My home was a two-bedroom trailer, and the winter was just beginning in my area of rural western Oklahoma when I heard the weather report on television: An ice storm was coming. In preparation, I gathered blankets, and sure enough, the power went out. I said a prayer that God would get me through the night safely and made myself comfortable on the couch, huddling under the blankets. At midnight I awoke as the TV and lights came back on. Feeling all was well, I turned everything off and stumbled to bed.
Fifteen minutes later, I awakened from a sound sleep. A voice was calling me urgently, a voice I always heeded unquestioningly. "Patti, get up," Mother said.
A glow was coming from the kitchen. I jumped out of bed and ran to see flames shooting from the hot-water tank. I rushed outside. By the time the firemen arrived, the trailer was totally engulfed in flames. Numb with exhaustion, I watched as the fire consumed my home.
Other family members arrived from nearby, and we surveyed the ruins. "Thank goodness you got out," my sister said. "What if you hadn't woken up in time?" It was then I told them the story of how I had been roused by Mother's voice. The others stared at me in disbelief.
Why was it so amazing to think that she had saved my life? Because Mother had passed away the year before.
God had sent me a message I could not ignore.
