Excerpt from "Naked Faith - Part 1" by Dean Chicquette

What had just happened was directly related to an event we had experienced on the trip from which we had just returned the night before. For about two weeks we had been on the road traveling to San Diego, California from Logan, Utah and back again.

First, to accomplish this journey, we borrowed Linda’s brother’s car. It had a problem. There was a tack-sized hole in the bottom of the gas tank. After filling the tank with gasoline, I would crawl underneath the back of the car, reach up to the hole with some Ivory soap and rub it back and forth to plug it.

Of course, this plug did not last long considering the constant contact with the gasoline. To make things even worse, it was snowing quarter size flakes and the roads were slushy. The icy cold water was splashing up on the Ivory soap which gave way in about half an hour. We were on the road to our first destination for some four and a half hours. My math says I was under that car in that cold slush about nine times. My clothes were soaked around my back, butt and shoulders. The car heater was not able to dry me off as fast as I got wet. I still shiver thinking of this adventure.

When we arrived at the home of Linda’s parents, we bedded down for the night. Before the rooster awoke the next morning, we were leaving our sons with their grandmother. We joined Linda’s father and some 37 other people on the community’s bus. I had the proper chauffeur’s license and if needed was available as a relief driver. For some reason no one ever needed me to drive. I had on a previous trip, but that too is another story.

The last few rows of seats on the bus had been covered with plywood and then some blankets. We all took turns sleeping in the back as we traveled the next two days to San Diego. We stopped in Glendale, California close to the Forest Lawn Memorial Park where Errol Flynn was buried. The park was a disaster. In those days people were not required to pick up after their dogs and their dogs didn’t either. I found it both disgusting and funny that the grave of this silver screen hero was in the middle of a mine field of dog poo. Once dead, no respect.

That night the 40 of us filled every corner of a small home and yard. Three ladies took up the job of cooking some spaghetti. As I entered the house from the front porch I heard one of the women say, “I don’t think there is enough for everyone.” That frightened me. Another said, “Well, we will feed them what we have and see what we need to do after it is gone.” As I heard this, I remembered Jesus feeding the 4,000 men (women and children not counted) and again the 5,000. I just agreed quietly within myself that He could do it again. I love spaghetti, but even after remembering Jesus feeding the multitudes, I got nervous believing that I would not get my portion. Besides, I had a right to fear because I had a low blood sugar problem and needed my vittles! Don’t we just love excuses! 

Soon we had a prayer with someone asking our Lord to multiply the food. I was one of the first to travel into the small kitchen to scoop up some spaghetti and pick up a piece of bread. I cannot remember what I drank but I do remember the large aluminum pot being about a third full of spaghetti as I began to scoop out my portion. Later, after everyone had been served, someone said there was enough for seconds. I ventured back for another helping to find the pot about a quarter full. Many followed and there was a good portion left even after all had eaten. Yes, this is for real! 

This spaghetti multiplication happened two more times over the next few years. 

​DC