A year ago my dear pastor lent me one of his favorite books to read. Miracles by Eric Metaxas. I gladly borrowed the book with every intention of reading it then promptly returning it. But once I brought the book home I sat it on my shelf without ever cracking open its hardback cover.
The truth is, I couldn’t get past the title. “Miracles.” Oh, how desperately I have wanted a miracle. I have begged God for a miracle. Countless prayers have proceeded from these lips to God’s ears pleading for Him to perform a healing wonder in my body. Just the other night I laid on my bedroom floor, crying out to God for His hand to deliver an instantaneous miracle.
But I didn’t get my miracle. Despite all of my prayers, God has never reached down and touched me with His healing hand like he did for the paralyzed man stranded by the pool. Jesus has yet to touch my body like he did for the women who reached out to touch his cloak. That sick woman had bleeding stopped on the spot. But that hasn’t been my story and with each day that passes in sickness a happy healing ending seems less and less likely.
So for a year I have kept Miracles on my shelf, unopened and unread. While glancing at the title imprinted on its spine I have experienced every emotion from crushing depression to exhilarating hope. At my lowest moments the big, bold blue word has taunted me…“Miracle? Where is your miracle?” On other days it has encouraged me… “Miracle! Yes, I believe and trust in God’s miraculous healing!”
It was never my intention to keep Miracles in my possession and on the shelf for so long. I always planned on reading it, I was just waiting to receive my miraculous, transforming healing story first.
Finally, after a year of waiting, I returned pastor’s book. I never did read past t
he cover. But I did receive my miracle.
My life - that is my miracle. My very existence is a marvelous work of God. I am a walking, living, breathing wonder. Every instant that there is air in my lungs and a beat in my heart, God is accomplishing an extraordinary, logic-defying miracle.
The fact that my body has endured the past seven years is a wonder reasoning fails to explain. According to blood pressure readings I should be comatose. By the pounds on the scale, I should be hospitalized and on an IV drip. Yet, here I am. I am alive. It’s a miracle.
For over a year I have been begging God to do something miraculous in my body. How foolish I was not to see that the fact that I can pray is miracle. The very within me is a miracle. The marvelous salvation of my soul is the most extraordinary, fully executed miracle.
I have received the greatest miracle. I have received the miraculous, transformative, wondrous new life of Jesus Christ. What more of a miracle could I ever want? Jesus Christ is the greatest miracle I could ever need and the miracle that is mine for eternity.