Several weeks ago, I talked about how sometimes computer problems aren't so bad because they give me the opportunity to share the gospel with people I might not otherwise come in contact with. At the time, this observation was made in relation to an experience I'd had with a computer technician at my Internet service provider's help center. But this wasn't the only time that the Lord used my computer difficulties to bring His message to someone who needed to hear it.

It was before I got married. I was living in a second-floor apartment in a small brick building on a quiet street. It was a serene environment, with large oak trees out front and tomato plants in large flower pots by the main door. My floors were hardwood, which I loved, except that they allowed the sounds from the apartment below to filter through at all hours of the day. Not all of these sounds were pleasant.

One sound, in particular, broke the serenity quite often. The apartment below was rented by a single woman with a young son, about two years old, at whom she frequently screamed. Not just yelling, mind you, but that shrill, rasping scream that sends chills through your bones. “WHAT'S THE MATTER WITH YOU?! Didn't I tell you not to do that?! PUT THAT DOWN!” Meanwhile, the child squealed back, hurt and angry. Usually, this happened during the day while I was trying to work. I'd be on the phone, doing an interview or trying to concentrate on writing an article, and I'd hear, “GET OUTTA THERE LIKE I TOLD YOU @#$#!” And then the small, higher voice, “WAAAAHH!”

One day, as I tried to balance my concentration between the screaming and the work in front of me, I realized that the young woman's tone of voice wasn't so much the result of anger as frustration. I had seen her a number of times before, and she couldn't have been more than twenty. She was likely raising this child alone, with no training or preparation. Suddenly, I felt sorry for her. I also felt that familiar nudge. “Go talk to her.” “Talk to her?” I said. “What on earth am I going to say?” I waited, but there was no response. “Come on,” I complained. “Why me, Lord? What am I supposed to do, go down there and say, `Hi, I live upstairs. I don't have children — I haven't even spent much time around children — but by the way, you aren't treating yours right?'” As usually happens when I argue with God, I didn't get anywhere. The screaming started again, and there was that nudge again. “Go.”

So I went. As I marched downstairs, I thought, “She is going to hate me. She is going to think I'm a know-it-all busybody and slam the door in my face. This is going to be an absolute disaster. I just know it.”

Disaster? Not Quite

I knocked on the door and she answered right away. Her long blond hair fell around her shoulders, and she looked tired, as if she hadn't had a good night's sleep in days. As I looked at her questioning eyes, and all the toys strewn about the apartment, I knew my hunch was right. She was overwhelmed. But what help could I offer? I didn't know how to raise children.

“Hi,” I said. “I'm your neighbor upstairs. I work at home, so I'm home all day, and...well, I'm sure you don't mean it this way... but I can hear you yelling at your son. It comes up through the floorboards and it's really loud.” I stopped, took a deep breath, and tried to analyze the expression on her face. She kept staring at me, not angry, just staring. So I continued. “It's not the noise that I came down here about. It's that, well, you probably don't realize what it sounds like, but from what I can hear, you're probably a lot more harsh than you mean to be. I didn't know if you knew that, and I thought maybe I should tell you, that maybe it would help.... I figured you probably didn't realize how it sounds, so I just wanted to let you know....” I trailed off, hoping for the best.

After a moment, she sighed. “I know,” she said. “He just gets so out of control sometimes. I just don't know what to do.” At least she didn't slam the door in my face. I breathed a sigh of relief.

Now what? It seemed like I should offer some help or advice, but what could I do? So I gave her the best thing I could think of. I told her that I went to an excellent church with a large Sunday school and children's ministry and asked whether she would she like to go with me sometime. It would give her a break to spend some time with the Lord, and her son would be ministered to by people used to dealing with children. After they got to know him, perhaps they might offer her some suggestions. I stopped there. I didn't want to say more for fear that I might say something inappropriate.

I'm not sure whether or not she read between the lines, but at least the door hadn't been slammed in my face. “I'll think about it,” she said. “And thanks for your observation earlier. No, I didn't realize it sounded that bad.”

“You're welcome. And if you ever want to bring your son to church with me, or if there is anything I can do, just let me know, okay?”

