"I remember distinctly a night that had a great impact on my soul, a night that led to a great searching and seeking.
"It was late. I was sitting amid beeping machines around the hospital
bed of my newborn daughter. She had just had extensive back surgery for
severe spina bifida, only a few days old. She was more tubes and
bandages than sweet baby-soft skin. I sat with a broken heart in quiet
questioning to our Lord. We had prayed for a miracle that had not come,
and the result had been nothing less than torturous - physically for our
daughter, in every other way for us.
"At this same time, a beautiful miracle had occurred for an
acquaintance of ours. Like the miracles of old - a life-giving,
awe-inspiring, faith-enriching healing. We rejoiced in it with all our
hearts. A letter soon circulated that this miracle occurred, firstly,
because of God's great love for the couple. As I read the letter late
that night, sitting next to my daughter, my heart broke even deeper.
What did it mean for us that the miracle had not come? Did God not love
us?
"It's easy for us to read the Gospel accounts and see only the thread of
one miracle story after another. But there are hidden golden threads
that seem too often unnoticed. . . ."
In a recent commentary, writer Amber VanVickle reflected on how the absence of God’s miracles "does not signify the absence of his love but the very presence of it."
To access Ms. VanVickle's complete post, please visit:
National Catholic Register: Blogs: Amber VanVickle: When the Miracle Doesn't Come (15 JUN 18)
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