Miracle

It was never a matter of whether I believed He could perform a miracle. I knew He could.

I believed He would.

I remember being and feeling so at peace after the surgery. I looked at my husband and told him that I was at peace with the pregnancy and that, "from here on out, we are golden."

Twelve hours later, labor started.

The nightmare had not ended. Another, much better dream had just interrupted it.

The nightmare continued. It actually got a lot worse.

It was never a matter of whether I believed He could perform a miracle. I knew He could.

I believed He had.

I had my hands raised ready to praise Him for doing what I had asked.

That was when the nightmare resumed.

Now what? Do I still believe He performs miracles?

Do I believe He is God? Lord? Good?

Can I continue with the act of raising my arms and praising Him, giving Him thanks even though He didn't give me what I wanted?

He could have answered my prayers. He could have given me what I had wanted. He could have given me a miracle.

But He didn't. And it hurts. And I don't know why He didn't. He knew I would have given the glory back to Him.

So, can I praise Him now? Can I give glory to a God who performs miracles? Who heals?

It would have been really easy to praise Him had the surgery worked. Had my girls survived. No one would have questioned my sanity. Everyone would have nodded their heads in agreement, saying, "yes, God is good."

But to praise Him when things didn't turn out how I wanted them to?

With an ache in my heart and tears in my eyes, I will keep my hands raised. I will still praise the One who created me.

In the midst of all this pain, I still believe He is a good God.

After all, because He sent His son to die on the cross, my girls still live.

Stephanie