No Small Miracle

“What’s a miracle?” I asked.

My five year-old, Penelope, in the bottom bunk, opened her eyes wide and shot her hand up. “Oh! When Jesus makes dead people back to life!”

Gresham is seven. “There was this woman who was special – I think she was a widow? Was she a widow or just a lady? But she died and Jesus put his hand on her back and she came back to life.”

I’ve never heard this story before but I nodded encouragingly, affirming the spirit of the story even if the letter of it was a bit off.

Gabriella answered last. I often wonder if C.S. Lewis was this smart at nine years-old. “A miracle…is when God does something…that wouldn’t happen if He didn’t do it.”

Then she told the story of a woman who’d been bleeding for years. “She touched Jesus’ clothes and she was healed.”

I told them about my uncle Tommy. He had kidney cancer. The doctor’s treated him and failed. They told him to get his house in order, that he’d die soon. But God healed him instead and he’s still well and pastoring in Colorado today almost a decade later.

“That makes me want to tell people about God,” Gresham said. “But I’m scared to.”

It was a great little sermon he preached in those two sentences. Who God is and what He does makes me want to tell people about Him – to do something.

Belief without action, as Martin Luther explained it, is like fire without heat and light. Belief is action. Praying. Telling, Giving. Forgiving…

But I’m scared.

It’s a miracle any of us follow God isn’t it?