“Did you even know that you were looking at a miracle?”
That question caught me completely off guard. It came from a gentleman sitting nearby in the waiting room of our chiropractor’s office, and it landed in my ears like a divine interruption. Amid my self-imposed chaos, his words cut straight to my heart.
I sat there stunned, mouth slightly open, tears streaming down my cheeks.
Not exactly how I had planned my Tuesday morning chiropractic visit.
But God.
Earlier that morning, I was knee-deep in what I call C.H.A.O.S.—Can’t Have Anyone Over Syndrome. I couldn’t even remember who was supposed to go to the chiropractor, so I just loaded up the whole crew. Some days are just like that. And Tuesday was definitely one of those days.
As we filtered into the office, we were immediately recognized. No introductions needed. H knows the ropes and has all the staff wrapped around his little finger. He did his usual “hello? excuse me? lady?” routine, and Whitney—who adores him—popped around the corner and scooped him up with a big smile.
Before taking him back for his “office work,” she asked if she could introduce him to the woman behind me—her mom. As always, H was syrupy sweet, charming her with his innocence and bright spirit.
Then came the man.
The office is small and shared with another doctor. Since my kids had already claimed one corner, I sat on the opposite side, next to an older couple—probably in their late 60s or early 70s. The man leaned around his wife, looked directly at me, and smiled. His eyes were kind, deep, and piercing.
He said, “Did you know that boy of yours is a walking miracle?”
I choked back tears and managed to whisper, “As a matter of fact, I do.”
He asked H’s name, and when I told him, he promised to begin praying for him right then and there.
What stunned me most was that he didn’t know a single thing about us—not H’s health, not our family story, nothing. He hadn’t even seen H walk. Whitney had carried him back before the man saw him do anything. I briefly shared a 30-second summary of H’s medical journey, and tears welled in the man’s eyes.
He looked at me and said, “Well, I thought he was a miracle before… now I know he is. God spoke to me about him. Did you know that God is still a miracle maker? He’s alive and well and surrounding us every day.”
“Yes,” I said, voice shaking, “I know that.”
And just like that, peace settled into the chaos. For a few minutes, we chatted. His words calmed the storm in my spirit. My soul exhaled.
As I stepped up to the front desk, H had spotted some food he couldn’t eat because of his gluten allergy. While I gently comforted him, I overheard the man talking to D. Without hesitation, he was sharing the Gospel. He asked D direct, honest questions about his faith, his walk with Jesus, and his relationship with God.
I didn’t interrupt. Honestly, I stood there, witnessing the Holy Spirit move through this complete stranger with power and gentleness.
I don’t know his name. I don’t know which doctor he came to see or where he’s from. But I know he was sent—for me, for us.
God knew I needed that moment to hush the noise of my worry. He knew my tired heart needed the reminder that H is a miracle. And He knew that someone would come to speak truth, light, and hope when I least expected it.
God is good. All the time. And all the time, God is good.
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