As some of you may know, yesterday was the day I had my stent replacements in my whicherdoodles.  (It all went well, but don’t skip to the end.  You’ll miss the story.)

While I am a man of faith, I am also a reasonable man with rational concerns.  And I was concerned.  The last time I had this procedure, things were less than perfect.  I needed a little heavenly reassurance.

And, as some of you may also remember, the medical Nazis required me to bring a CPAP with me.  So for the last several days, I was trying to get adjusted to the silly thing.  And so I began Tuesday night already tired from my many confrontations with the device in the nights preceding.

I was sleeping quietly Tuesday until roughly midnight, when I suddenly developed a maddening and irrepressible itch dead center in the middle of my back.  Wiggling didn’t help and my arms are to short to reach.  So I had to get up and use the back scratcher.

And then I heard it.  A blood curdling electrical hiss.  Repeatedly.   It was like Dr. Frankenstein’s lab was right on our back porch.  I half expected to hear the cry of “It’s Aliiiiiiiive!!”  I couldn’t really see anything, but my son James could.  A power box in our back yard, at the foot of the transformer pole, was shorting out.  Electricity was arcing (loudly) behind the bushes, causing them to smoke.  (If we hadn’t had the rain, the smoke would have been flames.)  When I did finally see it, the bush had an eerie glow behind it.

We called the fire department and OG&E.  When the smoke cleared (literally) we realized that God had awakened me so we could get the fire trucks out.  That alone was a comforting affirmation of God’s protection.  But the real miracle was yet to happen.

Wednesday morning I went into the operating room at 10:40.  Prior to that, lots of prayers went up from my pre-op room.  With and for the doctor, and the attending nurses, and the gas guys, and me.

During the procedure, a problem developed.  One of the stents encountered an obstruction.  (Remember, my ureters are like pretzels.)  Then, suddenly, the stent moved as if it were being sucked up right to the kidney.  It was remarkable enough that the nurses remarked.  The doctor informed them that it wasn’t his doing.  It was an example of Amazing, greasing, Grace.

But there’s more.

When my old stents were removed, there were no crystalline deposits.  It has always been the buld up of those deposits that required the many replacements.  So now, we’ved moved to a 10 month span between replacements.  First it was six months.  Then it was nine.  Now it’s ten.

God’s protection and Grace had extended from the electrical fire right into the operating room.

And for me, the symbol of all of it has been that image of the bush.

Even with all our pastors and prophets and popes……..even in the era of instant messaging………..God still uses that Gold Standard of heavenly communicaion - the burning bush.

Praise His Name Forever.

While I was in the early stages of my hospice time, my later-to-become pastor, Guy Ames of Chapel Hill United Methodist Church in Oklahoma City, visited me several times.  It happened that he was starting a feature in the church newsletter called “Grace Happenings”.  In his first column, he wrote about my miracle.

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Grace Happenings – Chapel Hill United Methodist Church
February 11, 2004

Inspiration and Perspiration

Grace Happens

Right before Christmas I had the privilege of witnessing a miracle, one of those events that logic and understanding don’t support. A family that has been related to our church for sometime saw a loved one go from health to the verge of death in just a few short days. Doctors told the family that nothing could save this life, not medicine, not amputation to stave off infection, not an extended hospital stay. Go home, call hospice and prepare for the end. So that is what they did. They went home.

People in our church and folks from far and near heard of the plight and did what could be done: there were prayers, prayer chains, cards, calls, even some meals delivered. We waited and watched and prepared for the end. Then I received a call…maybe a miracle was in the works.

Now for years I’ve lived in between observing the miraculous and the disappointing. So often I’m left as a pastor to try to offer some explanation for the reasons prayers haven’t “worked”. I preach series of sermons helping people to give some purpose to the hardships of life. I’ve presided over funerals of children and teens and young parents. None of that has fit very neatly into my understanding pf prayer and miracles.

My youth was spent with Christians who sought miracles on a regular basis. We prayed, we believed, we claimed, we expected miracles. Sometimes there were great reports, sometimes there were intermediate reports of good news. We looked for good news wherever we could find it. Some of my friends began to believe that quoting certain Bible verses ensured success in prayer, and if you did not experience their success rates then you must not have faith. To tell you the truth, there were times when I questioned my own faith in the midst of some of our family trials and illnesses. There was even a time in my ministry when I was afraid to pray for healing or blessings for fear that I would have to explain what was going on when the best didn’t happen.

Over the years I’ve come to believe that sometimes miracles do occur. I really can’t explain them easily. Sometimes they come to people I really don’t believe should get them, some real scoundrels. Quite often they occur with people who don’t have the kind of faith one would expect. The very people we expect to receive miracles are the very ones who seem to be left off the list. So you can imagine my surprise and delight and even a little skepticism when I heard that a miracle might be in the making.

The doctors were just as surprised as any when the blood poisoning could no longer be detected, and the gangrene began to sluff off and new skin was produced. Day by day this loved one improved. The joy that invaded the family cannot be overstated. They have experienced a miracle. Hospice has been sent away! Praise God.

I got to thinking about this. Life brings with it some really difficult times. So much so that one cynical group of folks have printed up a bumper sticker that reads, “Fertilizer Happens”. I think we need a new bumper sticker that acknowledges that in a world of the unexpected, sometimes grace happens. Sometimes God touches us when we least expect it. Sometimes good comes to those of us who don’t deserve it. Sometimes a blessing comes our way and we didn’t do one thing to bring it about. Sometimes GRACE HAPPENS!

I really complain when bad things happen. I wonder if I celebrate as much when grace touches my shoulder, my family, my friends. I’ve begun to look around for more of the grace happenings in our world. As a friend and colleague, Lesley Rose, would say, “God is good, all the time. All the time, God is good.”

Guy Ames