A while back, I read a Facebook comment where the writer said she didn’t believe in miracles.
This stopped me scrolling through Facebook.
How could she not believe in miracles? The New Testament is full of them. She did have a reason. It wasn’t one I’d heard before, but that wasn’t what got me thinking.
What got me thinking was: do I believe miracles?
Yes, I do. Lots of miracles.
I believe in everyday miracles.
There is the miracle of birth, of a baby coming into the world. The miracle of germination, of putting a seed in the ground, and it turning into something I can eat. (I will clarify that. My husband put the seed in the ground, and I eat what comes up. I have a black thumb. In case you’re wondering, that’s the polar opposite of a green thumb).
There is the miracle of pollination. Of bees buzzing around collecting pollen from flowers to make their honey, and in that way allowing the flowers and vegetables to produce fruit. Which produces food. Without bees and pollination, humanity would be in big trouble. Isn’t it a miracle that our survival depends on something we often consider a pest?
And there is the miracle of salvation. Gods plan makes no sense to many people. We need a miracle to accept His word is true. Every person who accepts Jesus as saviour is the outward demonstration of an inward miracle.
I believe in small miracles.
There are small miracles, miracles of healing, of finance, of health. These might not always seem like much to the outside observer. Many people will try and explain them away through logic. But they are miracles to the recipients.
I’ll give you an example.
I used to work with an evangelist who had a healing ministry. Attending his meetings was eye-opening. He’d pray for hours in preparation, asking God to show him the people who would be at the meeting, and their health problems.
During one of the last meetings he held before Jesus called him home, he prayed for a woman who had a problem sitting without pain. She couldn’t. She was only in her forties, but she couldn’t sit down without it hurting. After he prayed, he asked her to sit on the hard stage.
She did. I could see her apprehension in her face … then the surprise when she sat and it didn’t hurt. She sat down several times, each time harder and harder, until she was practically bouncing up and down on the hard wooden stage. Look on her face was unforgettable. She emailed the following week, saying that was the first time she’d sat without pain in years.
That is, to me, was a miracle, and it was a miracle for that lady as well.
After the evangelist died, a thick book was compiled, of all the testimonies the evangelist had received over the years of the miracles God performed through him. It’s called Miracles in Aotearoa (New Zealand, for those of you who don’t speak Maori).
I believe in big miracles.
These might not be big miracles like Jesus performed. He didn’t turn water into wine. He didn’t raise anyone from the dead. But they were miracles all the same.
But I’ve heard stories of big miracles from people I trust, people who have no reason to lie to me. Their stories encourage me to believe in a God of miracles. As Christians, we believe in things seen and unseen. A God of miracles.
It struck me that if I didn’t believe in miracles, I would be placing limits on God. I would be saying God isn’t omnipotent. And I believe God is omnipotent. To believe anything else is believing in a lesser God.
Do I want to serve a God who can’t perform miracles? No. I want to serve a God who can. A God of miracles.
Do I demand that I see those miracles? No. I accept by faith the words of those who have seen them. And I give thanks for the everyday miracles, the small miracles, the big miracles. And for the God of miracles.