There are times in most of our lives when things seems very bleak. There is no amount of money that can fix what’s wrong. We turn to God and pray. We beg for His divine intervention. We need a miracle. I know many of us have gone through this a time or two and some even more. There are hundreds of stories online about the unexplainable miracles that people have experienced. They do exist.
I consider my family as being granted two miracles. They might not be defined as such by religious institutions, but I believe they were. The first one was when one of our daughters was diagnosed with PDD (pervasive developmental disorder - where autism is classified). She was two years and 8 months, but they said she was 18 months behind her age group in various categories. I was told this by a professional group of people with PhD’s all who concurred. They included a educational evaluator, a psychologist, a speech therapist, an occupational therapist and a social worker. They all came to the same conclusion and, as the broke the news to us in very clinical way, I saw my husband turn pale. His job was placing special needs children in pre-schools and he knew what all this technical talk meant. I did not. I knew what his “pale” face meant. There was too much information to absorb at the time. I just went home with my husband and said, “I don’t care what they say, they are wrong. Love conquers all.” And with that, I started “working" with my daughter every single day, and placed her in a preschool. Every night I would close my eyes and pray for guidance and every morning I would wake up with ideas of things to do with my daughter. I can’t explain it. It was like a mother’s intuition/gut feeling/inspiration all in one, that I felt was a message from God. I listened to this inner voice and did whatever I was told. And, the first time my daughter called me “mommy” was on Mother’s Day, 9 months later, and she was three years old.
The following year I added a mommy and me class and a ballet class plus private speech therapy to my daughter’s routine. The third year I enrolled her in a pre-kindergarten class. For three years I was not going to accept what these “professionals” had to say because I knew better. My daughter made progress each year. I could see it; everyone saw it. The private speech therapist tested her near the end of her third year, before she was set to go to kindergarten. I wasn’t prepared for the results. She told me my daughter was still a year behind. I didn’t accept it. I thought the results were wrong. Two months later, when my daughter was to leave the special pre-school, she was to have testing done. They told me since she was just tested by the speech therapist recently that they could skip that test. I told them no, I want her tested again, I didn’t trust those scores. So, they agreed to retest her. I was a nervous wreck the day of her test. But, I believed that everything would be ok, just as I had the day I left the testing three years earlier with that dismal “diagnosis.” The speech therapist returns with my daughter’s results. I expected my daughter to be a little delayed because she had so much ground to make up. The therapist tells us that my daughter has not only caught up to her age group, but is six months ahead…“she’s a late bloomer!” I worried sick for three years to hear that she was a late bloomer! That my daughter could go from being classified as PDD to being ahead of her age group in three years, was a miracle to me.
When my daughter got to kindergarten, she was ahead of all the kids in her class. She was so much ahead that her teacher asked me, on two occasions, to please have her tested because she felt my daughter was “gifted.” Gifted! That means her IQ would have to be over 120. To be honest I knew that my daughter wasn’t gifted. She had had too much ground to make up to leap that far ahead. Call it mother’s intuition. But, to be fair to my daughter, I had her tested. Her IQ was not in the gifted range, but we were told she was above average in intelligence. I knew it. This same precious little girl, who was 18 months behind at 2 and a half, called me “mommy” at three on Mother’s Day, caught up to her peers at 5, has 18 years later, graduated with a Bachelor of Science Degree in Clinical laboratory Science with honors on Mother’s Day!
If that’s not a miracle, I don’t know what is.
Note: What I learned from both of my experiences is that even though you are scared to death at the thought of some devastating news, you cannot accept it and give up fighting. Sometimes, we can make miracles happen by faith and determination and believing that everything will be okay. We have to really believe it and do everything in our power to make it happen. We have to visualize ourselves with a happy ending. When I had cancer I used to visualize myself at my daughters' graduations, their weddings, the birth of their children. I saw myself there. You can't just give up and be resigned to your fate. We can create our fate and our future through our beliefs. They say that visualization and positive thinking affects your subconscious in a way that it makes you do things to work towards those goals. Scared or not, you have to take the bull by the horns and put up a good fight! And then, when you are resolved you will have a good outcome, you may feel that light glowing inside you, the hope and promise that this too shall pass and better days are ahead. Just believe it. What do you have to lose? Miracles happen everyday. They can happen for you, they WILL happen for you. Just believe it.
Link: My Cancer Miracle