How we met the Tricketts

Probably the biggest miracle we’ve ever seen…so far.   

Mum often says, “You never get over the wonder of a Miracle.”

My family has been getting miracles for over a hundred years. That we know of. No matter how many times you get one, the arrival of a new miracle still fills you with awe.

In a lineup of miracles, it’s often hard to pinpoint the biggest one. It’s hard to grade in importance all the times that God shows up.

But we’re inclined to feel that the way we met the Trickett family was the strangest thing our family has ever seen. Back in 2006, Dad decided to move us to America so he could do his PhD. We were excited to go. But one thing bothered us. We didn't know if we'd have any friends in America. And we knew we would miss our best friends in NZ, the Williams, horribly. We prayed to become friends with a family in Connecticut who homeschooled, who had five children and who lived on a small farm. 

The year continued and we were busy getting ready to change countries. Then something horrible happened. Dad, who is an industrial chemist, was walking across a quarry at his work when he was hit by the worst headache of his life. It was so bad he had to go to the hospital. Mum drove him and us kids went to stay with friends. As my father writhed around in pain, he looked at Mum. “I know this sounds odd,” he said. “But I think this is connected to America.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” said Mum. “It seems ridiculous, but all I can see is God’s finger in your head. I know it’s God, not the devil. And I do think it’s connected to America.”

The news at the local hospital wasn’t good.

Mum rang us up that night and told us that Dad had been moved to the biggest hospital in New Zealand. The doctors said Dad had had an aneurysm. A stroke. He could die at any moment.  Then Mum said something I've never forgotten, "divine encounters are not always pleasant but don't be afraid, because God is in control." 

The next morning, the mum of the family who we were staying with came to me and she said, "last night I had a dream. I dreamt that your mum met a lady with grey hair who ends up being very important.” 

Meanwhile, Dad had been moved to the neurological intensive care unit. Things were starting to look very grim indeed. The surgeon came and explained to Mum and Dad that he was going to have another look at the X-rays of Dad's head, but most likely Dad would need serious brain surgery and if he survived that there would be a minimum of ten months rehabilitation. Provided he didn’t die, of course. “The truth is,” explained the surgeon, “you’ve just been really, really unlucky.”

He left and Mum looked at Dad, “Unlucky my foot,” she hissed. “This is the hand of God. I don’t know what he’s doing, and I don’t know where he’s taking us, but I do know luck has got nothing to do with it.”

 “Absolutely,” agreed Dad. “At least the pain has stopped.”

It was a long, worrying day. But all of a sudden, it was over. It was the evening and the surgeon, who had delivered such dire news, was on the way to a party. I don’t know how we know that, but the incongruency of the fact has got tattooed into family lore.

As he passed my parents, waiting for life altering news, he stopped, jolted in his tracks by a memory. “Oh,” he mentioned cheerfully. “I forgot to tell you. I looked at the scan again. There’s nothing wrong with you. You had a minor bleeding on the brain. Terribly painful, of course. But harmless really. They’ll let you go tomorrow.”  

The next morning, Mum went to have breakfast at the hospital canteen. And while she was there, she made a friend. This lady was visiting with her family from Palmerston North. Palmerston North is almost nine hours away from our hometown of Whangārei.

After breakfast, Mum went to check on Dad. He was bored. He had been allowed to take a shower and now he wanted to go home. Considering he was sitting in ICU with a private nurse, at enormous expense to New Zealand taxpayers, with absolutely nothing wrong with him, the delay seemed ridiculous. Where were those release papers?

The morning idled on. It was now lunch time, so Mum pootled off to the canteen. The canteen was crowded. As Mum looked for a seat, a cheerful voice called out to her. She looked, and there was her friend from breakfast, sitting at a table with her family.

 A table with one spare seat.

Next to a grey-haired lady.

And they began to talk. Mum mentioned that she and Dad had felt from the start that this experience came from God and had something to do with the fact we were moving to America.

“Why are you moving to America?” asked the grey-haired lady.

“My husband’s doing his PhD.”

“In what state?”

“Connecticut.”

The grey-haired lady started slightly.

“Where abouts in Connecticut?”

“The University of Connecticut, somewhere, I think it’s called Storrs.”

The grey-haired lady really jumped this time. “Oh my goodness,” she gasped. “You have to meet the Tricketts. They’re a homeschooling family with five children who live on a farm. My son-in-law did his PhD at that university. They were like angels to his family. Let me give you their number.”

And with that, Mum’s phone rang. It was Dad. The release papers had finally been signed.

That was the start of a spate of huge miracles connected with America. But I don’t know that any of the incoming miracles ever got quite to the level of meeting the Tricketts.

To say they became dear friends would be the understatement of the century. And it didn’t stop with them either. Within two weeks of moving to a foreign country, we had made 91 friends. We counted them up. We couldn’t believe it.

We’ve never got over America. We’ve never got over the people. I don’t suppose we ever will. As Mum says, “you never get over the wonder of a miracle.”

And I’m inclined to suspect, you don’t forget the friendships God gives you.

Because although every miracle is full of wonder, I don’t think any miracle can fill a soul with wonder quite like the miracle of meeting people from the other side of the earth, simply because you have a mutual  friend in Heaven.