Have you ever had an inner prompting to do something that you couldn't "reason out" as to *why* you should do it? Perhaps you all of a sudden have felt the compulsion to write a note to someone you haven't seen for a long while, or maybe to send a particular book or tape to a friend not knowing exactly why you feel you should send this particular book or tape at this particular time. Or maybe there have been times when someone's face or name appears as you are praying and you include that person in your prayers even though you are not in close touch with them at that time and know nothing of their immediate needs. The list could expand to include all sorts of things -- stopping by to check on someone in the middle of a busy errand-running day, taking time to make a phone call, and maybe at times something *really* out-of-the blue and more specific such as suddenly deciding to double a casserole recipe and take one of them to a neighbor only to learn later that it was a "life-saver" due to an unexpected illness of a close relative in their family. At the risk of sounding a bit "off-balance" (if measured by the world's way of thinking), I have had this happen many times. And when that prompting comes, I've learned that peace, and even joy, comes with immediate obedience, even when *my* agenda for that day has to be reconfigured. (*Thy* list be done, Lord! As someone has said, delayed obedience is disobedience.) At these times I pray the "Into Thy Hands" prayer, as I package a book, write a note, make a call, etc. (occasionally "muttering" to myself, "How will this be received?" "What will they think?" "Will this be misunderstood?". Human fears--the *me* factor intruding.)

I once felt the urge to send a "New Mommy" box to a friend in another state who I hadn't seen or heard from, other than a printed birth announcement, in many months, . I included things such as special teas, bath salts, lotion, etc. just for the mother (I had sent something for the baby earlier). At the last minute, I "impulsively" tucked in a Christian Woman magazine with the other things. She later wrote and said how much the magazine had meant to her sister who was staying with her at the time because of marital difficulty. There was an extensive article in the magazine (that I hadn't even noticed) about wife abuse among Christians, and her sister was going through a lot of anguish because of that very situation. The article addressed many of her sister's questions and concerns, assuaged some of the "shame" of being in this contradictory predicament (thinking this couldn't possibly be happening to a Christian, and she must be the only one), and gave some much needed guidance and support. It was, my friend wrote, an answer to prayer. I hadn't met her sister, didn't know her sister was staying with her, and of course therefore didn't know her sister was going through this trauma. But God knew. And He cared. And He did something tangible which revealed that caring.

Sometimes there's been no immediate response, occasionally no response (to me) ever, and once in a while a response months (or even years) later when someone mentions it (long after I have forgotten all about it) and tells of the significance of the gesture in their life at that particular time.

I've also been the recipient of others' immediate obedience to that prompting, and I've humbly prayed the "Thee I Adore" prayer at such times as I recognized God's hand of provision for my needs in the gesture of a friend. God's care for us is varied, but steadfast and never-ending. The testimony in the story below of our faithful and loving God speaks of these promptings when they are answers to others' prayers. May we always "pay attention" to these promptings! May we always pay attention to God's care for us when we are the recipients of others' promptings. May God be ever praised!

In Him,
Elaine

p.s. I believe that *somebody* -- perhaps one of you -- has definitely prayed for me in the last couple of weeks. I have had some struggles during that time--spiritual and physical--and one day recently felt healing and peace "all of a sudden". I have felt much better since then, and have already thanked our heavenly Father for his loving watch-care over me. But if one or more of you have prayed for me, I am humbly thankful for it, and even if I don't know "who" you are I appreciate your sacrificial act on my behalf.

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A True Story From Africa ...

Helen Roseveare, a missionary doctor from England to Zaire Africa, told this as it happened to her in Africa. She told it in her testimony on a Wednesday night at Thomas Road Baptist Church [in Virginia].

One night I had worked hard to help a mother in the labor ward; but in spite of all we could do she died leaving us with a tiny premature baby and a crying two-year-old daughter. We would have difficulty keeping the baby alive, as we had no incubator. (We had no electricity to run an incubator.) We also had no special feeding facilities. Although we lived on the equator, nights were often chilly with treacherous drafts. One student midwife went for the box we had for such babies and the cotton wool blanket the baby would be wrapped in. Another went to stoke up the fire and fill a hot water bottle.

She came back shortly in distress to tell me that in filling the bottle, it had burst. Rubber perishes easily in tropical climates. "And it is our last hot water bottle!" she exclaimed.

As in the West it is no good crying over spilled milk, so in Central Africa it might be considered no good crying over burst water bottles. They do not grow on trees, and there are no drugstores down forest pathways.

"All right," I said, "put the baby as near the fire as you safely can, and sleep between the baby and the door to keep it free from drafts. Your job is to keep the baby warm."

The following noon, as I did most days, I went to have prayers with any of the orphanage children who chose to gather with me. I gave the youngsters various suggestions of things to pray about and told them about the tiny baby. I explained our problem about keeping the baby warm enough, mentioning the hot water bottle. The baby could so easily die if it got chills.

I also told them of the two-year-old sister, crying because her mother had died. During the prayer time, one ten-year-old girl, Ruth, prayed with the usual blunt conciseness of our African children.

"Please, God," she prayed, "send us a water bottle. It'll be no good tomorrow, God, as the baby will be dead, so please send it this afternoon."

While I gasped inwardly at the audacity of the prayer, she added by way of a corollary, "And while You are about it, would You please send a dolly for the little girl so she'll know You really love her?"

As often with children's prayers, I was put on the spot. Could I honestly say, "Amen?" I just did not believe that God could do this. Oh, yes, I know that He can do everything. The Bible says so. But there are limits, aren't there?

The only way God could answer this particular prayer would be by sending me a parcel from the homeland. I had been in Africa for almost four years at that time, and I had never, ever received a parcel from home.

Anyway, if anyone did send me a parcel, who would put in a hot water bottle? I lived on the equator!

Halfway through the afternoon, while I was teaching in the nurses' training school, a message was sent that there was a car at my front door. By the time I reached home, the car had gone, but there, on the verandah, was a large twenty-two pound parcel. l felt tears pricking my eyes. I could not open the parcel alone, so I sent for the orphanage children.

Together we pulled off the string, carefully undoing each knot. We folded the paper, taking care not to tear it unduly. Excitement was mounting. Some thirty or forty pairs of eyes were focused on the large cardboard box. From the top, I lifted out brightly colored, knitted jerseys. Eyes sparkled as I gave them out. Then there were the knitted bandages for the leprosy patients, and the children looked a little bored.

Then came a box of mixed raisins and sultanas-that would make a nice batch of buns for the weekend. Then, as I put my hand in again, I felt the.....could it really be? I grasped it and pulled it out -- yes, a brand-new, rubber hot water bottle!

I cried. I had not asked God to send it; I had not truly believed that He could. Ruth was in the front row of the children. She rushed forward, crying out, "If God has sent the bottle, He must have sent the dolly, too!"

Rummaging down to the bottom of the box, she pulled out the small, beautifully dressed dolly. Her eyes shone! She had never doubted. Looking up at me, she asked: "Can I go over with you, Mummy, and give this dolly to that little girl, so she'll know that Jesus really loves her?"

That parcel had been on the way for five whole months. Packed up by my former Sunday school class, whose leader had heard and obeyed God's prompting to send a hot water bottle, even to the equator. And one of the girls had put in a dolly for an African child--five months before--in answer to the believing prayer of a ten-year-old to bring it "that afternoon."

"Before they call, I will answer!" Isa 65:24"

Live as if Christ died yesterday, arose this morning, and is coming back tomorrow.