by Amy Newmark
“And how’s my patient today?”
Elizabeth grinned and waited while he squatted before her and unwrapped her feet. I watched from my place behind the chair, the prayer for healing running through my mind. My heart lurched as his expression sobered. What was wrong? Were her feet worse? Had the infection spread?
“I don’t understand.” The words came out in a slight stutter.
I locked the chair brakes and moved to the front, leaning over the doctor’s shoulder. There in his hand rested one of Elizabeth’s feet, the skin beautiful and fresh and pink. Not a mark marred the skin that had been a pucker of scorched flesh the day before. I laughed—a single, shocked chuckle — and he glanced up at me, his eyes frightened.
“I guess that’s what happens when 200 women ask God for healing.” The words slipped from my mouth and I watched the fear turn to confusion.
“If that’s what you want to believe.”
I laughed again, this time in amazement. “Do you have a better explanation?”
The doctor shook his head and tried to pull on the mantle of professionalism. “I guess we don’t need any more bandaging. Bring her in a week from now and I’ll check it over again.” I thanked him as he turned and headed for his house.
We sang songs as we drove home and then I spent the morning watching Elizabeth chase her sisters around the yard. Two weeks. She had suffered for two weeks and I pondered all that her suffering had accomplished. Because of it, our family’s faith grew, a doctor saw the healing hand of God and 200 strangers learned the importance of prayer.
~Donna Fawcett
Walking the Talk
He performs wonders that cannot be fathomed, miracles that cannot be counted.
~Job 9:10
I will never forget the spring of 2003. Although I grew up in a very religious home, I became agnostic during my high school and college years. Eventually, as I entered the business world upon college graduation in 1989, through the guidance of an older, wiser, and more educated sister, I took some steps toward having not so much a religion about God but a relationship with God. Elizabeth was there for me when I needed her most, bringing joy out of sorrow during a difficult time in my life.
Although a few people I knew believed in miracles, I didn’t. I had suffered from many unanswered prayers in seeking peace in the midst of many problems that caused me lots of pain along my path. Nevertheless, many years later, following more spiritual growth, I found myself serving as a former businessman turned Protestant minister in a role as an Associate Pastor for a very large church in Connecticut. I had already been married to a wonderful woman with whom I had been blessed to become a dad of two beautiful daughters, affectionately known as my “princesses.”
One day in early spring of 2003, someone in the church brought to my attention another man who was also married to a beautiful wife with whom he had two wonderful girls. Described as a “man’s man,” William Cox was not only rough and tough, but also very hard working and capable in his role as a custodian. Unfortunately, he was very seriously injured while moving furniture. His prognosis was sobering. At best, he would spend the rest of his life in a wheelchair, most likely paralyzed from the waist down, never to walk again. At worst, he would die.
William’s wife, Joann, invited me to join her and some other believers in praying for William at the ICU of Danbury Hospital on October 28, 2002. Little did I know that it was her birthday. This dear woman of faith recently revealed to me that she felt God had given her a list of those he wanted there that night.
In line with guidance found in the New Testament book of James, we anointed him with oil and prayed in the name of Jesus, the ultimate Wounded Healer, who stated that “with God all things are possible.” When I laid my hand on William’s head, I felt compelled to ask for what seemed to be the impossible. I was certain that as crazy as it may have seemed, given this man’s current medical condition, I was to swallow all pride when it came to managing the perception of others and simply ask God to completely heal William. At that very moment, I felt a strange heat sensation I had never previously experienced running through my hand, which I had placed on William’s head.
My foremost concern in that moment was learning William’s wife and daughters had accepted Christ but he had not. Yet, like me, they wanted him with them—not only temporally on earth, but eternally in heaven.
While laying my hand on William’s head, before I could even think, the following words came out of my mouth: “Lord Jesus, you’ve created the universe and blessed it with William who lies here not yet knowing you and your love for him. Please do not let him leave this earth without making a conscious decision as you have requested of all to accept you as his Savior and follow you as his Leader. Your Word tells us that with God all things are possible. Though these good earthly physicians have done all they can, we know that you, the great Heavenly Physician, can do what they can’t. We beg you to go beyond medicine in fully healing William not only physically but also spiritually so that he can one day enjoy you eternally. We ask this in Your Name. Amen.”
Several weeks later, on Tuesday, May 13th of 2003, at 3:00 p.m., William WALKED into my office! He looked at me and smiled. I was simultaneously astonished, excited, and amazed! Goose bumps, which I have since called “God bumps,” ran up and down my arms while the hair on my arms and the back of my neck stood up. His only question for me, even though he had never previously spoken to me, was this: “What do I need to do to know God? I’m ready.” As you can imagine, I ran with that! William understood that God gave him a second chance at life — and he took it! A man who at times had been bitter and resentful soon miraculously became better and peaceful. The peace that replaced his anxiety inwardly continues to shine through his life outwardly.
My wife, children and I eventually moved on to plant a church in Newtown, Connecticut, where we thankfully have witnessed God turn many trials into triumphs since the shooting tragedy of December 14, 2012. Although many years have passed since I’ve last seen William, not a day has passed when I don’t believe in miracles, as he is a walking one.
