you have no idea
You have no idea what all God has done in my life. And how could you? I've never really told. But I assure you, some of the miracles would cause you to shriek and exclaim "Really?" These are the things still "circling in my head" but I can't quite put down on paper yet. If I did, perhaps they'd become the fuel for a best-selling Christian book. (A girl can dream, right?) But it's not time yet. At least I guess not. You see, like anyone else, my life is tied in with other people's lives and until God gives the release and other people's permission, I must keep my miracles to myself...or at least to a handful of people who really know. How I wish I could sing the full story from the mountain tops! But God has a hold on my tongue for now, so I just keep writing...about other things, other miracles, other moments with God.
Recently, one of my best friends who knows "the story" asked if I would someday write a book about it. "Oh, how I want to," I told her. But again, other peoples' lives are at stake. People I love. People I don't want to harm.
But I'll give you what I deem a pretty important piece of my "miraculous" life today. How's that for a peace offering? It's a good story, even though it's from a time I can't even remember. It goes like this:
I was about 18 months old, an accomplished walker and talker, or so the story goes. My mother, a fairly new Christian, was burdened from the time she awoke one particular spring morning. Something was wrong. She could feel it. "A burden" she called it. She paced the house with her vacuum cleaner running, praying as she paced. "What is it Lord?" she kept inquiring. "Who is it?" Mom knew someone she cared about was in danger, so she prayed, and prayed.
Then the "aha" moment came. My brother, nearly two years my senior, came running out to her from his bedroom, fear-flushed. "Mommy! Mommy! Kristin fell out the garage!" My mom instictively knew what he meant. Our home was a split-entry style, with the garages being under the bedroom windows. She knew somehow I had fallen out the bedroom window and was laying in front of the garage, about 20 feet below. She dashed out the front door just in time to see our neighbor from across the street picking me up off of the limestone driveway and carrying me back to her house to "clean me up." Apparently she had never learned the rule about not moving a person when they've had a serious fall. I'm sure the next few minutes were a bit of a blur to my mom, but she remembers gathering me back from the neighbor, carrying me to our Oldsmobile and carefully setting me down next to her in the passenger seat. In her mother-bear protective mode, she decided to rush me to the hospital herself, rather than wait for an ambulance to come. Mom says she looked at me and said, "Kristin, do you believe God can heal you?" and I said "Yes Mommy." Then she led us in prayer as we drove. She had called my dad at work, somewhere in the midst of it all (before the days of cell phones!) and told him to go immediately to the ER and meet us there.
Here's a little aside as to how incredibly detailed our God is. As my father was racing out of the school where he taught and down the familiar road toward home, my grandparents "just happened" to be passing by at just that moment. He was able to flag them down, tell them what had happened, and have them follow him to the hospital. Coincidence? I think not.
Meanwhile, back at the hospital, the doctor is examining me, stupefied. "Children who fall HALF the distance your daughter fell usually break their necks, or at least have some serious damage." he said. "I just can't understand this...." My mom interrupted his stupor, "Well, I know what happened. Angels kept her from harm. God told me to pray all morning, and I did." The doctor seemed in no mood to disagree with her. What could he possibly say? When God moves, people who don't know him stand speechless.
I walked, literally walked, away from that event with just a few stitches in my head. My mom said when I got home she couldn't keep me down. I was dancing all over the house in my happy 18 month old way. I don't know exactly if it occurred to my parents right in that moment, but they began to realize that God did indeed have his hand on me for a purpose.
My life has been twice ransomed. Once on that spring day, when as a little toddler, I had leaned out a window to call to a puppy on the street, and once again, nearly a decade later when I gave my life to Jesus for keeps. And He's kept me ever since.
One day, I may tell you another story of how God kept me amidst an attempt to pull everything out from under me. Satan failed again. God is more than enough, friend, to keep you from falling. Believe it.
Recently, one of my best friends who knows "the story" asked if I would someday write a book about it. "Oh, how I want to," I told her. But again, other peoples' lives are at stake. People I love. People I don't want to harm.
But I'll give you what I deem a pretty important piece of my "miraculous" life today. How's that for a peace offering? It's a good story, even though it's from a time I can't even remember. It goes like this:
I was about 18 months old, an accomplished walker and talker, or so the story goes. My mother, a fairly new Christian, was burdened from the time she awoke one particular spring morning. Something was wrong. She could feel it. "A burden" she called it. She paced the house with her vacuum cleaner running, praying as she paced. "What is it Lord?" she kept inquiring. "Who is it?" Mom knew someone she cared about was in danger, so she prayed, and prayed.
Then the "aha" moment came. My brother, nearly two years my senior, came running out to her from his bedroom, fear-flushed. "Mommy! Mommy! Kristin fell out the garage!" My mom instictively knew what he meant. Our home was a split-entry style, with the garages being under the bedroom windows. She knew somehow I had fallen out the bedroom window and was laying in front of the garage, about 20 feet below. She dashed out the front door just in time to see our neighbor from across the street picking me up off of the limestone driveway and carrying me back to her house to "clean me up." Apparently she had never learned the rule about not moving a person when they've had a serious fall. I'm sure the next few minutes were a bit of a blur to my mom, but she remembers gathering me back from the neighbor, carrying me to our Oldsmobile and carefully setting me down next to her in the passenger seat. In her mother-bear protective mode, she decided to rush me to the hospital herself, rather than wait for an ambulance to come. Mom says she looked at me and said, "Kristin, do you believe God can heal you?" and I said "Yes Mommy." Then she led us in prayer as we drove. She had called my dad at work, somewhere in the midst of it all (before the days of cell phones!) and told him to go immediately to the ER and meet us there.
Here's a little aside as to how incredibly detailed our God is. As my father was racing out of the school where he taught and down the familiar road toward home, my grandparents "just happened" to be passing by at just that moment. He was able to flag them down, tell them what had happened, and have them follow him to the hospital. Coincidence? I think not.
Meanwhile, back at the hospital, the doctor is examining me, stupefied. "Children who fall HALF the distance your daughter fell usually break their necks, or at least have some serious damage." he said. "I just can't understand this...." My mom interrupted his stupor, "Well, I know what happened. Angels kept her from harm. God told me to pray all morning, and I did." The doctor seemed in no mood to disagree with her. What could he possibly say? When God moves, people who don't know him stand speechless.
I walked, literally walked, away from that event with just a few stitches in my head. My mom said when I got home she couldn't keep me down. I was dancing all over the house in my happy 18 month old way. I don't know exactly if it occurred to my parents right in that moment, but they began to realize that God did indeed have his hand on me for a purpose.
My life has been twice ransomed. Once on that spring day, when as a little toddler, I had leaned out a window to call to a puppy on the street, and once again, nearly a decade later when I gave my life to Jesus for keeps. And He's kept me ever since.
One day, I may tell you another story of how God kept me amidst an attempt to pull everything out from under me. Satan failed again. God is more than enough, friend, to keep you from falling. Believe it.
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