What God Can Do : How Faith Changes Lives for the Better

by Deborah Mathis

• ISBN13: 9780743476409
• ISBN10: 0743476409
• Format: Hardcover
• Copyright: 2005-06-21
• Publisher: Atria

Summary

A compelling and eloquent meditation chronicling the experiences of real-life individuals as they face everyday trials and tragedies, recognizing that their lives have been touched by the divine.

Growing up as the daughter of a Baptist

Table of Contents

Introduction	1	(6)
Part One: HEAL, SHIELD, AND FORTIFY	7	(44)
1. Standing on the Promises	9	(16)
2. The Second Opinion	25	(7)
3. A Cautionary Jolt	32	(8)
4. Search and Rescue	40	(4)
5. Long, Dark Road	44	(7)
Part Two: SANCTIFY, CLEANSE, RENEW, AND PARDON	51	(88)
6. The Arraignment	53	(32)
7. The Last Campaign	85	(5)
8. Deliverance	90	(3)
9. The Long Way Home	93	(23)
10. Scrub Work	116	(11)
11. Oneness	127	(4)
12. A Hole in the Soul	131	(8)
Part Three: COMFORT ENDOW, AND HEARTEN	139	(32)
13. Something Else About Mary	141	(4)
14. There Is a Balm	145	(14)
15. Peace Like a River	159	(2)
16. They That Wait	161	(10)
Part Four: INSPIRE, EDIFY, PROPEL, AND ENLIGHTEN	171	(24)
17. We Interrupt This Program	173	(4)
18. Falling Up	177	(4)
19. Safety in the Lions' Den	181	(7)
20. What on Earth Is It Now?	188	(7)
Part Five: ANSWER	195
21. Love in Due Course	197	(7)
22. Belonging	204	(6)
23. This Is a Test	210	(6)
24. To Be Continued	216

Excerpts

Chapter 1:Standing on the Promises Normally, in the middle of a summer day, all the action would be on the sidewalk, where the neighborhood children gathered for hopscotch or jump rope or hanging around swapping bits of gossip about childhood crushes or feuds or So-and-so's run-in with his grandmother's switch right there in the middle of the grocery store for all the world to see. The street per se was usually quiet and empty; most of the traffic flow was confined to residents' comings and goings in the long or chunky sedans they kept in driveways, carports, and garages that hugged their houses. So, of course we noticed the row of cars parked along the curb in front of our house. Only visitors parked on the street."Looks like ya'll have company," the lady said as she slowed the heavy, rumbling sedan to a stop."Yes ma'am," I answered, nudging my little sister who was beginning to doze off under the summer heat. We grabbed our little Vacation Bible School workbooks and bid our carpool driver adieu.Curious looks passed between Sandra and me as we scanned the strange line of cars. Only one was familiar: the shiny brown Lincoln that belonged to our favorite grown-up in the whole wide world -- our mother's first cousin, our lively, beloved Janet. We could never get enough of Janet, a first-grade teacher with a transparent love and an honest-to-goodness respect for children. Although we lived in the same city, we didn't see her as often as we should have or wanted to, but when we did, she always left the impression that she could never tire of us, not even if our frisky little selves showed up on her doorstep every day.The truth was, however, that Janet usually only came to our house on special occasions, like when some out-of-town guests were staying with us. About the only other time she came was when something was wrong.My sister and I flew up the twenty-one steps that scaled the long, green terrace leading to our front lawn. Rounding the house, we raced through the back door, past the den and the kitchen, slowing only as we approached the living room with its muffled, grown-up voices emanating from behind closed doors.Easing into the room, I found my mother seated on the sofa, a handkerchief pressed to her cheek. The loving and lovable Janet sat next to her with one arm draped around her shoulders.Mr. Fowler, the principal at Rightsell Elementary School where Mama taught first grade, was sitting in the stuffed swivel chair nearby, pipe clenched in his teeth, elbows resting on his knees, head bowed.Two strangers stood near the piano -- very strange strangers, I thought. One was a woman in a nun's habit, the other, a man in a long white doctor's coat. The nun looked sweetly sorrowful with her hands clasped below her waist. The man in the doctor's coat looked perturbed. He rubbed his brow so hard I thought he was going to pull the skin off.My nine-year-old brain burned with worry and confusion. Then dread. Somehow I knew the scene had something to do with my father, who had been in the hospital for three days for something called "elective surgery" -- an operation he chose to have, not one he needed. At least that's what we had been told.A doctor? A nun? Mama crying? Janet consoling? Mr. Fowler not his usual outgoing, smiling self?We had been assured that Daddy's operation was no big deal, that he would be fine and home soon. But what I saw that day said otherwise.I tiptoed into the room and gingerly took a seat next to my mother. My eyes drifted from her to Janet to Mr. Fowler. Nothing."M-m-mama?" I stammered, my heart racing. "What's wrong?"Mama lifted her sweet face, dabbing at the tears."Hi, baby," she said tenderly. "You doing okay?" Her pretty brown eyes swam in tears and her voice was weak."Mama, what's wrong?" I repeated, almost breathlessly. Beyond the door, I heard Sandra begin to cry."San, you can come in, sweetheart,"