Have you ever had a coincidence that was so amazing that you were sure God must have had something to do with it? Some people refer to such a “coincidence” as a divine appointment. How did the thought of doing something or going somewhere enter your mind? What nudge did you receive to act? What happened with others that made it all come together at just the right time? Was it really all a coincidence or was it bigger than that? Often, success comes simply from following an internal nudge to take action on a thought.

In the process of completing a book, I am looking for some assistance. If you have a story of something that you believe is more than a coincidence, would you please share it in the comments section. Please share only comments you freely give me your permission to potentially reprint. Thanks!

Memorial Day Weekend is a special time recognizing those who gave their all defending the freedoms of others. Their sacrifice is the ultimate service one can give--their very own life. The price of freedom is expensive and I humbly and gratefully thank these heroes as well as everyone associated with them--their fellow soldiers, their friends, and their family. 

Today's post is specifically dedicated to my father's Uncle--my Great Uncle George.

He was a part of the Normandy D-Day invasion of WWII.  In fact, he was in one of the early waves landing on the beachfront via a Higgins boat. He knew his odds of survival were slim. A good friend of his, also in an early wave, wrote his parents a letter just before the invasion expressing his love to them and his gratitude for their love.  He requested that they honor him with a sense of pride, as he most likely would not be returning from this engagement. As a parent myself, I could only imagine the emotions I would feel reading such a letter from my son. 

The morning came and my Great Uncle George found himself amongst a number of other brave soldiers packed in a Higgins boat. The boat landed and everyone attempted to get out without being shot. He made it. As he left the boat and fell into the water, he and everyone else attempted to get out without being shot or drowning from the weight of their gear. He made it out and onto the beach. Amidst the raining down of bullets, exploding mines and mortars, he ran up the beach. Amazingly, he made it across the beach to the hillside. However, it was here where he was hit by a mortar ripping off part of his leg and sending shrapnel throughout his body.  He spun around and fell on his back. With continuing bullets flying everyplace, explosions and general chaos in all directions, my Great Uncle George lay on the upper beach with blood pouring from his body. 

At that moment, he pulled out a picture of his family and held it on his chest with his bloody hands. He held it tightly till he passed out. We know this because when the medics came and got him the following morning, he still had it clutched to his chest. After all, wasn't it for his family that he was laying on that beach giving his life so others could freely live theirs?  

Well, when the medics did pick him up, it is recorded that they yelled, "This one's not cold! He's still alive!" Somehow, through it all, he had not bled to death. And, long story short, operation after operation, he lived!  He lived to the point that when I was a small boy he told me this story himself. He showed me his reconstructed leg that was now several inches shorter than the other. He showed me the remaining shrapnel that could still be seen just under his skin. He told me about lying on his back holding the picture of his family he was certain he'd never see again. He told me all about it. Then, he looked at me and told me how his good friend and many others never did make it off that beach. He told me how the only way to give their deaths significance is not to take our freedom for granted. "Do something great with your life!"  He told me.