“ Just give me a reason, just a little bit’s enough…” Tonight a show that can be considered fluff and secular news got it right and it gave me the chills. Diane Sawyer reported on the guardian angel miracle. I believe in modern day miracles and I know that some would question my unbending unyielding faith in light of Phil’s and 8 others assassinations. If God who is capable and able to intervene, and does intervene, why not intervene with Phil and the others? Were those nine lives any less than the 16 year old who was rescued from a car when it seemed that it was too late? I do not believe that and by faith, I stand firm and immovable. I am not in denial or a Pollyanna, but I truly believe that God knows the hours and days of our lives. He knows exactly how we are going to die. People have choices and Phil’s assassin had a choice. He chose evil and he chose to seemingly exchange his salvation for notoriety and religious war here on earth. It isn’t up to me to judge, nor will I, but I believe that Phil’s life was incredibly blessed for his barely lived 44 years because God knew how numbered his days were going to be. Long before we dated, Phil told me his dreams and he often voiced that he knew we had been blessed beyond measure. He knew the life he had been given was beyond every expectation and dream he had for himself when he came to the US speaking two words of English sumateemas (sometimes) and ewwwsah (USA). It literally shatters my heart when I consider the events in that room that day and the fact that Phil trusted his assassin and yet was shot time and time again. I have to believe that somehow the angels were in that room on 27 April 2011. I believe that in the middle of evil, there stood the purity of the faith that these men and one woman carried. I have to believe that God was in control that day. While the miracle could have happened that day, and how I wish it had, I see the hand of God working through the broken hearts. I see the modern day miracles and blessings in my own life starting with the day I lost all hope. As I described in my book, I had just received the autopsy report. The words didn’t match what I had been told, thus I looked at the photos. While I can handle brokenness on television or in first aid situations, my heart literally broke as I looked at Phil’s body and the maiming of the once vibrant man who loved me. I crawled into bed and I sobbed from my heart. I had the blankets over my head and while I didn’t have a death wish, I truly groaned to God about why Phil and why not me. He had so much more to give and offer the world. I felt a jolt—like an electric shock—and saw me standing at the altar with a tall man in blue. I sobbed on and argued mightily with myself and God—never, EVER, EVER. I sobbed on and I felt the same jolt only stronger this time and I saw the same picture on my soul and in my head. I was terrified. I jumped out of bed, tripped in the covers, and fell on the ground. I looked up and saw the first complete double rainbow I had ever seen. While I still was not ready and I still didn’t want to see a life without Phil, I knew that somehow God was taking care of me. He has. So many people have reached me and carried me in my broken states. Often they were the hands that reached when I was in a darkness so bleak I couldn’t find my way. Cards, phone calls, polka dots, and unexpected kindness have reigned down. I have found strength that is not my own and I am doing things that I never saw myself doing. I write and I speak on military loss and my faith. This quiet girl has changed and my faith is strengthened because I truly believe in the God that carries me and in a life beyond this life. My faith is not a crutch in hard times—rather in making the choice to fall into the faith I have professed since I was six, I see how blessings and modern day miracles occur even now. The biggest one that is humbling me and making me drop to my knees in thanksgiving? Many of you know that I had been invited to run the Boston Marathon this year to honor Phil and to honor every military man and woman gone far too soon and the families who loved them and waited for them. I had crossed the 26 mile mark and I was heading home when I heard the first boom. I was less than a quarter mile from the finish line. I had conquered Heartbreak Hill and I was filling pretty good about how far I had come in two years. That race is a metaphor for life. On April 15, 2013, terrorists sought to take one more thing from me—my running which is the place I quiet my soul and fall to my knees. I was in the heart of the mayhem and fear entered my life. I have never felt more helpless or alone as I cowered in a Dunkin Donut store sobbing. People found me and carried me and through the kindness, I found the faith to get up again. I wrote a blog that went viral. That blog somehow ended up on a man’s wall that I did not know. We do not have any mutual friends. He reached out to me and shared his faith with me. He sent me his book and offered friendship. At some point, something clicked. While it is far too early to make predictions, here is what I know—because of one port-a-potty stop, my life was spared at the Boston Marathon. Because of the events of that day and the words God gave me and blessed, someone entered my life. Through the gift of his friendship, something clicked and is bringing me happiness. Is this the life I thought I would have? Nope….Is this life more than I thought I could live? Beyond my wildest dreams. My faith has never waivered and I see the hand of God working through the muddy ashes of my life to create something beyond what I could even want for myself. I know first hand that modern miracles happen all around. I just pray that I don’t miss them in my humanity.
Posted on: Fri, 09 Aug 2013 23:37:33 +0000
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