For each of the next five weeks, I am going to share a story with you of something truly miraculous. These stories are based on true happenings. The names have been changed and the details altered, but the facts remain the same. I hope you enjoy Miraculous Mondays here at Immortal Portals.
The diagnosis was bleak.
Barely five years old, she lay in the hospital bed unresponsive. Her tiny face splotched and beaded with sweat. The fever raged and curled her neck back in an unholy spasm, like a demon possessed her body and writhed within. Thin emaciated legs sprawled. Arms, poked and prodded, were tethered to fluid bags. Her tiny chest rose and fell in shallow pants as she fought a hopeless battle.
I wanted to scream.
My first born lay stricken with spinal meningitis in Our Lady of the Lake Catholic Hospital. Nurses, nuns, and doctors marched through the room and shook their heads in defeat. I could see despair puddle on the floor around the bed.
I clenched my jaw.
The primary physician clasped my husband’s shoulder and escorted him from the room. When the last nurse exited, I crumpled onto the chair beside the bed and enfolded my baby’s hand into mine. No words would come. My eyes pricked, pressure building, but I couldn’t spill anymore tears. Anger grew beneath my breast bone with every back pat and sad face that came to visit.
I turned the damp cloth over and adjusted it to my daughter’s forehead. Her red cheek burned my fingers. I trembled, rage barely checked.
“Meryl, why don’t you take a break. I’ll stay with her?” my sister-in-law whispered over my shoulder. I felt her pity pat and jumped from my chair.
“Yeah, okay.” I couldn’t listen to anymore sympathy words. I dashed out of the room, through the hall, and down the stairs . Bursting through the front door, I gulped cool December air and ran to the lake.
Swans dove in and out of the water. Diamonds trickled down their pristine feathers as they preened and glided over the surface of the dark mirror. I didn’t even know how to pray anymore. All my words were spent, my tears dried up in the broiling madness of my spirit.
I stared into the overcast sky. Where are you? You told me she had a purpose. You gifted her with incredible talent and abundant intelligence. Where is your purpose, now? I’ve heard her, when she didn’t know I was listening. She sings to you. She worships when no one is looking. She talks to you from her hiding place in the climbing tree. Where are you? Now that she needs you.
Silence rained down with droplets of mist. I put the swans behind me and made my way back to the hospital room. As I turned the corner, I heard my husband’s voice. He was singing.
“…just to rest upon his promise. Just to know, thus saith the Lord. Jesus, Jesus, how I trust him. How I’ve proved him o’er and o’er. Jesus, Jesus, precious Jesus. Oh, for faith to trust him more.”
He turned when I stepped into the door. Tears streamed down his face. My heart stopped.
“Meryl, come sit here.”
Numb and weak, I stumbled over to the bedside, my eyes latched on my daughter’s chest. There, it moved, she lives. Shaking, I lowered myself into the chair he vacated. He knelt down in front of me and took my hands.
“The doctor says we need to prepare ourselves. She isn’t going to make it, hon. She just has a few hours left. The pastor has come to console us.”
His voice droned on, but I couldn’t hear over the roar in my head. A man in a cheap suit and cheaper toupee stood in the corner. No. No. No. I jumped up, and the chair tilted and slammed to the floor behind me.
“Stop it!” My voice rose in defiance. “Get out!”
“Get out, get out, get out! Take your faithless sorrow out of here now! She is going to live and I don’t want another soul to walk through that door unless they are willing to believe it. GET OUT!”
They hurried from the room and I turned my head to the ceiling. “I won’t lose her! She is going to be healed, completely and totally! I bind this sickness in the name of Jesus. She will live and not die.”
I looked down at my daughter. Her eyes were open. She smiled at me and slowly drifted back to sleep. It was all the confirmation I needed. She was going to live and it didn’t matter who I had to throw out of her room. I would surround her in determined faith. There would be no sorrow in this room while we were here.
Over the next few days, she got stronger. The fever broke, she sat up and watched the swans swim across the lake. She giggled at the nuns and called them penguins. The IV came out. She ate and held it down. The room flooded with gifts and flowers and well wishes. People from all over the hospital came to visit the miracle child and the mom who would not let go.
She lives today. Still singing. Still worshiping. Still believing for her own children.
Do you believe in miracles? Why or Why not?
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