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Postcards from God

It was 10:00 a.m. the day before Thanksgiving. In just a few hours the doors to our inner-city church would open, and we would host our urban neighbors, many of whom were Native Americans, to a free Thanksgiving dinner.

I was making last-minute preparations when I heard a loud knock at the front door. Another interruption, I thought as I trudged toward the door. When I opened the door, I was greeted by two delivery men from Sears.

"Will you sign for this?" one of the men asked as he shoved a clipboard my way.

"Sure, what is it?"

"A freezer," he answered.

"We didn't order a freezer."

"Someone did," he said. With that, he and his burly partner pushed past me and wheeled a full-length deep freeze up the steep steps and into our church.

As I studied the invoice, I discovered a sister church had purchased the appliance for us. That's strange, I thought. They never told us it was coming.

My mind returned to the Thanksgiving dinner. Within a few hours, the first flakes of snow started coming down. In ...

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