God's Prodding Fork
Stories
Sharing Visions
Divine Revelations, Angels, And Holy Coincidences
A silver dining fork hangs against dark blue, crushed velvet in an antique, gold box frame in my office. Often, my eye rests on it. John, a friend visiting from California, asked me one day what it represented.
"It is my prodding fork," I told him.
His eyes twinkled with curiosity. We sat down for dinner and I told him and his wife Joyce this story:
I believe in angels. If I had ever had any doubts, they were all put to rest one spring day in 1979.
The closing luncheon of my Bible study class was being held at my home. In addition, I had been asked to choose a gift from the class for our leader. My week had been unusually demanding, and now there was only one day left to prepare the house, shop for food, and select the gift.
The Lord has been faithful in helping me find just the right item for some need or person. Entering traffic, I prayed for direction. Receiving an inward message, I proceeded to the mall, parked my car, and chose the first entrance to the department store.
My eyes were greeted by racks of women's blouses, ranked by color. Since the group had agreed on a personal gift, I checked the selection. Soon, I came upon a long-sleeved, feminine blouse in cr me. Her color. Her style. I purchased it and took it to the wrapping station, grateful for the speedy solution. But while waiting for it to be wrapped, another inward message came to me to go to another store.
I argued inwardly with that suggestion, since my shopping was done and the suggested store was at the other end of the mall. Then, remembering that I had found a sale on my china and crystal at that store one day "by chance," I decided to investigate. The clerk agreed to finish my package and hold it until I returned.
I walked to the store at the other end of the mall. Once inside, I stood uncertainly for a few moments. No message came to guide me. My motto has always been, "If in doubt, go to lunch." It was early for lunch, but I went upstairs to the tearoom counter and sat down.
My order was taken immediately. Sipping a glass of water, I watched several people come and go. My meal was delayed, but I didn't press the issue because the puzzle of my errand had not yet unraveled. While waiting, I prayed silently for the counter occupants.
"Haven't you been served?" my waitress asked when she saw me, after some time, sitting with only water. I replied that I hadn't and she scurried away to reorder my food. The counter had emptied. I was alone.
A young, sleek-suited woman sat down opposite me in the next counter island. She was carrying a clipboard, which she wrote on while awaiting her order. I began praying for her, as I had for the others, careful not to watch her as I prayed. But I managed a good look at her face as she glanced up from her work, eyeing me once or twice. I was struck by her eyes. She appeared under some great strain, emotional, physical or spiritual, and her eyes, darkened and weary, showed it.
Our food arrived at the same time. I finished first, and I felt I must hasten back to the other end of the mall to retrieve the gift as my agenda beckoned. Praying must have been my mission, I reasoned. Then the inner voice said, "Tell her about me. Ask if she knows Jesus Christ." I panicked!
I had witnessed people in such conversations many times at airports and other public places, but I had never walked up to a stranger and said, "Do you know Jesus Christ?" It didn't seem right, somehow, like an invasion of privacy. Yellow to the core, I fled to the restroom. Rifling through my handbag, I looked for a tract or something that would do the job for me. I had cleaned out the bag the day before, and I knew I didn't have any such thing left, but I upended the bag on a table just to be sure. Nothing!
When I returned to the tearoom, she had left. Feeling a great relief, I started back to the first store, walking outside in the spring sunlight. Perhaps I would see a store that sold Christian literature. It was another dodge on my part, as I knew there was none on that street. Well, I told myself, I had probably misunderstood the directive, anyway, and now I had to hurry.
Suddenly I realized I wasn't making much progress toward the other end of the mall. I felt as if I was walking in deep snow. The going was slow and laborious and my breath was coming hard. I felt like I was being physically restrained!
How this appeared to passersby I don't know, as I seemed to be the only one aware of my predicament. I felt like I was in a time warp or something. "Go back!" was the message I kept hearing within. I argued with it. "Send someone else. I don't know what to do!" The reply was, "Go back! There is no one else!" Could I be the only obedient follower available in the crowd?
Obedient? As I entered the store, still bent on my errand, my own disobedience confronted me. I acknowledged it, but felt the Lord should understand my pressures of the day. As I reached the wrapping station, I struck a bargain with the Lord: "I will go back, but you must give me a pressing reason to go." I cringed, now, at the audacity layered on top of disobedience.
As I reached into my purse for a pen to sign for the parcel, my hand struck metal. Pulling it out, I found not a pen, but a fork! And it still had bits of food on the tines: warm food, not food from my lunch. Could it have dropped into my purse from the counter? No! I had totally emptied my purse in the restroom! I stared at the object in my hand, my heart beating like a trip hammer!
