The Ugly Miracle

By R.M. Hamilton

Grandma and Granddad were having breakfast in their Whangarei Heads beach house. The beach house was working out better than the boat had.

Granddad had built it himself and the piles concreted beneath the floor had no ability to float out to sea, (see Grandma and the Boat Anchor).

Behind the house Mount Manaia rose to an impressive height for a hill. In front of the house, a road ran past a dairy full of ice cream and an indoor turtle pond. Beyond that, a collection of pretty bays edged the road all the way out to Ocean Beach, which, as the name implies looked out to the open ocean.

“The tide will be in soon,” said Granddad, scraping out the last of the marmalade jar. “We could have a morning swim.”

“Sounds a bit cold,” said Grandma, pouring herself a cup of tea. “Arthur, we haven’t asked for our ‘divine encounter’ this morning.”

No one quite remembers where Grandma found the phrase ‘divine encounter’. But of course, it was Grandma who found it.

“You see dear,” she explained to Mum, “a divine encounter is a sort of ‘happening’ that God puts together. It might be a connection with a person, it might be a miracle. It’s about being put in the right place at the right time. Anyway, I’m really into divine encounters at the moment. I’ve got your father asking for one every morning.”

And indeed, Granddad seemed to have a knack for ordering ‘divine encounters’. They certainly showed up.

“We meet the right people at the right time,” explained Grandma mysteriously. “And we’re getting more miracles than usual. There’s something to this ‘divine encounter’ stuff.”

Even Granddad, stodgy sola scriptura theologian that he was, had to grudgingly admit, there was something to it.

Also, he was quietly proud that it was his prayers producing the results.

He put the marmalade jar down and bowed his head.

“Please God, send us our divine encounter today. Amen.”

“Amen!” echoed Grandma enthusiastically. “Dear, I’ll come to the beach with you for the walk. You can swim and I’ll sit under the trees. The Pohutukawas are so pretty this time of year.”

“I don’t know why you think so,” muttered Granddad, pottering off to collect his togs and towel. You hate flowers.”

‘They’re alright outside,” retorted Grandma. “They can’t molt onto my clean floors outside.”

Granddad grinned.

Soon they were walking down the road towards the beach. “We’re going to need to update our car,” remarked Granddad. “It’s getting old. Can’t you trade it in?” He shot Grandma a hopeful look. Grandma’s wheeling and dealing was the stuff of legends.

“The problem is,” grumbled Grandma, “it’s not worth all that much. We’ll really have to cough up a lot and I don’t see the trade in saving us so much.”

“Oh,” said Granddad.

Then, “do you want to go to this beach or the next one?”

“The next one, I think,” said Grandma. “We went to this beach yesterday.”

It was on the way back that it happened.

“Arthur,” said Grandma suddenly. “God just spoke to me.”

“Really?” asked Granddad. “What did he say?”

“Divine encounters are not always pleasant.”

‘Oh,” said Granddad.

“Well, what does that mean?” demanded Grandma.

Granddad chewed his lip. “I think it means we trust him. I think it means we praise him no matter what.”

The road tilted up towards the house.

“I suppose,” said Grandma grimly. They had reached the foot of the driveway.

 “But I don’t much like the sound of it,” continued Grandma. Do you want regular tea or rooibos? And I’ve got some of those chocolate chip biscuits left, from Sunday lunch. That’ll be nice, don’t you---”

But Granddad interrupted her.

“Our car’s been stolen.’

“Oh Arthur why would you say that?”

Granddad quietly pointed at the empty garage. “Someone opened our garage and took our car. It’s gone. They nicked it while we were out.”

“Oh NO!”

“I don’t mind the car,” said Granddad sadly. “But my tools were in the back seat. Some of those tools belonged to my father.”

“Oh Arthur!”

“It’s alright,” said Granddad stoically. “We prayed for a divine encounter and we’re going to praise the Lord that we got one.”

“I’m still calling the police,” grumbled Grandma.

“You must,” agreed Granddad. “Tell them it’s not so much the car I mind so much as my tools. The hammer had worn down ‘til it fit my hand.”

The police sympathized over the tools but thought they had a better chance of finding the car.

Grandma went above their heads. “Lord,” she said. “Do what you like with the car, but Arthur really must have his tools back.”

“And thank you for our divine encounter,” added Granddad.

Grandma shot him a look.

“We did ask for something to happen,” Granddad reminded her. “An ugly miracle is still a miracle.”

“And thank you for our divine encounter, Amen,” finished Grandma, sulkily.

The police found the car. It was smashed to smithereens, sticking out of a ditch. “I’m afraid it’s a write off,” apologized the nice policeman on the phone. “Totally undrivable. Apparently, it was used for a bit of joyriding.”

Grandma thought of the careful, almost nurturing way Granddad used to drive the car, and shuddered. “Any woodworking tools in it?” she asked hopefully.

“Afraid not,” said the nice policeman sadly. “I did look.”

“A fine divine encounter this is turning out to be!” complained Grandma, opening a tin of mackerel. “A smashed car and all your nice tools gone.”

“Divine encounters are not always pleasant,” intoned Granddad in an infuriatingly calm manner. “It’ll all turn out good.”

And he was right.

“You’ll never guess what!” the nice policeman sounded excited. “We’ve just raided a house full of stolen items and I’ve got the loveliest set of tools here. There’s a really good Estwing hammer here with ‘Arthur’ on the handle. That wouldn’t be yours, would it?”

So Granddad got all his tools back. “I’m so glad dear!” said Grandma. “The tools were what mattered the most. And we needed a new car, anyway.’

Granddad looked vaguely at Grandma. “Aren’t we insured?”

“GOSH GOLLY!” yelped Grandma. “Of COURSE, we’re ensured! I took out a policy with that company with the lovely salesman! I’ll just call him and find out what we get for a stolen car!”

It was evening. Grandma and Granddad sat propped up in bed drinking tea. Grandma was going over the For Sale part of the newspaper. Granddad was reading an enormous book on the history of teak wood.

“Oh Arthur,” said Grandma. “Isn’t it marvelous!”

“Yes,” said Granddad.

“Such a divine encounter! We’d never have got all that money for our car if it hadn’t been stolen, would we?”

“No,” agreed Granddad.

“I mean, we’ll be able to buy a practically new car with all that dosh!”

Granddad, deep into an exciting bit about the difference between African and Indian teak, grunted.

“It wasn’t pleasant,” ruminated Grandma. “But it was divine.”

“That’s right,” said Granddad.

“All that time we thought our car was stolen but God was just replacing it because it was old. What was it you said about ugly miracles the other day?”

“That an ugly miracle is still a miracle?”

“Yes, that. Which I suppose means we just have to trust him, regardless of how things look.”

Granddad put down the book. “True. And time to put out the light.”

“Time to pray first,” said Grandma. “Don’t forget to ask for another divine encounter tomorrow, but dear—”

“Yes?”

“This time, ask for a pretty one!”