Winter had been long and cold that year.  Looking back, it had been pretty bleak as well.  At least for the Kelly’s and their closest friends.  The diagnosis had been simple enough for Wendell—Esophageal Ulcer.  All Wendell had known was that it hurt when he ate.  And Wendell loved to eat.

The doctors had promised Wendell and his wife of thirty-five years a routine surgery followed by a few long overdue dietary changes and then, life could return to normal.  Cecile could hardly remember “normal.”  Wendell had driven the two-hours it took to get to the hospital and then he and Cecile took a walk from the parking garage to the registration desk.  It’s funny how you never know when or where your last walk will be.

“Sometimes this happens,” was all the doctor could say to comfort Cecile after the surgery.  There didn’t seem to be a lot of urgency, but on the other hand, you are supposed to “wake up.”  Wendell’s vital signs were good, but he wouldn’t respond to any stimuli.  He just laid there with his eyes taped shut.  Cecile began making long distance phone calls from the hospital’s courtesy phone.  She hadn’t planned to stay in Lubbock more than one night and wasn’t sure what to do.

The doctors had informed Cecile that if Wendell didn’t wake up in the first 24 hours, it was likely that he would suffer brain damage.  36 hours later, they were informing Cecile and friends that if Wendell didn’t wake up in 48 hours, the likely hood was that he wouldn’t at all.

Wendell and Cecile were core members of their church.  Wendell was a deacon.  Cecile was the unofficial church decorator.  She also worked with either the children’s ministry or in the nursery.  They were avid youth group sponsors that could always be counted on to take trips with the youth.

As you might expect, the church had placed Wendell on the prayer list way back before he had even been diagnosed.  Just a little pain in the upper chest that increased upon swallowing.  Now, the many friends were beginning to unofficially pray around the clock.  A week into the ordeal, there was no longer any medical hope, and yet the church continued to pray, asking for a miracle from the Creator.

Why does God allow the things that happen, to happen?  We won’t be able to fully answer that this side of Heaven, but once in while, we hear of a true miracle that gives us hope and keeps us praying.  On a Sunday morning, exactly one month after the surgery, Wendell and CeCele’s pastor veered off the scheduled order of events after the opening hymn.  He asked for the congregation to come to the front of the church and kneel before God and pray.  He gave them a portion of Scripture to dwell on as they did this:  Numbers 14:11-20.

The people came to the front, knelt and one by one, or several at a time, offered up prayers on behalf of Wendell.  Finally, at 12:15, the pastor stood and without a sermon, gave the final dismal prayer.  He, and others, went home exhausted.  The time in Lubbock was 1:15 in the afternoon.

At 1:00, the pastor’s wife received a phone call from Cecile Kelly.  Cecile called to report that at 45 minutes earlier, (1:15 in Lubbock) Wendell opened his eyes and began to make gagging noises as he tried to communicate.  The nurses rushed in and began removing feeding tubes, allowing a very weakened Wendell to speak.  His first words:  “Can I have a steak now?”

They laughed   . . . .  and cried . . . . . and hugged and brought him soup.  Wendell had no idea that he had been in a coma for a month. To him, he had simply woke from surgery.  Wendell had lost a lot of weight, and his road back to full health would still be a long journey.  But several years later, Wendell and his Wife Cecile officially retired and moved to Lubbock.

And the people that were present in that very special church service remain changed to this day, having been in the very real presence of a holy God.  Prayer changes things.  But when we truly pray, believing all that there is to believe in, then we often find that the things prayer changes most . . . . is us.