A Work Out

I can't believe how hard these guys are working. I think I hear the Rocky theme song playing in the background. The physical therapist is coming in giving Ali a work-out and training Susan to care for Ali(bring up the volume on the Rocky theme music). Ali is flexing her muscles and trying to suck her thumb. The doctors are meeting with a view toward releasing Ali. What's the next step? Having the grandmother here has moved the healing into hyper-speed. Ali's healing is super-nuturally super-charged by a move of God and the fervent prayers of hundreds of saints, seen and unseen, known and unknown, praying in prayer groups and prayer closets. (cut to Sylvester Stallone running up those stairs taking three and four steps at a time). The physical therapist and Susan, together, sit Ali up and Ali moves her head, hands and feet (now Rocky is dancing the dance of boxers at the top of those stairs, both hands raised in the air, a champion).

Ali is the champion. The charming and beautiful Susan is her coach pushing Ali hard toward victory. Ali cries, but it's good for her lungs and brain and muscles. Ali is pulling out of this and we're inspired; we're seeing the fruit of our prayers. Our faith grows.

As I write this I am thanking the Lord through tears. I'm thanking Him for His goodness and I'm thanking Him for surrounding me with so many friends.

So here's why we're praying:

It started with a phone call. Things always start with a phone call.

"Oh my God, Dad, you have to pray! Ali's not breathing!"

And then Charity hung up the phone. That was three am, here in Florida, Sunday morning, a little over two weeks ago. Midnight out in California where they live. Charity worked late and she was hanging out with a friend when Ali's father called her from the back of an ambulance to tell her to meet them at the hospital. When they got to the hospital, the emergency room doctor was at a loss about why the baby wasn't breathing. She asked if the baby had been abused, and Ali's father broke down and confessed that he shook her and squeezed to get her to stop crying. She stopped breathing, instead.

She had a broken collar bone, broken ribs, and a what looks like a broken leg. These were old injuries; ones that had been healing awhile. This had been happening since January while Charity was at work.

If you're like me, you're having a hard time taking this in. Maybe you read the above paragraphs two or three times before getting to this one. My brain refused to process this information.

We have this paper shreddder at our office. It gobbles the paper down no problem one or two sheets at a time. If you put four or five sheets in, it groans and slows down. Feed it a stack of twenty-five sheets, the shredder slows down, graons loud, and stops. It jams. That's what my brain felt like as I took in this report and was faced with the sight of my little baby granddaughter under heating lamps with a machine breathing for her.

That seems like forever ago. But only two, short weeks have gone by and we've witnessed the miraculous. God is at work at every level. Doctors, nurses, social workers, cops, grandmas and grandpas, family, and the church body.

God is at work at every level.