Knowing is Better Than Believing

I’ve had some revelations about the miracles in my life. I believe God showed me miracles as a child because I needed His presence. My childhood was very isolating and cycles of isolation repeated constantly. When I was six, I noticed miracles and it thrilled me that God was showing Himself to me. My favorite hymn at that time was “What a Friend We have in Jesus.” And you know…I needed a friend. Especially one that lit up sequences of events in a way that I could see connections.

Explaining miracles to other people poses a challenge. What awes one, may not awe another. And many people have a mindset that a miracle should reach the caliber of the blind seeing and deaf hearing. Certainly, those are the ones and thousands more, that Jesus performed while he walked the earth.
He still orchestrates miracles on earth.

As a child, I had several instances of what I believe to be huge miracles, but they were for me alone. Which caused those nearby to doubt me and chalk my awe up to imagination. While it is true, I have a great imagination, I also have a fierce loyalty to the truth. That, too, could not be denied by any that know me.
One such event occurred when I was sitting on the back steps of my grandmother’s porch. She and her neighbor Mary were sitting two steps higher with large bowls in their laps, stringing green beans and talking. Suddenly I noticed to my far right, high in the sky, three massive figures moving our way. It is impossible to guess how huge, but I would estimate they were at least thirty stories high. Three large people without wings. The one in the lead was a woman with a long full skirt and a scarf type shawl around her lower arms and back. A step or two behind her was another woman. Their clothing looked like something you’d see from the Bible. Behind the two women was a teenage boy. He had a drum with a strap around his shoulders and he was patting it, not playing hard or fast, but it seemed to keep up with their steps. I could hear nothing. I just watched him pat the drum as they sped across the sky. The women were talking, but there was no sound. They were moving fast. Their legs had an enormous span.

I yelled and pointed to the sky, interrupting the adult conversation behind me. I didn’t move my eyes from the angels. I just kept screaming for them to look. I heard, “I don’t see anything,” several times. I let my index finger follow the angels as they advanced toward us, almost directly over our heads and marched into the distance to our left.
When I turned back to the adults, I was practically levitating. Grandmother and Mary saw nothing. One of them said I had a great imagination. The other said, no, this was real, this child doesn’t lie and I’ve never seen her like that.

It became a cautionary tale for me. Maybe people would believe me, maybe they wouldn’t. They might realize there was a miracle, maybe not. But I didn’t just believe. I knew. There is an enormous difference.

I see at least one miracle every day. Not as huge as three massive angels walking across the sky. But miracles none the less. God’s way of winking.

Recently I had three MRIs scheduled on my brain. Over 40 minutes in the tube. (All is well BTW). I wasn’t particularly anxious other than worrying that my nose would itch and I couldn’t scratch it, or what if I jerked accidently, etc. As I waited in the clinic lobby, I had a miraculous meeting with a beautiful young mother that shared with me her favorite book as a child, My Side of the Mountain. Mine too. It led to discussion about Christianity, and my book and other topics. We both enjoyed our visit and recognized what an incredible gift to meet a stranger there with so many good things in common despite our age difference. I went into that tube, marveling at the encounter. God delighted me so that I could think on that day’s miracle instead of the “what ifs’” in the tube.

At the beginning of this, I mentioned that I have had some revelations. This is the big one. I believe from very early on; God granted me with the ability to spot the miracles because He knew I would report them and glorify Him. The miracles I write about may not change others. But spotting them, large or small, has never once failed to increase my faith. They change me.

Thank you, God, that the unbelief of some does not affect me. Another miracle. I didn’t even know to ask for that!!

I would love to hear from you. Share a miracle of your own.