Not the way I wanted our little get-a-way to begin, but begin with a splash of drama - it did!  Just hours earlier, I was in a Toyota van driving down the interstate with my parents, my Chris, Libby and Parker.  We had stopped at a roadside rest stop, very reminiscent of 1950’s family travel, to have lunch out of the cooler with only an hour to go until we made it to Branson.

My parents wanted to take us to see the Jesus production by Sight and Sound.  Having experienced several productions and being wowed by each, they wanted us to have the same experience.  We were excited to say yes, jump in the van, and hit Branson running.

While peering into shop windows and looking for the Mexican restaurant along the very touristy spot called The Landing, it was hot.  Really hot.  After waiting in the heat we were seated outside to take advantage of the front row seats to a water show that would take place literally right in front of us.  Yummy food, zippy conversation and the occasional “oh” and “aw” over the fire that spit from behind spouts of water, I began to feel dizzy.  Since I am the occasional victim of Vertigo, I suspected I may be welcoming an episode.

I pushed past the dizziness until it overcame me.  Overcoming meant I passed out.  Cold.  As told to me later, my family began placing ice on my forehead and neck, while frantically trying to rouse me.  A fellow eater of the yummy Mexian food, enjoying a quiet evening with his family, came to my family's aid.  Hero and Nurse was his title.  This is where I pop back into the story by regaining consciousness but feeling very stuck in my body.

“Hi Christina, my name is Kyle.  Can you squeeze my hands?”

I squeezed.  No words would come out.

“Good.  Now Christina, can you smile for me?”

Grinning my biggest smile, still no words.

I remember paramedics coming and asking me lots of questions.  Monosyllables came out of my mouth in a slow and detached tenor that I had never heard before.  And try as I might, no body movement could be produced by my own will.

Fear.

Since speaking with real words wasn’t an option, I spoke in my Spirit to God:

“Am I having a stroke?”

And because slow mouth muscles and detached tenors are not required to communicate with the Creator of the Universe, He spoke back.  Of course His voice was smooth.  He was with me and gently whispered a resounding “no '' in response to my pre-panicked answer.

So, if I wasn’t having a stroke, was I dying?  

Taking my question to my Father, I felt Him smile and ask, “What have I promised you?”

Like pictures in an old fashioned photo book, snapshots of the many promises of me growing old with My Chris and me welcoming grandchildren on my lap danced before me as blatant reminders of the good things God has promised are mine.  I could breathe.  My answers came.

As paramedics loaded me onto the stretcher that would be rolled into an ambulance, I remained in peace.  Weird, this feeling of being stuck in my body, but at peace.  I kept sensing my Father telling me I was going to be OK.  His voice was all I needed.

After spending three hours in an uncomfortable wheelchair in the lobby of the Branson Emergency Room, I walked out on my own and with full speaking capacity.

Here are some details that are pretty important:

1.  The ER received me with little expediency in their actions.  I was asked about insurance and then deposited into the lobby.

2. I did have an EKG after 2 hours.

3. Despite many inquiries from My Chris, no medical attention was given to me in my compromised state (no iv’s, no rushing to my aid).  Apparently all the beds were full.  

I won’t go on about the lack of compassion, lack of attention or lack of professionalism  from the ER staff for that discredits the miracle I received.  It was to my advantage, for whatever reason, I saw no one and no procedures were administered.  God, with no help from ER staff, performed a miracle!

Within two and a half hours of sitting in the lobby, I began to feel better.  It was, again according to the facts of the medical attention I received, a direct answer to God’s people praying for me.

You see, an army was fighting.  Not lean men with impressive uniforms and eager weapons, but God’s people on their knees asking our Father to do the impossible.

And He did.

And I was healed.

I will shout from the rooftops the testimony of my experience.  Knowing God is not a get out of hell free card.  It is an adventure waiting for all mortals to experience the supernatural.  He cares so much for each of us.   And because He is God and I am not, my story could have gone very differently. But it didn't.  He chose to enter into my situation and completely changed the outcome for my good!

There is value in sharing the good things that happen in our lives.  There is spiritual value in remembering them.  I will do both!