As a little girl, I grew up in a Christian household. My dad was a pilot in the military and my mom took care of our home, my sister and me.
One of my earliest memories includes sitting on a blanket in our living room during a summer vacation Bible school. The teacher singing, “Read your Bible, pray every day and you’ll grow, grow, grow.” as she made a colorful paper flower bloom.
At 4 years old, I remember thinking, “I want to be like the beautiful flower!” I later asked Jesus to come into my heart.
Some years later I remember kneeling beside my twin canopy bed, wearing my favorite nightgown, trimmed in lace and covered in pink hearts. Eyes tightly shut, little hands cupped together, I prayed and asked God to make it snow.
The next morning, I woke to the most glorious sight! Peering through of my bedroom window I marveled at the glistening winter wonderland just outside.
Stepping off the school bus later that afternoon, I was surprised to be greeted by my neighbor. My mother had always picked me up from the bus stop so this was highly unusual.
“Your father’s been in an accident.” she said. “We’re going to go to the hospital to see him.”
I clung to her outstretched hand as we walked down the hospital corridor. The florescent lighting blinding me as a furry of doctors in white coats rushed passed us in every direction.
“It’s a miracle he’s even alive!” they said.
The snow had cushioned the impact of the plane and the moisture’s dampness had kept the plane from blowing up.
It was in that moment, after only having been on earth for 6 short years, I understood who my Father was. He had heard the prayer of a small child and answered a simple request in the form of a miracle.
Today marks the 30th anniversary… My Father is Alive!
