Little Miracle

As Easter approaches, I  remember the day when I lost Becket the Cat. It was less than a week since I had made a desperate, dangerous prayer for Jesus to show me His realness. I doubted anything would change, but decided I had nothing to lose. I took a chance and told a God I’d never met that I needed forgiveness, that I needed Him. 

Now, my precious pet hadn’t eaten in too long, and I wanted my vet to cure him. I wanted my prayer to this newly believed-in God to heal my one and only pet. I hoped the evidence of answered prayer would demonstrate God’s realness. If He gave me my little miracle and delivered me from sadness, I would KNOW. He did not.

How did God show Himself to my proof-demanding mind? My unanswered prayer was not the end of the “faith experiment.” My conclusion was radically different.  No healing did not mean no God. Rather, this step became the beginning of an incredible journey. How was it that in those few days, even with the simple but heavy longing of my heart denied, I had the mustard seed faith to keep on believing?

 So many truths from God’s Word I did not yet understand. I didn’t even have an inkling of how desperately I needed God’s mercy. I was blind to my pride and my self-centered point of view. The cross was an absolute mystery to me. And yet, in those very few days between prayer, mourning, and celebration, I had met Someone real, Someone who really loved me. He did not enter my life on my terms, but enter He surely did! Jesus captivated my heart. I could never turn back. 

I know my hearing was immediately transformed in those early days. This skeptical college student suddenly embraced words in a new way. These same truths I had recently railed against in stormy outbursts. In arguments with my husband, I violently pushed scripture away, like a radio dial frantically thrown out an open car window, onto the sandy oceanside highway one evening drive.  

Now, the Holy Spirit opened my blind eyes and healed my deaf ears. I could hear truth, and it was beautiful. On Easter Sunday, music and teaching burst upon my senses as if I were Dorothy stepping into Technicolor Oz. Life abundant burst upon my senses, and everything was made new. 

“Joseph of Arimathea took the body, wrapped it in a clean linen cloth, and placed it in his own new tomb that he had cut out of the rock. He rolled a big stone in front of the entrance of the tomb and went away.” (Matthew 27:59-60) 

Nothing would have made sense that day to any of Jesus’ friends. Life spun out of control as the worst really came to pass. They surely loved and needed Him so much, yet He was ripped from their lives in a violent, horrific manner. How fearful and hopeless their hearts must have felt. 

Jesus was doing far more than they could understand. His plan was to give them what they didn’t know they needed. This loss would make them whole. His death in darkness would miraculously make them holy. For now, they sat in the heaviness of confusion. Their “Abba Father” prayers had been denied. Maybe they said them wrong, maybe they hadn’t been on the right path after all. Maybe their faith was still too small. And yet, God had a firm grasp on each of these. He knew the exact expression of love that they truly needed.

I thank God, my Abba Father, for all these 35 years of hearing my cries. I thank Him for not always giving me what I ask for, but certainly what I need to know Him and to grow in Him. I thank Jesus for showing me what love looks like and feels like. He teaches me about dying to self, the road of the cross, and sharing in His sufferings. He does it so gently that I can actually follow Him, step-by-step. I thank the Holy Spirit, for making me “real!” It’s taking a “long time” in some respects, but I know God will be faithful to complete  the good work He has begun. Death has lost its sting. I know whose I am. My little miracle was denied. Instead I received a blessing that far outweighed.