It was January cold. I was 14-years-old and a brand new Christian, bravely bubbling over with faith and excitement about Jesus, reading my cool Bible and believing and praying.
My friends were new to this Jesus too. Together faith was a daily adventure of new discoveries.
One frigid Friday night, we were bouncing along on a yellow school bus with our youth group down dark rural roads heading to a ski weekend on the slopes of what pass for “mountains” in northern Wisconsin.
Jostling, laughing, gossiping, singing in the back of the bus, we were having a great time til someone bumped into me and a contact popped out of my eye onto the dark, sooty grit below our feet.
This is not a crisis except if you’re a teenage girl who wouldn’t be caught dead in glasses. (Plus, contacts all those years ago were darn expensive)
Everyone dropped to their knees, scouring the gross, wet rubber floor for the tiny piece of clear plastic.
We. Looked. Forever.
Nothing.
Still on our knees, we were ready to give up when one of my fellow newbies ventured, “You guys…What if… we pray???!!! Isn’t that what we’re supposed to do?”
We closed our eyes, and my friend said, “Lord we can’t find this contact. You know where it is. Please help us.”
I literally opened my eyes, looked down, and astonished, picked up the lost contact.
We were ecstatic.
The creator of the universe – God Himself! – heard and responded to a few teenage girls with a little faith.
To this day I have no doubt that God graciously intervened on our behalf.
Fast forward to last year at this time. My brother David was diagnosed with Melanoma. Continue reading
