I hardly know where to begin.
No, I do know right where to begin.
The stories in the Bible that tell of the miracles God did from the very beginning — from the very first words recorded “Let there be light” — I’ve never struggled with believing that those stories are true. It always made sense to me that the Creator of all things would be able to speak everything into being, that He would be able to give sight to a man born blind or send a giant fish to swallow up a man and then deliver him safely to the beach three days later. No doubts at all about these wild, incredible, ridiculous stories being true, because I never wanted to follow a God who confined Himself to the ordinary.
There was a little bit of a struggle at one time with believing that He still works these crazy miracles today. So many snake oil salesmen and false healers and blasphemous “evangelists” have maligned the word miracle. How do you believe God is still in the business of crazy acts that defy nature when these creeps are out there doing such awful things in His name? I finally realized the stupidity of my thinking. How can I judge the God of Everything by the work of liars? How can I judge the God of Everything by the work of any human being regardless of who they are?
I know miracles are real. I know that Abba heals people — sometimes with medicine and sometimes without it. I know that Abba still appears to people in His own way to spread the Gospel among those whom missionaries cannot reach. I know that Jesus demonstrates His love for us in random, mind-bending ways every single day that so many of us don’t see or recognize.
But I didn’t know that He would do any of that for me.
You see, all of my life, I have wanted Abba to do something miraculous for me. I used to ask Him to heal my eyes, because I have a real fear of losing my eyesight as I age due to the condition I have. He never did heal them. I’m wearing thick, ugly glasses right now as I type these words as evidence that I still need massive correction to be able to see properly.
I used to ask Him to heal me of my temper. I’m pretty rotten in the anger department, and when I was a teenager, I heard all of these stories about drug addicts and alcoholics miraculously being cured of their thirst for their drug or drink, and I wanted to be miraculously healed of my desire to break every window in the house with a broom when I was really mad. At 30, I still want to break every window in the house with a broom when I get really mad.
I won’t go on with a laundry list of examples, but suffice it to say that when I heard a story from my brother about missionaries overseas who were led by the Spirit to place coins on the wall for Him to make them stay put, I knew it was true, but I knew deep down inside that Abba doesn’t do those kinds of things for me. He does those kinds of things for other people, but not me.
Last night, I was talking to my husband about the coins on the wall — how Jesus made them stick overseas, at my brother’s house, at my parent’s house, and even a fork at a good friend’s house — and I said, “I want Him to make a penny stick to the wall in our house! I want Him to do it for me. But I know He won’t. Because Abba doesn’t do that kind of thing for me.”
My sweet husband told me that was sad, that he wished I didn’t feel that way about God. But I did.
After our son was in bed (our daughter was spending the night at my parents’ house), my husband took the dog outside for a few minutes, and I grabbed a penny and marched into my closet and prayed. I told Him what I wanted, and I whispered, “But I’m so afraid You won’t do it for me. Please, get rid of my fear. I’m so afraid.”
It seems so silly now, being so afraid about a penny on the wall.
My heart actually stopped beating when that penny stuck. I’ve never had that happen before. Weeping ensued. I ran through the house to the front door, threw it open, and my husband peeked around the corner of the house. “Is everything all right?”
“There’s a penny — a penny stuck the wall in our house!”
He came and saw it. It fell after about 3 minutes. I prayed, and Jesus made it stick again. Then I grabbed a dime, and He made it stick.
Enter my rational mind. What if there is some sort of physical reaction going on between the coins and the textured wall and I’m going nuts over something explained by basic science?
So, to the door frame I went. The penny and the dime stuck. Twice.
A fork! I dashed to the kitchen and retrieved a fork from the flatware drawer, raced back to our room, and by the power of Jesus, that fork stuck to the wall for 10 seconds (hence my not having a picture of it, because my jaw was on the carpet and it fell before I found my brain).
And do you know what happened? I knew. I know.
He will do something ridiculous, stupid, and utterly senseless just because He loves me the way that He does.
Abba isn’t constrained by the ordinary any more now than He was when that fish swallowed Jonah and spat him out on dry ground. And He isn’t so big and mighty and incomprehensible that He will refuse to do something as silly as make coins or a fork stick to a wall.