2002

Anita Ferrand being baptized by Pastor Paul in Big Walnut Creek.

 

Corey Brackney

2003

While some interns get stuck fetching coffee, churning out photocopies and laboring over other menial tasks, one local DePauw student stepped into a fantasy world. Greencastle resident and DPU junior Corey Brackney spent her winter term as a television production intern on the set of "Days of Our Lives" a popular daytime soap opera. An enthusiastic "Days" fan, the 22-year-old got to participate as an extra in a scene set inside a dormitory. The daughter of Keith and Shirley Brackney is scheduled to appear in the Wednesday, Feb. 12, episode at 11 a.m. on WTHR (Channel 13). While the idea and seeming ease of labor as an extra or actress in California is appealing, Brackney said she knows it's not practical. "My main goal is to be a child life specialist," she said, but of her experience, she added, "I absolutely loved it. I loved California. I loved everyone I met. This is kind of one of those fantasies."

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1913

"Amazing Grace"

I decided before my death to put my life's story in verse. And that verse has become a hymn. Who am I?

I was born in 1725, and I died 1807. The only godly influence in my life, as far back as I can remember, was my mother, whom I had for only seven years. When she left my life through death, I was virtually an orphan. My father remarried, sent me to a strict military school, where the severity of discipline almost broke my back. I couldn't stand it any longer, and I left in rebellion at age of ten. One year later, deciding that I would never enter formal learning again, I became a seaman , hoping somehow to step into my father's trade and learn at least the ability to skillfully navigate a ship. And I determined that I would sin to my fill without restraint, now that the righteous lamp of my life had gone out. I did that all the days in the military service and I further rebelled. My spirit would not break, and I became increasingly more and more a rebel. Because of a number of things that I disagreed with in the military, I finally deserted, only to be captured like a common criminal and beaten publicly several times. After enduring the punishment, I again fled. I entertained thoughts of suicide on my way to Africa. I decided on Africa, because it would be the place I could get farthest from anyone that knew me. And again I made a pact with the devil to live for him. Somehow, through a process of events, I got in touch with a Portuguese slave trader, and I lived in his home. His wife, who was brimming with hostility, took a lot out on me. She beat me, and I ate like a dog on the floor of the home. If I refused to do that, she would whip me with a lash. I fled penniless, owning only the clothes on my back, to the shoreline of Africa where I built a fire, hoping to attract a ship that was passing by. The skipper thought that I had gold or slaves or ivory to sell and was surprised that I was a skilled navigator. And it was there that I virtually lived for a long period of time. I went through all sorts of narrow escapes with death only a hairbreadth away, on a number of occasions. One time I opened some crates of rum and got everybody on the crew drunk. The skipper, incensed with my actions, beat me, threw me down below, and I lived on stale bread and sour vegetables for an unendurable amount of time. He brought me above to beat me again, and I fell overboard. Because I couldn't swim, he harpooned me to get me back on the ship. And I lived with the scar in my side, big enough for me to put my fist into, until the day of my death. On board, I was inflamed with fever and enraged with the humiliation. A storm broke out, and I wound up again in the hold of the ship, down among the pumps. To keep the ship afloat, I worked as a servant of the slaves. There, bruised and confused, bleeding, diseased, I was the epitome of the degenerate man. I remembered the words of my mother. I cried out to God, the only way I knew, calling upon His grace and His mercy to deliver me, and upon His son to save me. The only glimmer of light I could find was in a crack in the floor above me, and I looked up to it and screamed for help. God heard me. Thirty-one years passed, I married a childhood sweetheart. I entered the ministry. In every place that I served, rooms had to be added to the building to handle the crowds that came to hear the gospel that was presented and the story of God's grace in my life. My tombstone above my head reads, "Born 1725, died 1807. A clerk, once an infidel and libertine, a servant of slaves in Africa, was by the rich mercy of our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ, preserved, restored, pardoned, and appointed to preach the faith he once long labored to destroy." I decided before my death to put my life's story in verse. And that verse has become a hymn. My name? John Newton. The hymn? "Amazing Grace"

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Fireman

In Phoenix, AZ. a 26-year-old mother stared down at her son who was dying of terminal leukemia. Although her heart was filled with sadness, she also had a  strong feeling of determination. Like any parent she  wanted her son to grow up and fulfill all his dreams. Now  that was no longer possible. The leukemia would see to that.  But she still wanted her son's dreams to come true. She took her son's hand and asked, "Billy, did  you ever think about what you wanted to be once you grew  up?  Did you ever dream and wish what you would do  with your life?"
"Mommy, I always wanted to be a fireman when I  grew up." "Mom smiled back and said, "Let's see if we can  make your wish come true." Later that day she went to her local fire  department in Phoenix, Arizona, where she met Fireman Bob, who  had a heart as big as Phoenix. She explained her  son's final wish and asked if it might be possible to give her six-year-old son a ride around the block on a  fire engine. Fireman Bob said, "Look, we can do better than  that. If you'll have your son ready at seven o'clock Wednesday morning, we'll make him an honorary fireman for  the whole day. He can come down to the fire station,  eat with us, go out on all the fire calls, the whole nine yards!  "And if you'll give us his sizes, we'll get a  real fire uniform for him, with a real fire hat - not a toy  one with the emblem of the Phoenix Fire Department on it, a yellow slicker like we wear and rubber boots. They're all  manufactured right here in Phoenix, so we can get them fast." Three day's later Fireman Bob picked up Billy,  dressed him in his fire uniform and escorted him from his hospital bed to the waiting hook and ladder truck. Billy  got to sit on the back of the truck and help steer it back to  the fire station.  He was in heaven. There were three fire calls in Phoenix that day and Billy got to go out on all three  calls. He rode in the different fire engines, the paramedic's  van, and even the fire chief's auto. He was also videotaped for  the local news program. Having his dream come true, with all the love and attention that was lavished upon him, so deeply touched Billy that he lived three months longer than any  of the doctors thought possible. One night all of his vital signs began to drop  dramatically and the head nurse, who believed in the hospice concept that no one should die alone, began to call the  family members to the hospital. Then she remembered the day Billy had spent as a fireman, so she called the  Fire Chief and asked if it would be possible to send a  fireman in uniform to the hospital to be with Billy as he  made his transition. The chief replied, "We can do better than that.  We'll be there in five minutes. Will you please do me a  favor?  When you hear the sirens screaming and see the  lights flashing, will you announce over the PA system  that there is not a fire? It's just the fire department coming to see one of its finest members one more time.  And will you open the window to his room?" About five minutes later a hook and ladder truck  arrived at the hospital and extended its ladder up to  Billy's third floor open window. Sixteen firefighters climbed  up the ladder into Billy's room.  With his mother's permission, they hugged him  and held him and told him how much they loved him. With his dying breath, Billy looked up at the  fire chief and said, "Chief, am I really a fireman now?" " Billy, you sure are, and the Head Chief, Jesus, is holding your hand," the chief said. With those words, Billy smiled and said, "I know, He's been holding  my hand all day, and the angels have been singing." He closed his eyes one last time.

OPEN HEARTS, OPEN MINDS, OPEN DOORS

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