It was like yesterday. I will never forget that phone call.
My sister had called me on the phone. She was crying frantically. She had informed me that her son, my nephew, 24 at the time, was in a car crash. The driver, a friend of his, was speeding, and when he tried to turn at a bend, it spun uncontrollably slamming forward into a tree. Because he wasn’t wearing his seat belt, he flew through the passenger windshield and was found lying face down-unconscious. The driver was impacted twice, once by the steering wheel and then the windshield. Sadly, he did not make it. EMTs arrived at the scene and rushed him to the hospital. There he was declared comatose; half of his brain had been severely damaged and they didn’t expect him to pull through. He was out cold. Immediately after I heard the news and hung up the phone, what little light left inside me was on its knees before I had the chance to respond physically. In prayer, I asked that the Angels and the Lord, Our Father, help him. This became my regular routine, like brushing my teeth or putting on socks. Days, weeks, and months later, there was no response. He remained in a vegetative state. Only machines and sounds of people talking outside the door kept the room from emptying out to become the total darkness that my family, his mom, was feeling from this tragic event. The accident happened in April. In July that same year I was busy at work when my phone rang. Waiting to answer it, or perhaps dreading the information that my sister may have to share with me, I ignored the call until I could listen more attentively. I didn’t take my phone out again until I was sitting in my car, in the parking lot at work. My hands trembled as I pressed the numbers to dial my voicemail. The message caught me in my tracks. It was my sister’s voice, but I can tell you that from the experience, she had been changed so much that you could hear it in her tone. “Hi babe.” She started, “It’s your sister here. Josh just woke.” It seemed she got hung up on every word as she spoke. “There was little he could say, and it was very muffled, but he is requesting to see you. He says that while he was out he was waiting in a long line of people, but he saw you going past him the opposite way. He says he heard your prayers.” Even as I write this miraculous story to share with you, my eyes are tearing up. I literally stopped what I was doing. I sat there for a moment before I could call her back. I probably listened to the message three or four times before calling her back. He saw me? He saw me praying for him? Confused by the astonishment, I called her and set up a time to go to the hospital to visit him. The first thing he said to me was, “thank you Auntie.” This accident was almost 4 years ago. He has moderate brain damage, his short and long term memory impacted, and it took almost a year before he was able to completely care for himself physically. But he is well, he is still with us, and it was at that moment that I was reminded of the true power of prayer, of divine intervention, and of love itself. I still hear his voice in my head. “Thank you Auntie.” You Might Also Like...
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Miracle’s are not always glamorous. They don’t always end with healthier, happier, ever after. And in our case, this was very true.
Our grandma was diagnosed with dementia and cancer 9 years before she passed. For about 6 of those 9 years, she fared okay. I mean, she had more good days than bad days. We were blessed to say that we could enjoy her for the most part, even if her memories were fading and she often referred to us with different names. That was okay. We just loved to be there to see her smile. That all changed in the 7th month of year 6, 5 years ago today. She got very ill and was bedridden. Despite the outlook, we truly believed that she would overcome this. She has overcome so many other obstacles in her life. Days went by, they started turning into weeks. She was able to talk and communicate with us, although her words were very slurred. It was difficult to watch this decline. Literally, overnight, she wasn’t walking and talking. Weeks turned into months. SInce she wasn’t on any machines and she was somewhat coherent, there was little we could do. The doctor’s did the best they could with medicines and pain killers. We found, in time, that she was sleeping more and more. Her body slowly began to shut down, just as the light that hid behind her eyelids. I can’t speak for my family, but I was terrified. I wanted so badly for her pain to end. I wanted for her to be able to rest. I knew her time with us was limited, but I would rather see her leave than have to see her in this state. It wasn’t fair. It seemed, quite frankly, cruel. In my prayer, I asked for the angels to come take her. I asked for the Lord to have mercy. I found that even during the busyness of the day, in my walking state, the prayers filled my mind, my heart. I asked my family to join me. We invited a priest to perform her Last Rites. My grandma suffered. She suffered for almost 3 long years. 2 weeks after I began my prayer routine, I noticed a small change in her. She seemed better rested and more aware when I visited. She even smiled when she saw me. I knew, somehow, this was not her getting better. It was her saying goodbye. The last visit I made to her, while she was still able to speak, she said, “be good now you hear. I will see you when I see the whites of your eyes, hoping the creeks don’t rise.” I miss her terribly. However, I know that she is around and I was so grateful for the last moments of peace she showed me. I am grateful for the peace that she is in today. Miracles are not always healing in life, sometimes miracles bring about healing through passing.  If you asked me, I would contest that everyday is a miracle. Every undivided moment you have with your partner, your children, your friends and family; every positive thought that replaces a negative one; every smile that is received with another; every prayer that is answered. The only difference is that while most of those can be blatantly observed, prayer is where the power of a miracle is measured in personal terms. There have been many prayers that I have had answered, but in hindsight, there was one in particular that stands out more than any other. It was my prayer for my mom. My mom was diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis when I was 10 years old. My 5 siblings, all younger than me, were 8, 6, 5, 4, 2, and 0. Being the oldest, I was her right hand man. I felt I had to be. I remember helping her up and down the stairs, allowing her to use my body as a crutch, giving her steroid shots that caused her to become more angry than she was bitter (but let’s save that-it WAS a part of my journey). Anyhow, although religion and prayer itself was not a foundation in our home as a child, I had picked it up in my own experience and I made the decision to use it to bring us kids together to ask for help for her. We called on the angels every night. We asked that Jesus lay his hands on her and help heal her. We begged that He protect her with His light and love so that she may feel strengthened. To make a long story short, save a lot of emotions, in our praying, our miracle became three fold. First, my mom was removed from steroid therapy when I went into the 6th grade. Her M.S. was in remission! This was our deepest desire. Second, my siblings and I coming together for that one purpose deepened our bond with each other. We used the power of intention and the Love of Christ to manifest strength, endurance, and healing, and we did it together. An experience that was a rare moment in our times together; even though from then on we continued to pray together nightly until I moved out of the house. Finally, we learned that prayer is real. We, as individuals, have that memory and many of us celebrate that experience. I use the power of the Holy Spirit in my heart and home daily. I consider myself blessed to have been able to see this; and as a child it was magic. Pure, innocent, purposeful light driven magic. -Rachel Johnston |
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