"Is something wrong?" the girl asked as she handed me the wrapped package in a bag.
"Oh -- no!" I stammered, "I just can't find my pen." I stuffed the fork back into my purse and used the pen she gave me.
Returning to the other end of the mall as fast as my wobbly legs would carry me, I asked the Lord how to proceed. I was told the message she was to receive, and I ducked into the restroom and wrote it at the bottom of my grocery list and tore it off.
My next stop was the lunch counter, to return the fork. Embarrassed, I approached my waitress, telling her that I didn't know how the fork got into my purse, but it must have dropped off the counter. I was Peter, walking on water one moment and drowning in the waves the next.
"No, it isn't our pattern," she said, refusing to take it. I looked at the flatware on the counter. All of it matched, and none of it looked like the fork I held. I was being forced to keep it!
I asked her where the young woman I had seen at the counter worked. "Coats. Downstairs," she replied, glad to be rid of me.
The coat department silently bulged with coats. The young woman stood with her back to me, behind the register. For the second time that day we were alone. "Miss?" I asked tentatively, swallowing a lump in my throat. She turned and smiled at me, sweetly, but her eyes were still darkly burdened.
"You must be a very important person," I smiled shakily. "I was sent back to give you this." I handed her the note. She began to read silently:
The Lord Jesus Christ loves you. If you will turn your life over to him, he will handle everything for you. He will change your life. Amen.
I had signed it with a cross instead of my name.
Knowing I had done my part (and that the angel would keep me rooted to the spot if I hadn't!), I turned and walked away. I didn't look back, but I felt a tremendous release. My angel escort whisked me through green traffic lights, grocery shopping, and housecleaning in record time. A round-eyed luncheon group heard my story the next day, as have many luncheon groups since.
Curiosity drove me back to the coat department of that store many times before I moved away from that California city, but I never saw the young woman again. I am sure time was running out for her in some way. It could have been the last opportunity for her to receive the invitation of the Lord into her life, or her last day on earth! That day, that moment, were crucial ones for her, I am certain. And to think, I almost walked away! How many times has my disobedience been a stumbling block for someone?
I am grateful for my "prodding fork," for with it the Lord prodded me into returning to the scene of need. It was the only time I was given such graphic evidence of his intentions. I will never forget the day the angel, the girl, and the fork made God very real to me.
The Lord is closer to us than breathing. Yes, he is! He is also the Hound of Heaven!
"It is my prodding fork," I told him.
His eyes twinkled with curiosity. We sat down for dinner and I told him and his wife Joyce this story:
I believe in angels. If I had ever had any doubts, they were all put to rest one spring day in 1979.
The closing luncheon of my Bible study class was being held at my home. In addition, I had been asked to choose a gift from the class for our leader. My week had been unusually demanding, and now there was only one day left to prepare the house, shop for food, and select the gift.
The Lord has been faithful in helping me find just the right item for some need or person. Entering traffic, I prayed for direction. Receiving an inward message, I proceeded to the mall, parked my car, and chose the first entrance to the department store.
My eyes were greeted by racks of women's blouses, ranked by color. Since the group had agreed on a personal gift, I checked the selection. Soon, I came upon a long-sleeved, feminine blouse in cr me. Her color. Her style. I purchased it and took it to the wrapping station, grateful for the speedy solution. But while waiting for it to be wrapped, another inward message came to me to go to another store.
I argued inwardly with that suggestion, since my shopping was done and the suggested store was at the other end of the mall. Then, remembering that I had found a sale on my china and crystal at that store one day "by chance," I decided to investigate. The clerk agreed to finish my package and hold it until I returned.
I walked to the store at the other end of the mall. Once inside, I stood uncertainly for a few moments. No message came to guide me. My motto has always been, "If in doubt, go to lunch." It was early for lunch, but I went upstairs to the tearoom counter and sat down.
My order was taken immediately. Sipping a glass of water, I watched several people come and go. My meal was delayed, but I didn't press the issue because the puzzle of my errand had not yet unraveled. While waiting, I prayed silently for the counter occupants.
"Haven't you been served?" my waitress asked when she saw me, after some time, sitting with only water. I replied that I hadn't and she scurried away to reorder my food. The counter had emptied. I was alone.
A young, sleek-suited woman sat down opposite me in the next counter island. She was carrying a clipboard, which she wrote on while awaiting her order. I began praying for her, as I had for the others, careful not to watch her as I prayed. But I managed a good look at her face as she glanced up from her work, eyeing me once or twice. I was struck by her eyes. She appeared under some great strain, emotional, physical or spiritual, and her eyes, darkened and weary, showed it.