As usual, I analyzed the whole conversation all the way back upstairs. Was I overbearing? Was I compassionate? Was I judgmental? Did she hate me? Was the whole thing a flop? Then I stopped myself and thought, No, God wanted me to talk to her, so I talked to her. At the very least, she knew that someone cared enough to reach out in the name of the Lord. I didn't need to think about it any more than that. So I prayed for her, and went back to work.

The Internet...Bringing People Together

Several days later, my America Online program stopped working. Just like that. One day it worked, the next day, it didn't. I called the technical support line, only to have them tell me that the version I was using was a trial version. The technician informed me that my computer, which I'd purchased more than one year earlier, only came with the trial version, and that I was supposed to have downloaded the full version within 90 days. Of course, nobody had told me that.

What was I supposed to do now? I demanded. I couldn't get online to access the free upgrade.

“The best I can do, ma'am, is to put a CD in the mail to you today,” the technician said. “It will get to you in about a week.”

“A week?” I about shrieked. “I'm a freelance writer. I have deadlines this week, articles that are due, people sending me information. I can't wait a week!”

“I'm sorry, ma'am, but that's the best I can do. Unless you have a computer store in your local area. Sometimes you can pick up free copies of the software there.”

I didn't. So I gurgled and gagged for a moment, not willing to give up just yet. Then, realizing that there were lots of other people on hold, waiting for the company's free technical advice, I forced myself to say, “Okay, fine, thank you.” Then silently, I prayed, Oh Lord, help me. What am I going to do? There was a knock on my door. It was the young mother from downstairs. I smiled weakly and walked to the door.

“Hi,” she said. “Do you have a computer?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact, I do,” I replied, feeling resentful of that particular fact at the moment. “Why?”

“Well, I got this computer game in the mail today, and since I don't have a computer, I thought maybe you could use it.” She handed me a brightly colored computer disk, which I took.

“Thanks,” I said. I never play computer games, but the fact that she thought of me was a welcome distraction. Maybe I hadn't overly offended her the other day.

“Well,” she said, “I've got to run — my son's downstairs.” She waved and headed back to her apartment.

I looked down at the “computer game.” It was the most recent version of America Online — the very program the technician had just told me that I needed. I couldn't believe it. She must have gotten a free promotional copy in the mail, and it couldn't have been better timing. Then I wondered, why her and not me? If God knew that I'd need this CD, why did it go into her mailbox and not mine? The answer, I figured, was simple: He knew that she'd bring it to me, and that's exactly what He wanted.

God's Gift Exchange

I looked around the apartment, looking for a way to thank her, and my eyes lit on a box I'd gotten from a vendor as a promotion for a trade show event. In it was a teddy bear with a big, colorful bow. Teddy bear, I thought. Child downstairs. Give her the teddy bear. I grabbed it and dashed down the stairs. Needless to say, she didn't expect to see me again so soon.

Before she could barely open the door, I blurted out, “Have you ever been an answer to prayer before?”

She clearly looked surprised. “No, what do you mean?”

I explained to her what happened. I told her about the trouble I'd had with my computer. I told her what the technician had said, and how I'd prayed for help. I told her how, at the exact moment I'd been praying, she showed up at my door with the software I had just been told that I needed. “So thank you,” I said, “for being used of the Lord Jesus to bless me today.” Then I handed her the teddy bear, and her eyes lit up. “I got this as a gift, but it's not something I can really use, and since you have a young child, I thought he might like it.”

“Actually,” she giggled, “I like it. I collect teddy bears. Come see!” She invited me in, showed me her bedroom, which was filled with teddy bears of every size, shape, and color. “It will fit perfectly with my collection. Thank you!”

The Lord never ceases to amaze me.

She moved out not too long afterwards, and she never did ask to go to church with me, but I believe that the Lord's purposes were served. The Bible says that some are sowers of the Word and some are reapers (John 4:35-37), and my role, oftentimes, is the sower. In this case, I know this woman was touched in many ways. Strange coincidences like this are hard to forget, and I believe that it taught her a lesson about God, His love for us, and His personal interest in each of our lives. Besides, how often is an unbeliever told that they are an answer to prayer? No, she wouldn't forget.

How God works in the most wonderful and perfect ways!

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