A Real Miracle....

When I looked at the list of possible blog post ideas for the Stressed Less Living Bible study, I knew exactly which one I would be writing about:

3.  Miracles. In this day and age, miracles still happen…we simply have a harder time believing them. If you have ever experienced or witnessed a miracle, we would LOVE to hear your testimony of His Glory

This weekend we also celebrate Father's Day, so it is the perfect opportunity for me to pay tribute to my own living, breathing, walking proof of God's grace and miracles- my father.

I guess I was a lot like other young people growing up- I sometimes took my father's presence in my life for granted. He was just always there for me any time that I needed him.  He worked Monday through Friday and took us all to church on Sunday. He was a deacon in the church, the church custodian, and the maintenance man for a nearby Girl Scout camp.

Even when I married and started my own family, I could count on Dad to come when I called.  His presence was more rare, yet he always seemed to be there when I really needed him. He earned part of his living as a carpenter: building and renovating homes, repairing plumbing or electricity, or whatever else needed to be done around the home. This meant that whenever I mentioned a toilet that wouldn't flush right or a leaky faucet, or even something bigger Dad was right there- Mr. FIX IT on the spot.

There have been several times that I thought we might not have Dad in our lives for much longer, however.... and that is where God and the miracles come in.

The first episode I remember was when my mother phoned me at work to tell me that Dad had been on a tractor and had been flipped from it, landing in a ditch, with the tractor on top of him, pinning him down. An ambulance rushed him to the nearest hospital, who loaded him on a helicopter and flew him to a hospital in a larger city within the state.The doctors were concerned about the tractor's weight possibly causing internal injuries. Miraculously, Dad came through that episode with only a few bruises. Thankfully, Dad cannot remember much about the whole thing because they had sedated him.

The next miracle came several years ago when I was sitting at home preparing dinner. The phone rang and it was my mother, telling me that Dad had fallen from a church roof while he was building a steeple. He had plummeted to the asphalt below and was unconscious. Since the closest hospital to the work site was in a nearby state, they had flown Dad there. I rushed to Mom's side and drove her to the hospital, praying all the while. I will never forget sitting in that silent, antiseptic, cold waiting room outside of surgery, anxiously awaiting word of whether Dad would survive. This time Dad's injuries were a bit more severe. When Dad hit the asphalt parking surface, the retina in one of his eyes had separated from the back of the eye. When it lost blood flow, it basically died. My father, who made his living by doing detailed electrical and woodwork was now permanently blinded in one eye.

I feel terrible about this, but at the time, the only thing I could think of was the fact that Dad could not see as well. I did not take the time to thank God for his mercy in saving Dad's life; instead, I told my mother, "This will kill him. He won't be able to do the things that he used to." Boy, was I wrong! I under-estimated both God and my father. Though his eyesight was lessened, his determination wasn't. Dad kept working at it and eventually returned to MOST construction work, leaving such things as the detailed electrical wiring for someone else. He kept reading his Bible and driving himself to church every Sunday morning.

Since then God has intervened when Dad was in a car accident, colliding with a loaded coal truck. Dad did not escape that accident completely unscathed either; he suffered a broken ankle- the first broken bone that he had ever had.

Another time, Dad cut his hand when a saw kicked back on him. He had to undergo several hours of neurosurgery and lost one pinkie finger and part of the finger next to it. After months of rehabilitation, Dad returned to farming, helping with repairs at church, and continues to fill his spot in the pew each Sunday morning.

I jokingly say that Daddy is like a cat- he has nine lives. He has certainly been through more physical injury and potential tragedy than most people. To be honest, I think the truth is that Dad just hasn't finished all of the things that God intends for him to do here on earth. Each and every accident had the potential of ending in death, but they didn't. Each time, God spared Dad's life and sent him back to the family and the church who depends on him so much. He continues to be a strong testimony of God's protection and the fact that miracles really do still happen- even in the 21st Century.