My sweet grandmother is on a mission in Seattle, Washington. She loves every second of it. And I love every second of reading about it.
(HERE is the link to her mission blog).In this week's blog post to everyone, she said these words:
"Hope you all look for miracles this week…and find them."
I loved that.
Miracles happen around us every single day - but if we aren't looking for them, we might miss them.
Sometimes we forget to look.
And God has to remind us.
My dad's sister, Natalie, was diagnosed with a brain tumor when she was 15 years old. (She's the one holding me in this picture).
Her family expected a miracle. Because that's what God does, right? He heals the sick.
And they were good people.
They went to church, and had family prayer, and served other people.
They deserved this miracle.
But sometimes God's plan is much different than the plan you want Him to have.
And my beautiful, kind, talented aunt didn't make it.
And without even realizing it, that family's belief in miracles died.
Probably around 10 years later, my dad was at a completely different place in his life.
He had 4 kids at this point.
One of them, being Toby. And Toby was 3 or 4 years old.
One day, my dad took Toby and the rest of my brothers to drop off a trailer to one of our neighbors.
The neighbor's house was at the top of a cul-de-sac, on a hill.
While my dad was taking the trailer off the hitch of the car, Toby climbed into the front seat.
Like any 3 or 4-year-old would do, he started playing with all the buttons and gears.
He managed to put the car into "drive."
And the car started to roll down the hill.
My dad took off in a dead sprint after the car, and managed to catch up with it.
But by the time he reached the door, the "auto-lock" had already turned on.
So he continued running next to the car, begging his terrified 3-year-old to unlock the door.
But Toby couldn't figure out how to do it.
The car started getting faster, and faster, to the point that my dad couldn't run fast enough to keep up with the car.
And all he could think to do was pray.
So he yelled a prayer out loud. And he begged His God to save his son.
The second he finished his prayer, right before the car was about to reach an intersection, the car made a 90 degree turn, drove safely off the road.
And a man whose belief in miracles died with his sister, discovered that miracles still exists.
And that God is still merciful. And that God is still saving.
I am always stunned by this story every time I hear it.
Because we are just small, insignificant, imperfect human beings, you know?
But an all-powerful, perfect God continues going out of His way to show people that He's still there.
I believe in miracles.
No. I believe in a God who is merciful enough to give us miracles.
And I believe, just like my grandma reminded me this week, that we have to be searching and looking for them. Or we might just forget.