As told to me by my husband, Glenn.

Milly was sixteen, my youngest sister.  She always seemed more vulnerable to us since she was the last baby girl.  We never quite gave up and let her grow up.  I was active in a very fundamental church with lots of no, no's.  Especially for the women.

I coaxed Milly to come to every revival and to church services where she felt uncomfortable due to the fact that as she "grew up", she was like any teenager, interested in trying a little lipstick, painting fingernails and toenails.  It was 1946 and everyone was thankful and perhaps a little frivolous because the war was over.

I had two sisters who looked so much alike people often mistook one for the other.  Del (Deloris) was the other sister. When I would get them to church they would sit rigidly in the pew and it would not be long before I would see Milly begin to scratch at the nail polish on her fingers.  All around the ladies sat with their hair up in a bun, no polish on their nails, no makeup, plain dresses.  My sisters were beautiful and that alone made them stand out.

They were going on a double date and I, being married by that time, was engrossed in family life and the worry of my aging parents.

About 9:30 p.m. someone knocked on my door. "Where are your sisters? Do you know?"

I didn’t.

"Come down and see if this is your sister - there’s been a terrible wreck."

I began to tremble and followed them to the car.  They drove to the mortuary.  A train had hit the car.  Both of my sisters should have been in the car, but they had found only one.  I stared at the body before me thinking, "It’s Milly,...no, it’s Del...no, it’s Milly"...

I must have been in shock, for I just couldn’t seem to be sure.  It was a terrible moment in life.  I thought about Mom and Dad - Dad so sick with heart trouble, Mom had already given up 2 babies.  I wondered where we would find my other sister.

It was Milly.  At a rural railroad crossing, they had just picked up one of the boys, so there were three of them in the car.  The train drug the car  900 feet down the track.  Our little town was stunned.  Three teenagers dead in such a horrible wreck.

After the funerals were over, one of the ladies in my church walked up to me.

"Well, it’s too bad, but she is in hell."

I gasped. How could anyone say a thing like that?  Because she wore fingernail polish and had beautiful hair over her shoulders...a little lipstick??  I turned and wept.  Maybe the weeping was for my sister, but it was also for the unfeeling person who could say such a thing at such a moment.

Late that night, while everyone was asleep, I went to a room alone and knelt.   Oh, God, she couldn’t be in hell!  She was too precious to us!  It was enough just to imagine the moment of the wreck.  I travailed in prayer.  Again and again I begged God just to let me know she was alright.  I wept, I prayed, I wept again.  After awhile I seemed to be out of my body.  I don’t know if it was a vision or what, but I seemed to be high up in the room.  I could see myself kneeling by the bed.  I saw the wreck.  The train was coming, the light on the front of the train bearing down.  Milly’s face was terrorized and she threw her hands up to her face and said, "Lord, save me!"  Then it was chaos - the light swirling crazily around.  The whistle stopped and all was silent for a moment.

The scene changed.  Green velvet grass like a park, a beautiful day, a winding path...two figures - I could see her happy face, but the tall figure beside her - I couldn’t make out the face - but I knew who He was!  They were walking hand in hand up the path.  They were happy.  Milly was happy.  Thank You, God, Oh, thank You!

We were a long time getting over that tragedy, but I will never get over that scene.

And I wonder if the dear soul who was so great at judging could ever imagine the blessing I received because of her unfeeling remark.  Would I have ever travailed in prayer so long and fervently?  Would I have ever received the vision had it not been made?

That was a long time ago, for now I am in my eightieth year and I still can call up that scene.

If I were a painter I could paint every emerald grass blade in the meadow, every beautiful flower. If I were a composer I could make the music, duplicate the glorious bird calls - but the peace in my soul is still there, and I know it is possible to receive a blessing even when it comes in disguise.

Praise God from Whom ALL Blessings flow!

Glenn V. Costner
by©© 2005 Joan Clifton Costner
Under His Wings    Heavenly Poetry
Joan is a Heavenly Inspirations Author.