Our food arrived at the same time. I finished first, and I felt I must hasten back to the other end of the mall to retrieve the gift as my agenda beckoned. Praying must have been my mission, I reasoned. Then the inner voice said, "Tell her about me. Ask if she knows Jesus Christ." I panicked!
I had witnessed people in such conversations many times at airports and other public places, but I had never walked up to a stranger and said, "Do you know Jesus Christ?" It didn't seem right, somehow, like an invasion of privacy. Yellow to the core, I fled to the restroom. Rifling through my handbag, I looked for a tract or something that would do the job for me. I had cleaned out the bag the day before, and I knew I didn't have any such thing left, but I upended the bag on a table just to be sure. Nothing!
When I returned to the tearoom, she had left. Feeling a great relief, I started back to the first store, walking outside in the spring sunlight. Perhaps I would see a store that sold Christian literature. It was another dodge on my part, as I knew there was none on that street. Well, I told myself, I had probably misunderstood the directive, anyway, and now I had to hurry.
Suddenly I realized I wasn't making much progress toward the other end of the mall. I felt as if I was walking in deep snow. The going was slow and laborious and my breath was coming hard. I felt like I was being physically restrained!
How this appeared to passersby I don't know, as I seemed to be the only one aware of my predicament. I felt like I was in a time warp or something. "Go back!" was the message I kept hearing within. I argued with it. "Send someone else. I don't know what to do!" The reply was, "Go back! There is no one else!" Could I be the only obedient follower available in the crowd?
Obedient? As I entered the store, still bent on my errand, my own disobedience confronted me. I acknowledged it, but felt the Lord should understand my pressures of the day. As I reached the wrapping station, I struck a bargain with the Lord: "I will go back, but you must give me a pressing reason to go." I cringed, now, at the audacity layered on top of disobedience.
As I reached into my purse for a pen to sign for the parcel, my hand struck metal. Pulling it out, I found not a pen, but a fork! And it still had bits of food on the tines: warm food, not food from my lunch. Could it have dropped into my purse from the counter? No! I had totally emptied my purse in the restroom! I stared at the object in my hand, my heart beating like a trip hammer!
"Is something wrong?" the girl asked as she handed me the wrapped package in a bag.
"Oh -- no!" I stammered, "I just can't find my pen." I stuffed the fork back into my purse and used the pen she gave me.
Returning to the other end of the mall as fast as my wobbly legs would carry me, I asked the Lord how to proceed. I was told the message she was to receive, and I ducked into the restroom and wrote it at the bottom of my grocery list and tore it off.
My next stop was the lunch counter, to return the fork. Embarrassed, I approached my waitress, telling her that I didn't know how the fork got into my purse, but it must have dropped off the counter. I was Peter, walking on water one moment and drowning in the waves the next.
"No, it isn't our pattern," she said, refusing to take it. I looked at the flatware on the counter. All of it matched, and none of it looked like the fork I held. I was being forced to keep it!
I asked her where the young woman I had seen at the counter worked. "Coats. Downstairs," she replied, glad to be rid of me.
The coat department silently bulged with coats. The young woman stood with her back to me, behind the register. For the second time that day we were alone. "Miss?" I asked tentatively, swallowing a lump in my throat. She turned and smiled at me, sweetly, but her eyes were still darkly burdened.
"You must be a very important person," I smiled shakily. "I was sent back to give you this." I handed her the note. She began to read silently:
The Lord Jesus Christ loves you. If you will turn your life over to him, he will handle everything for you. He will change your life. Amen.
I had signed it with a cross instead of my name.
Knowing I had done my part (and that the angel would keep me rooted to the spot if I hadn't!), I turned and walked away. I didn't look back, but I felt a tremendous release. My angel escort whisked me through green traffic lights, grocery shopping, and housecleaning in record time. A round-eyed luncheon group heard my story the next day, as have many luncheon groups since.
Curiosity drove me back to the coat department of that store many times before I moved away from that California city, but I never saw the young woman again. I am sure time was running out for her in some way. It could have been the last opportunity for her to receive the invitation of the Lord into her life, or her last day on earth! That day, that moment, were crucial ones for her, I am certain. And to think, I almost walked away! How many times has my disobedience been a stumbling block for someone?
I am grateful for my "prodding fork," for with it the Lord prodded me into returning to the scene of need. It was the only time I was given such graphic evidence of his intentions. I will never forget the day the angel, the girl, and the fork made God very real to me.
The Lord is closer to us than breathing. Yes, he is! He is also the Hound of Heaven!
