August 29, 2021

Dear Bethel Temple,

I am writing to share a miracle. God used you in a powerful way today. In 1975, my family lived in Killeen, TX. We were Catholic, but not particularly active or devout. We attended church rarely, some years only on Christmas and Easter. I knew nothing of the Bible. I was ten years old. That summer, a little neighbor girl invited me to Vacation Bible School at your church. I had a great week! I loved the songs, the crafts, the Bible lessons, and the feeling of being loved, accepted, and cared for. I remember the theme was “Up, Up, Up and Away!”. I remember how diligently I worked to memorize the Bible verse assigned each day. At the end of the week, I was rewarded with my very own Bible, inscribed with my name. I don’t remember if I made a profession of faith (though I have come to suspect that I did), but I ended that week loving Jesus. Then, my family moved again. And again. And again. I never had the chance to visit your church again.

I lived a life I am not proud of for the next forty years. I committed many sins against God. I hurt myself and others. Through it all, I wanted desperately to find a way to the kind of deep faith I had learned about at your VBS and had seen in faithful Christians I knew. I sought God in various ways. I attended churches—first a Catholic church where I felt out of place as a twenty-two-year-old divorced woman with a baby; then an Episcopal church where I never seemed able to get to know anyone; then a very large Methodist Church, where I sang in the choir while hiding my sinful life. I loved my sins too much to find Him. All those years, I kept that Bible. It moved with me at least twenty-five times. I almost never opened it, but I kept it and treasured it. The times I tried to read it, I had trouble understanding it, even though I’m a good reader and reasonably smart by the world’s standards. But I kept it. I kept it for forty years.

Then, one day in the spring of 2016, I was cleaning out my huge collection of books to make room for art supplies. As I sorted through the bookshelves, I came across that Bible. I didn’t even think about it. I just boxed it up with many other books and gave it away. I no longer could see the point of keeping it. I didn’t have that kind of faith. I had sought God and couldn’t find Him. I was never going to read it. I saw no point in keeping it. I gave up on God.

But He didn’t give up on me. Six months later, God called my name. I had a profound conversion experience alone on my porch in the middle of a starry October night in 2016. That night, I gave my life to Jesus. Three days later, I drove to the nearest Christian bookstore and bought myself a new Bible. And after a few months, I found a Bible-based church and began attending regularly. In October 2017, I was baptized.

Oh, how I regretted giving away that Bible! I felt so foolish. I had no idea who I’d given it to, but I longed to have it back. I told some believer friends about it, and one very faithful prayer warrior suggested I pray for God to return it to me. I’ll admit, I was doubtful that prayer would be answered. It seemed so inconsequential, but by then I’d witnessed God doing amazing things in my life. I knew nothing was impossible. So, I prayed. I didn’t pray every day, or even all that often, but whenever it came to mind, I prayed for God to help me find that Bible. My sweet friend prayed, too. For years after that, I checked thrift stores, hoping to come across it. I never did.

Two days ago, my husband died in his sleep in our bed. He’d been sick for a long time with cancer. My grief is deep. I’ve never experienced pain like this. My loving daughter flew in from Chicago to help and comfort me. We are here alone because Hurricane Ida is raging outside. None of the other family members have been able to get here. All the flights are cancelled. As we were talking tonight, God set up the opportunity for me to tell her the story of that lost Bible. She is not a Christian. She does not share my faith. I try to find ways to help her understand my faith that won’t result in an argument or make her uncomfortable. So, when the chance arose, I told her about the white Bible I’d gotten at VBS. Her astonishing reply was “I have a white Bible at my house.” My heart leapt. It seemed impossible. Could it be my mine? She quickly texted her husband and asked him to send a photo of it. It was my lost Bible from your church! I have no idea how it got to her nearly a thousand miles away. Perhaps, at some point I gave her a box of books? I have no idea why she kept it. She’s not a believer. Why would she keep a Bible? Perhaps, because it was inscribed? I don’t know. I do know this: God chose this day, the day I most needed His comfort, to return it. Today! The day when I am in so much pain, I can’t even pray. The day when I can only cry out to Him in wordless anguish. This is the day He chose to return the treasure I so foolishly discarded. I believe He let me give it away so that He could give it back to me as a sign that He is here, He hears me, He understands, and I am not alone. And He used the one person whose very presence alone would provide me comfort to perform this miracle. I believe He wants me to learn that He hears and answers every prayer, no matter how unimportant it may seem.

I write this to you with tears raining down my cheeks, but I feel strongly that the Lord wants you to know the impact your church has had in my life. I would imagine some of the kind ladies who worked so hard at that VBS in 1975 may have gone to be with the Lord by now. But I hope my testimony encourages you. You may not see the seeds you are planting grow and bear fruit, but never doubt that your service to the Lord is being used by Him.

Thank you so much for teaching me to love Jesus.

In Christ,
Victoria Henderson Stewart

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Freedom At Last

a sonnet of salvation
by Victoria Stewart

When I was small, I longed to know of God,
Kind strangers spoke His name and touched my heart.
Then relocation changed the path I trod,
Left me infantile, my faith and I apart.

Without a coach, I wandered forty years,
A slave to whims, my soul stayed unmatured.
In sin, I caused both others’ pain and tears,
Myself I harmed, as darkness it did lure.

But then His voice did call me, soft and clear,
His Word, a beacon shining in the night.
He sent me guides, whose faith would persevere,
Who showed me how to walk within His light.

He taught, He blessed, He tested, He loved me.
No longer bound, in Him I am made free.

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Victoria Stewart is a teacher, student, biblical counselor, writer, poet, avid reader, and, most importantly a disciple of Jesus Christ. She writes Bible studies, poetry, and stories inspired by scripture. She lives near Mobile, Alabama, but travels often to play with her granddaughter, help her father, visit family and friends, and spread the love of Christ on foreign missions.

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