Miracles are a retelling in small letters of the very same story that is written across the whole world in letters too large for some of us to see. —C.S. Lewis. I came across this quote recently and was reminded of a post from a while back. As an update to this story, the woman referenced in this post is still doing well five years later.
My phone dinged as we sailed down Interstate 85 near Spaghetti Junction in Atlanta.
An eighteen-wheeler whizzed close as I clicked on my cell and read the text.
I took a deep breath before I told Jerry. “Things are not going well.” A friend’s mama underwent open-heart surgery, and though she had the best of care, the situation went south.
After many hours in the operating room, the medical staff emerged in the evening to notify the family she might not make it through the night.
The word went out, and so many friends bombarded heaven on her behalf.
The next morning when we returned from out of town, we found she had not only made it through the night, but also stabilized.
Grateful, we continued to pray, as we also counted days.
Two, three, four, five . . .
She never awakened.
Another woman down the hall passed in the night.
We mourned her life cut short. Hearts heavy.
Six, Seven . . .
On day eight, the medical staff allowed two more days before decisions had to be made regarding life support.
Tears flowed and knees bent. The time ticked down.
On Sunday morning as we rode to church, the car quiet, Jerry and I prayerful, he said, “Wouldn’t Sunday morning be a great time for her to wake? That’s what Jesus did.” I thought of Jesus transcending the bonds of death and the words Paul wrote that we prayed the afternoon before as we stood by her beside, “. . . just as Christ was raised from the dead through the glory of the Father, we too may live a new life” (Romans 6:4). That same glory, that same power resides in all those who name His name for their salvation (Romans 8:11).
Yes, Sunday morning would be a great time.
A couple of hours passed . . . another text . . . a critical time.
We flew to the intensive care unit.
Our first sight, a family member in the hall, talking on the phone, mouthed two words to us. “She’s up.”
“She’s up?” we questioned believing, yet unbelieving.
He nodded.
We rushed into the room, her eyes fluttered, and her gaze focused on us. She half smiled.
She’s was up, all right.
Waking up.
Rising up.
Speaking up.
Getting up.
Healing up.
All because God never gives up.
On Sunday morning, we witnessed God’s resurrection glory and power, how it cracks the grip of death and super charges a mortal body.
God is still God. Jesus is still Jesus.
If you need “up” for yourself or someone else, don’t you give up, either.
No, it doesn't happen like this every time. We know this and can't explain the why, but we also know every time God is faithful.
So, friends, if you need to hear about a miracle today, well, here it is.
Glory be to God!