~Jim Solomon
The Falling Air Compressor
Heal me, O LORD, and I shall be healed; Save me, and I will be saved, for You are my praise.
~Jeremiah 17:14
As my husband Dave and his friends were positioning the eight-hundred-pound air compressor, it suddenly began to fall. Dave’s friends stepped back but Dave, standing directly in front of it, reached out to steady it. The result? The air compressor went back into its proper position, and all seemed well for a few seconds until my husband doubled over in pain.
Dave wasn’t one to complain about sickness or pain. He struggled into the house with the help of his friends and lay on the floor. He refused to see the doctor and, over the next several hours, muscle spasms began to run the full length of his spine.
Dave still refused to discuss the pain, but his facial expressions and the occasional tear that ran down his cheeks revealed the truth. By this time, he was unable to get off the floor. He finally agreed to go to the chiropractor, thinking that a spinal adjustment would ease the problem.
After my son and I managed to get him into the passenger seat of the car, I cautiously drove him the fifteen miles to the chiropractor, who had helped him through previous injuries. After an evaluation of Dave’s condition, the doctor felt he could not help and suggested we go to our family doctor. That involved another agonizing trip in the car.
After several X-rays and other diagnostic procedures, we had the final verdict. Our family doctor had seen injuries like this before and knew that nothing but surgery would help. He asked if Dave wanted him to make an emergency appointment with a spinal surgeon so he could have the surgery as quickly as possible.
My husband had never had any type of surgical procedure—even a minor one—and he completely rejected the idea of someone cutting into his back. I wondered what in the world we would do at this point. He was still bent over in an
guish, and he walked with a noticeable limp, which I assumed was from his continued “bent” position.
The week before all this occurred, we had contacted a local pastor to whom we knew God had given the gift of healing. Since our son had neurological difficulties that medications and doctors could not seem to adequately control, we had made an appointment with this pastor on behalf of our son. In spite of Dave’s condition, which had only grown worse during the preceding two or three days, my husband insisted we keep the appointment with the pastor. Again, we managed to get my husband into the passenger seat while I drove.
We had been seated in the pastor’s office for several minutes, explaining our son’s situation while saying nothing of my husband’s injury. Dave had a steel will and he was able to conceal most of his pain at this point. Since we did not personally know this pastor, we thought he assumed my husband’s bent-over position was permanent for some reason.
As the pastor began praying for our son, he suddenly stopped, turned from our son, and looked at Dave. He paused for a moment and then quietly said, “I am being led not to pray for your son, but for you, Dave. The Lord has told me you have had a serious back injury. What happened?”
We looked at each other in astonishment, for we knew this pastor had no previous knowledge of my husband’s situation. After we briefly explained the air compressor accident, the pastor said, “Stretch both of your legs out in front of you.” I could see from Dave’s expression that even this amount of movement caused great pain, but he did as asked. In astonishment, I looked twice at what I had difficulty believing the first time.
One of my husband’s legs was a full two inches shorter than the other. Since this had not been the case before the air compressor accident, I knew that the terrible muscle spasms had drawn up his leg. That was the reason for his limp.
The pastor took hold of Dave’s feet and began praying in the Lord’s name that he receive a full healing. He prayed for the shortened leg to be restored to its normal length, that no lingering effects remain, and that God be given all the praise for the healing.
As the pastor continued praying, thanking God for the healing he knew was coming, a divine presence seemed to fill the room that made all of us look toward Dave’s outstretched legs. We watched in amazement as the shortened leg slowly began lengthening, eventually matching the length of the unaffected leg. I had previously heard of healings such as this but had never witnessed one myself. Yet as I watched Dave’s leg slowly “grow” to its proper length, I knew I was witnessing a miracle. As I looked toward my son, I saw that his eyes were as big as saucers, too.
During the next few days, the slight soreness that remained after the pastor’s prayer completely vanished, and Dave’s body was restored to its previous healthy condition. Never again did that injury cause my husband any problems!
~Carol Goodman Heizer
A Life Well Loved
Miracles, in the sense of phenomena we cannot explain, surround us on every hand: life itself is the miracle of miracles.
~George Bernard Shaw
I would never make that choice. The medical and religious communities felt it was the right thing to do, but their reasoning made me even more resolute in my decision.
The surgeon appeared stricken. “Your thyroid cancer has spread to ten lymph nodes.” It seemed he was delivering the message to himself rather than the patient sitting in front of him.
“You will need a radical neck resection, placing you under anesthesia for seven or eight hours. The four-month fetus you’re carrying could be severely deprived of oxygen during that time so a therapeutic abortion is recommended. Otherwise, you could be delivering a child with multiple deformities or health problems.”
Spreading cancer, abortion, deformities. This couldn’t be happening. Why me? Why these horrible things for my child? The doctor exited the examining room and my husband joined me moments later to assure me that he would support any decision I made.
