I believe there are those times in our lives when the Lord tends to our needs in ways that are most tangible, yet unexplainable.

I know from study that angels exist, and intervene at times we do not expect. But then, as American believers, we often do not expect supernatural encounters. If they do occur, we try to explain them away. We perceive our lives as hard or difficult. There are times when they are. But relative to what happens in other nations, our lives are easy, wealthy, privileged. Perhaps not by our own standards, but certainly by comparison to what others do not have.

It is not my intent to bash American privilege or progress, but simply to point out that in light of all we have, we depend less on God than we should. He is there, even when we are not paying attention. He still dispatches His Angels to assist us in our time of need. However, we often fail to recognize it.

Many of us have such stories, but are often ashamed or embarrassed to share them, for fear others will not believe. Our Father in heaven believes. It matters not, if those around us don't. We should share in ways that bring Him glory, and let others deal with whether or not it makes them uncomfortable. Our lives are about bringing Him glory.


It was the wee hours of the morning on that day that we did not believe would come. He had taken a significant downturn. The life that had been hanging in the balance found the scales tip for the glory of God in eternal fashion.

I stood in that room, staring at the ceiling. I had heard the stories of those who had departed. Their spirits hovering above the room. I mouthed the words I love you, just in case he could see me...finally.

I bounced my gaze gently from the ceiling to his body. I knew who he served. I knew who I served. I believed with all of my heart that He could raise him up. One can call it a father's grief, but part of me believed very strongly that the Lord would raise him up. His glory would certainly be multiplied by this resurrection.

The very hour when his life left him, He could restore it...He could raise him up.

It was not to be. It was hard to accept. It was hard to believe.

My family was crowded around his bed. All medical paraphernalia had been evacuated. We could actually get close to him...they even offered to let us climb up next to him to say goodbye.

I sat at the head of the bed. My hands were holding onto the iv posts. I did not realize how tightly clenched my grip was. I was lost in thought. I was trying to bring glory to my Lord and Savior amid the most extreme hurt I had ever felt.

I wondered what the upcoming days would be like. I wondered what his view was like. I wished it could have been me. He was doing so much for the King. His serving and writing was inspiring to so many.

I went to stand up, pulling hard on the iv poles. I felt hands slide between my rib cage and underarm on each side. I was lifted to my feet in effortless fashion.

Grateful for the assistance, I turned to offer my thanks...but no one was there. I was startled.

I looked from side to side...no one.

There was no doubt in my mind, that at the peak of my brokenness in those moments, my Father in Heaven had sent a messenger to me. He raised me up to show me He was still in control. He had given to us so many times in so many ways throughout the 6 weeks in the hospital. And now, He had given to me again.

"Behold, I am with you, and have not forsaken you," were the words I sensed.

For six weeks we believed that our God was going to bring healing to our son. That He was raising him up...giving him a platform from which he could minister.

It was not to be.

What was to be?

My God of compassion, through the most dire of circumstances, showed me that it was not my son alone who was being "raised up" to bring Him glory, but that He had work for my family to do...for me to do.

Sometimes the darkest of hours yield to the greatest intensity of light...that is, the Light of the world!

dad