Travel Tips

By Patricia Lorenz

Rosemary was newly divorced and overwhelmed by the awesome responsibility of raising 2 kids alone. There're many weeks when she had less than $50 to her name.

At Easter time, Rosemary's daughter Theresa discovered a pea-sized lump on her collarbone. Tests showed Hodgkin's disease and a tumor that filled 40% of her chest cavity.

In addition to the terror of watching Theresa suffer, Rosemary was also distraught over the enormous medical bills piling up. The hospital was demanding a $1500 payment.

A few weeks later, quite unexpectedly, Rosemary was named "Employee of the Year" at work and received a prize of $1500 exactly the amount she needed. What a stroke of luck! Rosemary thought.

At church that Sunday an overpowering inner voice was so loud and clear she shook her head to make sure she wasn't dreaming. The voice said, "Give Maggie $100"

"What?" Rosemary demanded.

"Give Maggie $100"

Maggie? The Maggie whose job I took over when she quit at work? She was the only Maggie that Rosemary knew. Why does this woman need me to give her a $100? Rosemary asked the inner voice. I'm the one struggling financially! At least Maggie has a husband to help her.

Rosemary thought about her recent windfall. After tithing and paying taxes on it, the amount she actually cleared from that prize was less than a thousand dollars - not even enough to cover the hospital payment. Now someone - was it God? Rosemary wondered - was asking her to give $100 to a woman she hardly knew.

This is ridiculous, she said to herself. Why, it's total fiscal irresponsibility!

At home that afternoon Rosemary kept hearing the voice: Give Maggie $100.

She dug deep into her faith reserve and remembered the verse from Matthew 28:20 that says, "And surely I am with you always, to the very end of the age."

Rosemary thought back to the last few months of Theresa's struggle with Hodgkin's disease. By now, she was well on the road to recovery. She hadn't even gotten sick from the chemotherapy. Yes, God had been with them throughout the whole ordeal, but Rosemary also knew that God didn't ask for paybacks.

It didn't make sense, but Rosemary reached for her checkbook. Shaking and sweating, she wrote the check and mailed it to Maggie. A week later Maggie stood on Rosemary's doorstep. Smiling, Maggie handed the check back. "I can't accept this, Rosemary, but I want you to know that you certainly did God's work when you sent it. My husband was getting so bitter about God and religion. He was so touched by your generosity, he's acting like a whole new person. Thank you so much," she beamed as she pressed the hundred-dollar check back into Rosemary's hand.

The next Sunday, Rosemary tithed an extra ten dollars for the hundred dollars Maggie had given back to her. On Monday, Rosemary received a check in the mail from her Aunt Joey for a hundred dollars for no particular reason - something her aunt had never done before.

On Tuesday, Rosemary tithed ten dollars of that money to the church.

On Friday she received a hundred-dollar check in the mail from her good friend, Sharon, who enclosed a note that said simply, "I'm sure you can use this." Sharon had never done such a thing before.

That's when it hit Rosemary square in the eye. She thought to herself, When God asked me to give Maggie a hundred dollars for no apparent reason, I listened - a bit grudgingly, I'll admit. Was it a test, like when God instructed Abraham to sacrifice Isaac, his beloved son? And just as God spared Isaac at the last minute, did He "spare me" by bringing back that one hundred dollars 3 times in 6 days?

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What will you choose? Faith or Money?

Several years later, Rosemary's finances were again extremely grim. Her older daughter, Claire, was getting ready to go back to college, and Rosemary was frantic over how she would come up with the money for her tuition. In faith, she reluctantly sold some antique jewelry that had been given to her years earlier.

The next Sunday Rosemary slipped into the pew next to Margaret, a struggling single parent. The familiar inner voice said, Give a hundred dollars to Margaret.

Rosemary almost wailed out loud. Now just a minute! she said to that inner voice. I took a loss on the jewelry when I sold it, because I have faith in You! And You're still asking me to give Margaret a hundred dollars?

Rosemary knew it was useless to argue. The world says "Hang onto your money." But sometimes God says "Give it away." She gave Margaret a hundred dollars.

Within five days, the bank suddenly approved an "iffy" college loan toward Claire's tuition. In addition, the following week Rosemary received a generous and quite unexpected raise at work.

The next week in church she quieted herself and prepared to "listen" to what God had in mind for her now - more out of curiosity at the absurdity of it all than with real eagerness. Within a few minutes, she was directed to give another struggling single parent whom she barely knew one hundred and fifty dollars. This time there was no, Aw, come on, God, You've got to be kidding! By this time, she was a believer. She'd been taught more than once that if she just put out a seedling effort, God would return His bounty in bushels.

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If It's Meant To Be, It Will Be.

By Arnold Fine

As I walked home one day, I stumbled on a wallet someone had lost in the street. I picked it up & looked inside to find some identification so I could call the owner. But the wallet contained only $3 and a crumpled letter that looked as if it had been in there for years.

The envelope was worn & only thing that was legible on it was the return address. I opened the letter, hoping to find some clue. Then I saw the dateline - 1924. The letter had been written almost 60 years earlier.

It was written in a beautiful feminine handwriting, on powder-blue stationery with a little flower in the left-hand corner. It was a "Dear John" letter that told the recipient, whose name appeared to be Michael, that the writer couldn't see him any more because her mother forbade it. Even so, she wrote that she'd always love him. It was signed Hannah.

It was a beautiful letter, but there was no way, except for the name Michael, to identify the owner. Maybe if I called information, the operator could find a phone listing for the address on the envelope.

"Operator," I began, "this is an unusual request. I'm trying to find the owner of a wallet that I found. Is there any way you can tell me if there is a phone number for an address that was on an envelope in the wallet?"

