I wouldn't normally do this, I thought, but I kneeled over her and prayed, my pounding heart the only sound in the blackness. My hand on her shoulder, I begged God to raise her from the dead.
I don't know how long I knelt there in that dream, but I know that I eventually saw the head lift, golden hair finally leaving the floor, her arms shakily propping herself up. Then, finally, like a baby animal of some kind, she rose to her feet.
I woke up and went about my normal college student morning, hitting the snooze button a few times, probably temporarily forgetting the dream, reading my Bible, spreading some cream cheese on a bagel. Then I got a call from a friend I was supposed to have lunch with.
She said she had to cancel because she was on the way to a hospital where her best friend's little sister lay in a coma.
The golden-haired girl had been in a horrible car accident, had been unresponsive for two weeks, and now no one was sure if she'd ever wake up. A 10% chance of waking. And if waking, then probably no walking. Possible paralysis.
10% chance.
A high school girl. Like I had been just a few years ago.
As I assured her that of course I completely understood, and I would be praying for her, my dream rushed back into my consciousness. I saw that girl getting shakily to her feet. I felt the power of the Most High God rush through my feeble hands and permeate that black room.
I felt it permeate this black world.
And, reopening my Bible and reading the stories of how Jesus raised that 12-year-old girl from the dead and healed a woman who had been bleeding for years, and knowing he is still able, I fasted and prayed most of the day for this girl I had never met and probably never will meet. Emotions that I knew were not my own rushed through me; passion poured through my heart that did not come from my mind but from heaven's. I felt a Father's heart for his daughter. I felt an entire community joining with this one college student in Austin, begging for one small life out of billions. Prayers were lifted that were not from our hearts but from His, power came from our words that was not our own power but His.
In my heart, I felt an incredible assurance. I knew with certainty that this girl would rise, that she would even walk. I knew He'd given me that dream for a reason. I treasured this in my heart, just between Jesus and me.
A few days later I got the word.
She woke up.
Weeks later, she walked.
Supported physically and emotionally by people who loved her, she walked out of the hospital.
As miraculous as this was, and how incredible as it was that Father allowed a distant, unrelated person like me to be a small part of it and watch Him do his thing, her wakefulness wasn't the biggest miracle. Her walking wasn't the biggest miracle.
The biggest miracle was what happened in the next few months, what I wasn't there for but what I can imagine: the mood swings, the progress, the letdowns, a family never giving up hope, taking her recovery painfully slow, day-by-day, moment-by-moment. A girl rediscovering every tiny bit of herself.
When Father shows up and does a momentary miracle, we all rejoice. We are in awe, and we wish we had more moments like that. But one second is not the end. One second may spur the beginning of a life change, one second may mark an important milestone, but the most awe-inspiring works of art take the most time. Relationships take a lot of time. People take a lot of time.
Jesus raised Lazarus from the dead in a matter of seconds. What we are not told was what happened afterward. What would you do if you thought your life was over, and suddenly you were awake again and had that precious time back? Though the miracle took seconds, the life that formed afterward was another miracle.
It only takes seconds for Jesus to raise a body.
It only takes seconds for him to salvage a soul.
May we rejoice even more in the hard, beautiful, refining times that follow, than in that one precious moment.
Becky, thank you so much for sharing this beautiful story! Jesus is so good.
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