Written by: Richard D. Stafford, Ph.D.
I recently received the following post on my Facebook page:
“We live on a blue planet, that circles a ball of fire, next to a moon that moves the sea every day, and you don’t believe in miracles?”
For those who know me, I usually take a more academic approach to religion and faith. I want to read the history, see the event, and peruse the evidence. I guess you could say (at times in my life) I have been like one of Christ’s disciples, (doubting) Thomas; I want to see and feel the wound in Jesus’ side to believe in miracles.
However…
My mother recently celebrated her ninetieth birthday and she continues to be in really good health: she drives her Texas pick-up truck down the street to the drug and grocery store, lives on her own, plans and cooks her own meals, plays crossword puzzles frequently on her iPad, and of course reads Facebook postings of all her children, grandchildren and great grandchildren every single day. She even got a “Yellow Rose” tattoo at age 80 on her ankle…she wanted to keep up with her grandchildren and great grandchildren who also got tattoos a decade ago. But she has not been actively religious for many decades. She occasionally watches religious speakers on television, but has not been routinely active in a church in 50 years. She has planned for her body to be taken to medical school after she dies to train young doctors, because she feels they made a life changing event possible for her life.
But…
Seven years ago she almost died. She was in ICU for weeks from a heart attack, a stroke, and internal bleeding. Twice I flew to Texas to be at her hospital bedside as doctor’s said the end was within a few hours. Months later, she improved, went to a rehab center, and then home. That was seven years ago.
One day she told me about a dream she had while in ICU. I calculated the precise time and day by other information she shared with me that occurred in the room as we stood there, but while she was unconscious. Here is what she said:
“While ya’ll were surrounding my bed, I felt my body rise up and pass through the roof of the hospital. I was very frightened because then I felt my body flying though space, my legs and arms becoming detached, and zooming across the blackness. Finally, I came to an abrupt stop, my body reassembling in front of what appeared to be The Gates of Heaven. I stood there frightened and crying. Then the gate opened and out walked my mother who appeared to be in her late forties. Her hair was as I remembered, she had on jewelry I recognized, same shoes, dress, sweater, everything, even her glasses were there and her voice was just as I remembered. She looked at me and said, ‘Why are you crying?’ I answered that I was scared. She then said, ‘Well, then you are not ready. It is not your time.’ With that she turned went back through the gates, which closed, and I felt my body fly back through space until I came to rest in the hospital bed in the ICU. Once there, I knew each of you were surrounding me, and I felt a great peace.”
Well…
My mom, as I said, regained her wellness just a year after the event in 2007. And she has continued to be in good health. She occasionally attends church with my brother and his wife, and though she seems to be the exact in terms of her own faith, as she was before the event, the change has been in…me.
Before, I don’t think I would have given much credence to miracles. But now? I do believe in them. She was the wound in Jesus’s side for my Doubting Thomas faith.
Richard D. Stafford, Ph.D.
