“But if I were you, I would appeal to God;
I would lay my cause before Him.
He performs wonders that cannot be fathomed,
miracles that cannot be counted.
He provides rain for the earth;
He sends water on the countryside.”

— Job 5:8-10

I almost backed out. My mind formulated all sorts of clever excuses that would get me off the hook. Months before, in a spirit of high motivation, I’d committed myself to serving two months as a nurse at a mission hospital in Togo, West Africa. But two weeks before I was set to depart, I was mired in a deep depression. A fresh dose of romantic-hopes-dashed-upon-the-rocks destroyed the dam that was holding back the grief of my mother’s recent passing. I felt utterly alone and adrift, without direction, without purpose, without peace. How was I supposed to bring hope and healing to other people when I couldn’t even help myself?

Home again, looking back, I’m so glad that God gave me the strength to swallow my fears and doubts and just go. I didn’t feel ready, but the Bible tells us that God equips those He calls, and now I believe it. My time in Togo impressed upon me the importance of obedience. I’m so glad that I obeyed, even though I really didn’t feel like it. This was a hugely faith-strengthening experience for me. Also, I now know what it means when we say that God allows us to participate in what He’s doing— our part, as obedient children, is to say yes to our Father’s invitation. Even if we don’t always feel like it! I’m so glad that I didn’t miss out on the many blessings that God heaped upon me by my going and serving in Togo.

Y’all… I witnessed a true miracle of healing in Togo! Just thinking about it sends chills down my spine, to realize the awesome power & majesty of God’s miracles & mercies— Lord, may I never forget that your power is limitless. Let not my lips limit my requests, based on skewed concepts of what is humanly possible— true faith blooms when we ask for that which is beyond the bounds of our human abilities to achieve— if we could do it ourselves, what need have we of divine intervention?

Now, to the story. I had an ICU patient one Saturday who was a young man, in a coma. He’d ingested some type of herbicide, a neurotoxic poison. Suicide attempt? No one knows. His family found him unresponsive in his apartment. They brought him to us. When I was assessing him, trying to evoke a response to my voice or to pain, there was nothing. His pupils were barely reactive, if at all… it was hard to tell. (“Blown pupils” are a very bad sign… and his were close). We weren’t doing much for him, medically speaking, as not much could be done— other than keeping him hydrated with IV fluids, and giving him a med here-and-there to keep his heart rate up in the normal range.

An elderly woman— his grandmother I assumed— approached the bedside as I was doing this. Suddenly, she burst into tears and began to wail, a true lament from her heart, sharing her soul’s deep sorrow. Usually, they are quite stoic here. Death is very real to them. They lose children, brothers, sisters, wives, husbands, fathers, mothers, every day.

Her grief moved me. “What can I do to help her?” I asked myself. “Pray,” came the unbidden answer. I protested— “But, I’ve never prayed *in French* before…” — “Google Translate, dummy.”  No excuses remaining, I wrote out four or five sentences on the Google Translate app on my phone— the last sentence asking that, if it be God’s will, for Him to allow this man to awaken and return to the people who so obviously loved him. Five or six family members were present. When I asked if it would be okay for me to pray for them, they said yes. So, I took a deep breath. Then I stumbled through my Google Translated requests for healing and wholeness as well as I could. I explained afterwards that we had done all we could for him, as humans, so now it was up to God. “On va prier,” I promised them, as we parted ways. (“We’ll continue to pray.”)

I kept my promise, as I prayed for this man that night, the next day, and the next. I did not have him as a patient on Sunday, but his condition was unchanged— still comatose. In the meantime, some seeds of doubt had crept into my mind, poisoning my peace. One of the doctors told me, later on Saturday, that the plan was simply to keep him until Monday, so the chaplains could speak to the family, then send him home… to die. Surely he was a neurological vegetable at this point, as he had been unresponsive for so long. There truly was nothing more that we could do for him, medically-speaking.

The other seed of doubt was this— we have a team of chaplains at the hospital. Wonderful people who do a great job of sharing the gospel with patients and their families. But they don’t work on weekends. So, on Saturday, I thought— “Who am I, to take it upon myself, to pray aloud with the family, for this kid?” Quickly followed by the retort— “Well, what else did you come here for…” – that convicting thought pushed me over the precipice of my ego’s fear.

But then an even more insidious idea crept in— “What if I pray, and it goes the other way? What if he doesn’t get better, and this pushes the family *away* from God?“ Did I really want to risk that on my conscience? (Satan really had my ear here, supplying a convenient excuse to let myself off the hook— when the *real* reality is that God uses us as his instruments, but He is totally capable of handling things on His own— He can use me, but He doesn’t *need* me to open a person’s heart). God can handle it. I’m learning that. Again and again and again. Something pushed me to pray anyway. So, I did. And I’m so grateful now that I obeyed that tiny voice that rose above the shouts of doubt.

Monday morning, this patient was assigned to my care again. First thing the night shift doctor told me when I walked through the door, was that my patient was going home that day— I thought, “Oh yes, I know, he’s going home to die.” Then I noticed the twinkle in the doctor’s eye, and I asked, “Wait… whaaa… what do you mean, he’s going home?” The doctor replied, “Yeah, he’s awake. Sitting up, looking around, talking.” I said, “Whaaaat!” and went over to see for myself. Sure enough, my comatose patient was sitting up on the edge of his bed, looking around as though nothing had happened, looking a little bored even.

His grandmother was still there. I clapped my hands and exclaimed to her, “Wow, c’est un vrai miracle!” (“It’s a true miracle!”). I only hesitated for a moment before I hugged her— a grandmother’s love is a grandmother’s love anywhere in the world— cultural norms aside, this was a time to celebrate!— she hugged me back. She had tears in her eyes, but this time, her dark eyes were filled with joy rather than sorrow. A grateful smile graced her wizened face. This man whom she loved was —literally— given new life. He was going home. Not to die, but to LIVE!

Talk about getting a new life! This guy was written off as good as dead. But God had other plans! My patient was discharged that Monday, as we had planned… but not to go home to die. To go home and LIVE! How INCREDIBLE is that, y’all??? Praise the Lord, his ways are not our ways, his thoughts are not our thoughts, but He is good!

I’d find it hard to believe, if I hadn’t been there myself. I now understand what it means when we say that God gives us opportunities— He invites us— to participate in what He’s doing. My natural inclination, as an introvert, was to keep silent— to say a silent prayer on behalf of this man and his family and to go on about my day. But I’m so glad that the Spirit urged me to speak, and that I obeyed! I’m hoping that my words planted a seed in the hearts of this man’s family members. Only God knows. This experience strengthened my faith and encouraged me to be more bold. This was the first true miracle of healing that I’ve been a witness to— but something tells me, if I continue to obey, it may not be the last…

“Whoever has my commands and keeps them
is the one who loves me. The one who loves me
will be loved by my Father, and I too will love them
and show myself to them.”

— John 14:21