Once upon a time, twin boys were conceived in the same womb. Weeks passed, and the twins developed. As their awareness grew, they laughed for joy; "Isn't it great that we were conceived? Isn't it great to be alive?"

Together the twins explored their world. When they found their mother's cord that gave them life, they sang for joy, "How great is our mother's love that she shares her own life with us"

As weeks stretched into months the twins noticed how much each was changing, "What does this mean?" asked the one.

"It means that our stay in this world is drawing to an end," said the other one, "but maybe there is life after birth".

"But how can there be?" responded the one. "We will shed our life cord, and how is life possible without it? Besides we have seen evidence that others were here before us and none of them have returned to tell us that there is life after birth. No, this is the end".

And so the one fell into despair saying, "If conception ends in birth, what is the purpose of life in the womb? It's meaningless! Maybe there is no mother after all".

"But there has to be", protested the other. "How else did we get here? How do we remain alive?"

"Have you ever seen our mother?" said the one.

"Maybe she lives only in our minds. Maybe we made her up because the idea made us feel good".

And so the last days in the womb were filled with deep questioning and fear.

Finally the moment of birth arrived.

When the twins passed from their world, they opened their eyes and they cried. For what they saw exceeded their fondest dreams!

Life's a little thing!, Robert Browning once wrote. But a little thing can mean a life. Even two lives. How well I remember. Two years ago in downtown Denver my friend, Scott Reasoner and I saw a tiny and insignificant change in the world, but no one else even seemed to notice.

It was one of those beautiful Denver days. Crystal clear and no humidity, not a cloud in the sky. We decided to walk the ten blocks to an outdoor restaurant rather than take the shuttle bus that runs up and down the Sixteenth Street Mall. The restaurant, in the shape of a baseball diamond, was called The Blake Street Baseball Club. Tables were set appropriately on the grass infield. Many colorful pennants and flags hung limply overhead.

As we sat outside, the sun continued to beat down on us, and it became increasingly hot. There wasn’t a hint of a breeze, and the heat radiated up from the tabletop. Nothing moved, except the waiters, of course. And they didn’t move very fast.

After lunch Scott and I started to walk back up the mall. We both noticed a young mother and her daughter walking out of a card shop toward the street. She was holding her daughter by the hand while reading a greeting card. It was immediately apparent to us that she was so engrossed in the card that she did not notice a shuttle bus moving toward her at a good clip. She and her daughter were one step away from disaster when Scott started to yell. He hadn’t even got a word out when a breeze blew the card out of her hand and over her shoulder. She spun around and grabbed the card nearly knocking her daughter over. By the time she picked up the card from the ground and turned back to cross the street, the shuttle bus had whizzed by her. She never knew what almost happened.

To this day, two things continue to perplex me about this event. Where did that one spurt of wind come from to blow the card out of that young mother’s hand? There had not been a whisper of wind at lunch, or during our long walk back up to the mall. Secondly, if Scott had been able to get his words out, the young mother might have looked up at us as they continued to walk into the bus. It was the wind that made her turn back to the card-- in the direction that saved her life and that of her daughter. The passing bus did not create the wind. On the contrary, the wind came from the opposite direction.

I have no doubt it was a breath from God protecting them both. But the awesomeness of this miracle is that she never knew. As we continued back to work, I wondered at how God often acts in our lives without our being aware. The difference between life and death can very well be a little thing.

There was a woman who had been diagnosed with a terminal illness and had been given three months to live. So as she was getting her things "in order", she contacted her pastor and had him come to her house to discuss certain aspects of her final wishes. She told him which songs she wanted sung at the service, what scriptures she would like read, and what outfit she wanted to be buried in. The woman also requested to be buried with her favorite Bible. Everything was in order and the pastor was preparing to leave when the woman suddenly remembered something very important to her.

"There's one more thing," she said excitedly. "What's that?," came the pastor's reply.

"This is very important," the woman continued..."I want to be buried with a fork in my right hand." The pastor stood looking at the woman,not knowing quite what to say...

"That surprises you, doesn't it?" the woman asked. "Well, to be honest, I'm puzzled by the request," said the pastor.

The woman explained. "In all my years of attending church meetings, socials, fund-raisers and potluck dinners, I always remember that when the dishes of the main course were being cleared, someone would inevitably lean over and say," keep your fork." It was my favorite part because I knew that something better was coming...like velvety chocolate cake or deep-dish apple pie. Something wonderful, and with substance! "So, I just want people to see me there in that casket with a fork in my hand and I want them to wonder 'What's with the fork?' Then I want you to tell them: "Keep Your Fork....the best is yet to come"!

The pastor's eyes welled up with tears of joy as he hugged the woman goodbye. He knew this would be one of the last times he would see her before her death. But he also knew that the woman had a better grasp of heaven than he did. She KNEW that something better was coming.

At the funeral people were walking by the woman's casket and they saw the pretty dress she was wearing and her favorite Bible and the fork placed in her right hand. Over and over the pastor heard the question, "What's with the fork?" And over and over he smiled.

During his message, the pastor told the people of the conversation he had with the woman shortly before she died. He also told them about the fork and about what it symbolized to her. The pastor told the people how he could not stop thinking about the fork and told them that they probably would not be able to stop thinking about it either. He was right.