A True Story
I believe in a living God. He is the same God in both the Old and the New Testaments, and I believe that He is still at work in this world today, still performing miracles. This essay, is the testimony of the miracle He performed in my life.
. . . I do not know, and I will not pretend to know, for I cannot explain why God chooses to save some who are prayed for, and allow for others to die. I do not tell my story because I believe that I am better than the millions of children who have died after many many nights of prayer, for this is not the case. I know that there are just as many stories of families losing a child, as there are of their child being healed.
I share my story, for I hope that through me, His glory will be seen. For He is a living God, who is still performing miracles today.
I don’t remember everything that happened in those twenty-nine days. I have blocked out so much. You have to do that as you get older. You learn that it’s not healthy to dwell on something so tragic if you want to live; it feels like it was so long ago.
It all started on that one July morning. My eyelids were somewhat heavy with fatigue; the red, digital numbers on my clock read 7:50. Joe was already at work, he had left at 6:30, and Logan was sleeping in his crib. I felt a kick in my stomach. I gave a soft grunt and held my belly. My second son was in there—Justin. I was seven months pregnant with him, but it felt more like fifty. I was ready for him to come out for this miserable pregnancy could end, and so I could look upon his beautiful face.
There was a noise in the kitchen—just a noise. I don’t know how to explain it. I left the comforts of my warm bed as I went to investigate.
Logan was sitting in the floor; he must have snuck out of his crib. “Logan, what are you doing out of bed?” I asked him. He didn’t reply, just stared at me. His hands and face were dyed a bright red as if he had been eating red M&Ms. “What do you have on your face and hands?” Again he didn’t answer. Beside him was an empty bottle—my iron pills! My heart slightly dropped as I rushed for the phone. I listened as the phone rang as I watched Logan. He seemed fine—just smiling away. The cabinet that had held my pills was open. It was above several shelves—Logan had to have climbed them to get to my pills. He must have had seen me put them away and thought that they were candy. Continue reading