I believe in miracles. I’m not talking about having hope that good things happen, sometimes, if you’re really lucky. I mean that I believe when we touch the heart of God and pray with faith, His will will be done and people are healed.
Almost one year ago in June of 2007 my mom was diagnosed with breast cancer for the second time. Her cancer had been in recession for almost three years, this time it was much stronger. So strong in fact that they could not remove her uterus, the cancer was sticky like glue, and refused to release her. My family spent over a week living in a hotel room in Spokane while she recovered. She had a colonoscopy and her surgery wound was massive—about 8 inches long and two inches deep after healing for three months. The odds were against us, but we believed in miracles. So the day that the doctor told us it didn’t look good, but they could fight it, we prayed. I watched my father raise his tear-streaked face to heaven and proclaim that God was God and he was bigger than any sickness.
Home, hospital, surgery, hospital. The cycle was continuous, over and over again. Slowly, the doctors, surgeons and specialist one by one told us we had to accept that we had lost the battle. My father said, “We’ve lost the battle, but we will not lose this war.” My mom worshipped. When there was no hope on earth, she looked to heaven. There was a time when I cried for no other reason than she couldn’t worship the God she loved. She couldn’t raise her arms or her beautiful soprano voice, and worst of all, she couldn’t dance. I could see her in my mind twirling out in a field of flowers, dancing with her father God. There were no tubes going from her stomach out her nose and into a canister. There were no colonoscopy bags to change, no drain bulbs to empty and best of all, all of her wounds were healed and the cancer was no more, all was restored. Then I would open my eyes and see her lying there so weak and still so strong. I believed in miracles, even then. Even when everyone who should have had answers gave up on us, I would not give up on God and I believed that he would not give up on us. I trusted.
The story ended beautifully. We let her go, as we had so many times before. We gathered around her as she exhaled her life on earth and breathed in the heavenly sweetness of heaven. She hadn’t spoken in over a week, she couldn’t, and I worshipped for her, because she had always told me that I sang like an angel, so I sang with her, because I knew that she was worshipping with all her heart and so would I. Finally she was free with no more tubes, cancer, or pain. She danced totally enraptured with the presence of Jesus, and I’m so thankful. I’m so thankful that God was so faithful and that I still believe in miracles.