The Hammer, by Paul Boskoffsky
One year at the close of the camping season, I stayed behind to batten down the camp. The day was clear and breezy, ideal for flying, so after finishing my work I decided to cross the lake and check out the beach near the Gas Rocks for a possible camper overnight the next year. Flying campers over would save a long boat trip across the lake, which can get rough.
My Super Cub was small, but it was great for beach landings. I buzzed the beach and it looked fine. I landed smooth, but then I made a mistake: I forgot to raise the flaps before I turned the plane. The wind caught a wing and nosed me. I hit the switch, but not in time. The prop bit gravel. I climbed out, pulled down the tail, and checked the prop. It was slightly bent. Now what!
I was OK, but it was too far to walk out, and my family and friends would worry when I didn’t get home. I knew search planes would never think to cross the lake. The only thing to do was try to fix the prop. I always carry a tool kit, and after getting the prop off, I felt I could straighten it with the right tool. But the hand axe from my tool kit was too light. OK. Find a large rock.
For two hours I walked the beach in both directions and found only small stones tumbled smooth by the surf. It was a real predicament. I grew desperate. I prayed out loud, “Lord, please help me!”
As I walked toward the plane thinking what to do, I saw an old stick poking up from the tundra at the edge of the beach. I pulled on it—I don’t know why—and to my amazement, on the other end of the stick was a geologist’s hammer. I lifted it high and shouted, “Thank you Lord!”
The hammer was just right. I made a bed in the sand, worked gently on the prop, eyeballed it, and put it back on the plane. Nervously, I cranked the engine. It fired and ran smooth! I flew home rejoicing.
I still have the prop, and I keep the miracle hammer on my bookcase to remind me of God’s love and provision for His people. He put the hammer at just the right place, waiting for me. It had been there long years, swept by many storms. The handle was nearly rotted off. People ask how a hammer like that could have got to such an out of the way place. I can only guess, but many years ago, oil prospectors explored that region. Perhaps a prospector lost his hammer. He sure picked a handy place to lose it