The nurse practitioner entered the room along with my parish priest and began a litany of reasons why a therapeutic abortion was being recommended. “Whenever there is a pregnancy involved, cancers spread more rapidly. You will need radiation immediately after surgery and it shouldn’t be delayed for the four or five months until you deliver the baby. You are only twenty-four years old with four other children at home under the age of five. Who will raise them if you’re gone?”
My parish priest, Father Bill, stepped gingerly into the conversation with tears in his eyes. “Shirley, if you’re worried how the church feels in this situation, don’t be concerned. Our church makes exceptions when a mother’s life is in jeopardy.”
I listened and went over each argument carefully in my mind. I believed in a good and loving God, not a cruel, punishing God. I would put him in charge of my health and my family. Believing this was best, I decided to carry my child to term no matter the consequences. He or she deserved all the love and opportunity I had been given by my mother.
“Schedule the surgery,” I said to the nurse practitioner. “I’m keeping my baby.”
My husband and Father Bill looked at each other with concern, but both knew I must be the one to make the decision.
After the surgery, the surgeons and obstetricians were surprised my pregnancy continued without problems. A beautiful baby girl, Nancy Ruth, was delivered and placed in my arms five months later.
Before we left the hospital, the pediatrician came in to tell us the status of our daughter. He explained that she appeared in good health, with no deformities of any kind. But there was a problem. My breathing stopped and I felt sure my heart must have stopped beating also.
“Her cries are shrill and piercing and she stays tightly curled in the fetal position. These are generally signs of spastic cerebral palsy. There is no cure for this condition and she will probably need lifetime care. It affects the nervous system, brain, and muscles. Every facet of her life may be affected: learning, eating, walking, talking.”
The doctor’s manner was detached and I felt he wanted to break the news and hurry from the room so he wouldn’t have to deal with devastated parents.
“What caused this? How did it happen? Are you sure? Are there any tests we can run to be positive?”
I had a thousand questions and refused to let him get away until he answered all of them.
“No one knows for sure how it happens. Generally something goes wrong in the womb. Lack of oxygen to the baby’s brain possibly,” he answered.
The very second he ended that sentence, the guilt train arrived. How could I have been so selfish? What kind of life had I created for this child?
The next several weeks, I held and cuddled my baby, trying to assure her how much she was loved, how I would always take care of her and mostly, how sorry I was for being responsible for her condition. I was wracked with guilt.
When Nancy cried, it sounded like a shrieking noise. Her arms stayed pulled in close to her sides, with her little fists balled up. Diapering her was difficult. You had to pry open her little knees just to get the diaper on and secured.
One morning, after her bottle, I placed her in the crib on her side. She was lying in her usual tight fetal position. When I didn’t hear her cries for attention after a couple of hours, I tiptoed into the bedroom to check on her. She was lying on her back, with her arms and hands open. Her legs were spread-eagled like a little frog. I was in a panic. My little girl must have died. When I grabbed her, and pulled her up to my chest, I realized she was smiling at me and her little fingers curled around mine for the first time. Tears poured from my eyes and I prayed this was not temporary.
A trip to the pediatrician gave us few clues as to why this could have occurred. He was astounded. It was suggested the replacement thyroid I need to take daily crossed the placental barrier causing hyper-thyroidism in my child, possibly explaining her spasticity. Not wanting me to expect too much, he advised there might still be problems and this could just be a temporary remission or anomaly.
I knew better.
My child was healed and God had granted us a miracle.
This special baby is now a special woman. She is a military veteran and has a college degree. She works as a vice president for a large financial conglomerate and has a grown son and daughter. She is a devoted wife, mother, daughter, sibling, grandmother, citizen and is devout in her faith.
God helps with our difficult decisions. Just ask Him.
~Shirley Irene Dilley
Mica’s Miracles
For every mountain there is a miracle.
~Robert H. Schuller
“Thirty-seven . . . thirty-eight . . . thirty-nine . . . Yay, Mica! Woohoo!” Mica’s excited barks rang out in the frozen stillness. Atop Blackhead Mountain in January, I stamped my feet and clapped my hands to stay warm and also to celebrate Mica’s amazing accomplishment. Making it to the summit of Blackhead is no mean feat, as the trail ranges from steep to wickedly steep to holy-cow-you-have-got-to-be-kidding-me steep. At the summit, she planted her feet and pointed her nose skyward and barked thirty-nine times — once for every mountain she’d climbed since our beginning more than a year earlier.
Mica, a Belgian Malinois, came into my life in May 2012. I already had a pack of rescued dogs of my own, but when I heard that a senior dog had been dumped at a shelter, I turned to Iske, who was reading the computer screen over my shoulder. “Look, Iss,” I said, “a dog your age, abandoned at the shelter. We’ll foster her and help her find a family of her own.” Iske’s tail thumped against my chair as my heart raced and my eyes filled. Iske’s approval meant a lot. After all, I may have adopted her, but she rescued me. Through a brutal breakup and single parenthood, illness and eviction, financial troubles and relationship meltdowns, Iske had been my rock. Rescue, I learned from Iske, is a two-way street.
