booth.
“Hello?”
“I have a person to person call for Mr. Ken Gaub,” said the operator.
“What?” said Ken, instinctively furrowing his brow, and looking around for the Candid Camera TV crew that surely must be lurking somewhere . . . with a fake telephone operator . . . calling an empty phone booth . . . trying to trap him looking silly . . . by asking for him.
“Calling Ken Gaub,” repeated the operator.
“You’re crazy,” he retorted, once again doing a 360-degree scan for the hidden cameras.
Less patiently, the operator asked, “Is this Ken Gaub?”
“Yeeess . . .”
“I have a person-to-person call for you,” she reiterated, with the tone of a teacher scolding a child.
“I believe that’s him,” said another voice on the phone—a woman’s voice.
Now Ken was really curious. If this were a setup, it was a really good job.
“Go ahead,” said the operator dismissively.
“Mr. Gaub, I saw you on a TV show, The 700 Club,” said the woman, with a quick nervousness. “I’m Millie . . . I live in Harrisburg . . . and . . . I remembered your name and wrote it into a letter I was writing . . . a . . . suicide note . . .”
The woman began to cry.
Ken was puzzled.
“You don’t know me . . . but I’m desperate . . . I remembered you . . . and a phone number came into my mind to call you. Thank you so much for taking my call.”
This was no joke, concluded Ken.
“How did you get this number?” he asked, shaking his head.
“I . . . I don’t know. It just came into my mind, while I was writing. Is this in your office? In California?”
“Ma’am, my office is in Yakima, Washington, but that’s not where I am.”
“Where are you?” she sniffled.
“Millie, you called me. I’m in a phone booth at a gas station in Dayton!”
“Oh. What are you doing there?”
“Answering the phone,” he said with a chuckle, beginning to enjoy the experience.
“Can I talk with you?”
“Yes. Of course.”
For the next ten minutes they talked. Ken assured her that the Lord was watching over her, that her worries were only temporary, that turning to God was the only answer. In Him, she would find peace. For after all . . . He had already led her to him.
Saying good-bye, Ken took a seat on a stone wall by the gas station. For several moments he contemplated the power of the godwink that he and Millie had just experienced.
Was this a message of hope for her, or a message of hope for me? he silently asked the Almighty.
Across the asphalt driveway, he saw his wife and the others emerging from the diner.
“Hey, Barb!” he shouted, giddy with delight. “Hey! God knows where I am!”
So many times over the years, Ken Gaub has revisited that personal, life-changing godwink.
“I don’t believe it, and it happened to me!” he says. “What are the astronomical odds that I would get that call from Millie?”
Time after time he has reflected on how that experience not only stopped Millie from taking an irreversible step but also how, from that day on, all of the uncertainty about his purpose in life was suddenly lifted from his shoulders.
Ken also recalls that a few months later, after the family performed in Harrisburg, a smiling woman came up to him and said: “Hi. I’m Millie!”
Funny, she looked pretty much as he imagined she would.
There were a few subsequent telephone and letter communications, and then Ken lost touch. She was no longer listed in the Harrisburg directories. She must have moved away.
But, who knows?
Maybe she’ll call again sometime.
HANDING OUT HOPE
Probably like you, I have saved certain notes from people through the years that gave me a lift. I have one from a boss at a big radio station in Boston where I had my first producing job. In a handwritten note he said: “Nice going on Sunday’s show.”
That’s all—five words on a small piece of paper. But that note gave me the reassurance that I was doing okay, that I was performing up to par, that he noticed and appreciated my work. That gave me hope, and hope was the fuel that propelled me onward, to work even harder.
You’ve no doubt received a complimentary comment from someone that did the same for you—gave you a boost, lifted your spirits, and made you feel good.
How about doing the same for someone today? Think what a lasting value your comment will have, particularly if years from now your hope note still exists in someone’s box of memorabilia.