She suggested I speak with her supervisor, who hesitated for a moment, then said, "Well, there's a phone listing at that address, but I can't give you the number." She said as a courtesy, she'd call that number, explain my story and ask whoever answered if the person wanted her to connect me. I waited a few minutes and then the supervisor was back on the line. "I've a party who will speak with you."

I asked the woman on the other end of the line if she knew anyone by the name of Hannah. She gasped. "Oh! We bought this house from a family who had a daughter named Hannah. But that was 30 years ago!"

"Would you know where that family could be located now?" I asked.

"I remember that Hannah had to place her mother in a nursing home some years ago," the woman said. "Maybe if you got in touch with them, they might be able to track down the daughter."

She gave me the name of the nursing home, and I called the number. The woman on the phone told me the old lady had passed away some years ago, but the nursing home did have a phone number for where the daughter might be living.

I thanked the person at the nursing home & phoned the number she gave me. The woman who answered explained that Hannah herself was now living in a nursing home.

This whole thing is stupid, I thought to myself. Why am I making such a big deal over finding the owner of a wallet that has only three dollars and a letter that is almost sixty years old?

Nevertheless, I called the nursing home in which Hannah was supposed to be living, and the man who answered the phone told me, "Yes, Hannah is staying with us."

Even though it was already 10pm, I drove over to the nursing home. The night nurse and a guard greeted me at the door. We went up to the 3/F of the large building. In the day room, the nurse introduced me to Hannah. She was a sweet, silver-haired old-timer with a warm smile and a twinkle in her eye.

I told her about finding the wallet and showed her the letter. The second she saw the powder-blue envelope with that little flower on the left, she took a deep breath and said, "Young man, this letter was the last contact I ever had with Michael."

She looked away for a moment, deep in thought, and then said softly, "I loved him very much. But I was only 16 at the time and my mother felt I was too young. Oh, he was so handsome. He looked like Sean Connery, the actor.

"Yes," she continued, "Michael Goldstein was a wonderful person. If you should find him, tell him I think of him often. And," she hesitated for a moment, almost biting her lip, "tell him I still love him. You know," she said, smiling as tears welled up in her eyes, "I never did marry. I guess no one ever matched up to Michael..."

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I thanked Hannah & said goodbye. I took the elevator to 1/F and as I stood by the door, the guard there asked, "Was the old lady able to help you?"

I told him she had given me a lead. "At least I have a last name. But I think I'll let it go for a while. I spent almost the whole day trying to find the owner of this wallet."

I had taken out the wallet, which was a simple brown leather case with red lacing on the side. When the guard saw it, he said, "Hey, wait a minute! That's Mr. Goldstein's wallet. I'd know it anywhere with that bright red lacing. He's always losing that wallet. I must have found it in the halls at least 3 times."

"Who's Mr. Goldstein?" I asked, as my hand began to shake.

"He's one of the old-timers on the 8/F. That's Mike Goldstein's wallet for sure. He must have lost it on one of his walks."

I thanked the guard and quickly ran back to the nurse's office. I told her what the guard had said. We went back to the elevator and got on. I prayed that Mr. Goldstein would be up.

On the 8th floor, the floor nurse said, "I think he's still in the day room. He likes to read at night. He's a darling old man."

We went to the only room that had any lights on, and there was a man reading a book. The nurse went over to him and asked if he had lost his wallet. Mr. Goldstein looked up with surprise, put his hand in his back pocket and said, "Oh, it is missing!"

"This kind gentleman found a wallet and we wondered if it could be yours."

I handed Mr. Goldstein the wallet, and the second he saw it, he smiled with relief and said, "Yes, that's it! It must have dropped out of my pocket this afternoon. I want to give you a reward."

"No, thank you," I said. "But I have to tell you something. I read the letter in the hope of finding out who owned the wallet."

The smile on his face suddenly disappeared. "You read that letter?"

"Not only did I read it, I think I know where Hannah is."

He suddenly grew pale. "Hannah? You know where she is? How is she? Is she still as pretty as she was? Please, please tell me," he begged.

"She's fine...just as pretty as when you knew her," I said softly.

The old man smiled with anticipation and asked, "Could you tell me where she is? I want to call her tomorrow." He grabbed my hand and said, "You know something, mister? I was so in love with that girl that when that letter came, my life literally ended. I never married. I guess I've always loved her."

"Michael," I said, "come with me."

We took the elevator down to the 3/F. The hallways were darkened and only 1 or 2 little night lights lit our way to the day room, where Hannah was sitting alone, watching the television.

The nurse walked over to her.

"Hannah," she said softly, pointing to Michael, who was waiting with me in the doorway. "Do you know this man?"

She adjusted her glasses, looked for a moment, but didn't say a word.

Michael said softly, almost in a whisper, "Hannah, it's Michael. Do you remember me?"

She gasped. "Michael! I don't believe it! Michael! It's you! My Michael!"

He walked slowly toward her, and they embraced. The nurse and I left with tears streaming down our faces.

"See," I said. "See how the good Lord works! If it's meant to be, it will be."

About 3 weeks later, I got a call at my office from the nursing home. "Can you break away on Sunday to attend a wedding? Michael and Hannah are going to tie the knot!"

It was a beautiful wedding, with all the people at the nursing home dressed up to join in the celebration. Hannah wore a light beige dress and looked beautiful. Michael wore a dark blue suit and stood tall. They made me their best man.

The hospital gave them their own room, and if you ever wanted to see a 76-year-old bride and a 79-year-old groom acting like two teenagers, you had to see this couple.

A perfect ending for a love affair that had lasted nearly 60 years.