“Please pray for me. I’ve only got one tract left to share.”
It was a Sabbath afternoon framed in beauty—the majestic peaks of the Grand Tetons reflecting in the still waters of Jenny Lake, the air crisp with the healing fragrance of pine. My wife, Audrey, carried in her backpack a dwindling supply of Bible study tracts, each one prayerfully given as the Lord presented opportunities to share.
At the park entrance, the ranger received the first. “Six more to go.” On the boat across the lake, the driver gladly accepted another. “Five more to go.” Step by step along the trail, her countdown continued—four, then three, then two.
As shadows lengthened and the day drew to a close, we chose to hike the two miles along the lake shore rather than return with the crowds by boat. This would be our final stretch before we retired for the evening.
Pausing for water, Audrey searched through her backpack one last time. Her voice carried a quiet urgency: “Please pray for me. I’ve only got one tract left to share.” The trail was hushed. We were alone.
By the shoreline, as we coaxed our toddler to hold still for a picture, two young men appeared. They lingered for the view, then smiled at our son. “Your baby is adorable,” one remarked, and conversation flowed as naturally as the ripples on the lake: Where are you from? How long will you stay? Where are you headed next?
As the conversation drew to a close, Audrey reached into her pack for her last tract. “There are two of them,” she thought. “They’ll just have to share.”
But when she offered it, something unexpected happened. “We love studying the Bible!” they both exclaimed, their faces alight with eagerness.
Audrey lifted the tract to explain its contents. I stood at her side, watching closely. And then—so quietly, so subtly I almost missed it—her thumb shifted, and the one tract in her hand became two. She herself did not realize it until the young man reached forward, took both, kept one, and handed the other to his friend.
We walked off in stunned silence. Then, almost in unison, we wondered, “Did you see that? How did one tract become two?”
And suddenly the Scriptures leapt to life. I thought of a hillside long ago, when five loaves and two fish multiplied in the Savior’s hands until thousands were fed. That afternoon by Jenny Lake, I glimpsed the same miracle-working power of God.
For two young men hungry for truth, the Word was multiplied in Audrey’s hand. And on that special Sabbath—Audrey’s birthday—the Lord Himself gave her an unforgettable gift: the assurance that nothing in His service is ever too small to be placed in His hands.
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Ken Mindoro, MD
