Life-Changing Miracles: Real-Life Stories of Unforgettable Encounters With God

By James Stuart Bell

Inspiring Collection of Life-Transforming Stories from a Bestselling Author

God is near and desires to change our lives, and then change us--from the inside out. In this new collection, ordinary people share stories of how God has used miracles to change their lives. They tell how God's display of power helped them overcome weakness, sin, and unbelief. These accounts will bring you hope that you aren't defined by your past.

This book will encourage your belief in God's power on earth. More important, it will show that he wants to do more than demonstrate his might--he wants to have a closer relationship with you.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Baker Publishing Group
• Release date: Sep 19, 2017
• ISBN: 9781441231185

James Stuart Bell

James Stuart Bell, Jr., was director of religious publishing at Doubleday, executive director of Bridge Publishing, and executive editor at Moody Publishing. He has written or consulted for more than a dozen other Christian publishers. At present he is the owner of Whitestone Communications, Inc., a literary development agency. His roles include writer, editor, compiler, packager, publishing consultant, and literary agent. He makes his home in the western suburbs of Chicago and is married with four children.

Book preview

Bell

Truck Driver Betty

Patti Ann Thompson

She was hard to miss when you entered the room. Truck Driver Betty stood six-feet-plus in military tennis shoes with the shoulders and arms of a lumberjack.

She was easily the size of two of me, although no one would call her chubby. Stocky would be a better choice of words if you wanted to see the light of another day!

Those who had the courage to look closer saw a leathered face reflecting her years on the road. Her occasional smile was hidden among rolls of wrinkles. Bleached blond hair neatly tied back in a ponytail, faded blue jeans, and a paisley blouse finished her look.

Betty sat in the first chair of the first row in the first group of the assembly stations. An appropriate position considering she ruled the 3–11 night shift—if not in title, certainly in personage!

I nodded and smiled at her as I passed by on my way to my newest home away from home. It was my first night on the job at our local automotive parts plant. Both my teenage sons were now in high school, and the financial demands made it necessary for me to step out of my comfort zone and enter the work world. Fortunately for me, the 3 to 11 shift was made up of mostly women; many had similar stories to mine.

Patti Ann, do you want to join us on break? a friendly voice over my shoulder inquired. Carol sat directly behind me, and the invitation to join anyone on my first night was a welcomed gift. I was learning to solder tiny wires together in car parts, and boy, could I use an Aw, it’ll get better conversation!

Thanks, I’m more than ready, I answered as I rose to follow her to the break room.

With drinks in hand we made our way to a table to rest, a table that already included Truck Driver Betty. Apparently Carol was the only friend Betty had. She slid into the vacant chair next to Betty, a chair that I would learn always seemed conveniently empty.

Patti Ann, this is my friend Betty. She was a truck driver for many years before retiring and coming here to work. I later learned she had been married for many years, and her husband had deserted her.

Betty never raised her eyes or spoke, content to stare intently at her own drink. Carol introduced the other members at the table, fellow workers full of questions about the new gal on the block.

It didn’t take long for them to learn about my life in Christ. Nightly, I received opportunities to share stories of answered prayer from my life and others’ lives. Nightly, the curious listeners began opening up and telling their own stories. Each of us on the night shift received a special nickname assigned by the group—mine was Pastor Pat.

Betty never joined our conversations. She sometimes watched me intently as I shared, but mostly she just stared at her drink as if she couldn’t care less about the conversations that took place. Until one night . . .

Gals, this is Julie, Carol’s friendly voice boomed to those at our table. She is filling in for Debbie. She’ll only be with us for one night.

It didn’t take Julie long to make her mark on the group. She immediately began telling an off-color joke and used several swear words in her dialogue.

Don’t ever use that kind of language at this table again! We have a pastor sitting at this table!

Startled, we turned our heads. For the first time in the few weeks I had been there, Truck Driver Betty had spoken! And when Betty spoke, everybody listened!

She shot a look in my direction, smiled, and returned to her fixation on her drink. An unspeakable bond formed that night between Betty and me. I began to pray that God would somehow touch her life and let her know personally how much He loved her. It was an impossible task for others to reach her, but God could find a way.

A few days later, I was late getting to the break room.

Patti Ann, Betty is looking for you, Carol reported as she brushed by me.

What? Betty, looking for me?

I had just finished paying for my drink when Betty came around the corner, literally dragging an older man with her.

Pastor Pat, this man’s son was diagnosed with a heart problem today and is facing triple bypass surgery, she said sternly. I told him I knew someone who knew God and would pray for him.

With that said, she handed the man off to me and went back to her table.

What is the greater miracle here? I wondered at my station later. Is it the fact that Betty spoke to me, or the incredible gesture of reaching out to someone in need? All those times she was sitting, listening to our conversations about how God answers prayer. Is God chipping away at her heart, one testimony at a time? Has He been drawing her to himself and I’ve missed it?

I began that day to pray more earnestly than before for God to touch her life personally.

That was not the last time Betty brought others to me for prayer. Though she never requested prayer for herself, she seemed to find other needy souls to bring for prayer and a word about God.

Before long, some unexpected events in my life meant I had to leave my evening job and my new friends. By this time, I had an intense desire to see Betty come to know God’s love for herself. I asked God to give me the opportunity to share with her one-on-one, something she had avoided during the entire time I was there.

My last night arrived. We had two breaks each night, so I hoped I could talk personally to Betty at one of them. At first break everyone wanted to say their good-byes, and the time passed quickly. Betty, unusually quiet and aloof that night, neither looked at nor spoke to anyone. The second break time came, and I waited for Betty at the entry to the break room.

Is Betty coming? I asked when Carol came into the break room.

No, she’s not feeling well tonight and has a migraine headache, Carol answered empathetically. She is in a lot of pain but doesn’t want to go home. I think she is lying down on her break.

That was it then. No chance to talk to her before I left. I would never see her again. Again a prayer for Betty. Please, God, let her know you love her, too.

I saw Betty return a little while later to her first chair in the first row in the first group. Though my seat was two sections behind hers, I could see Betty’s figure towering far above the stack of soldered plates at my station.

Then I heard it: Go to Betty and lay your hands on her head and pray for her.

I dismissed the thought as my own sincere desire and continued to work.

Go to Betty and lay your hands on her head and pray for her.

Again the prompting came, this time more intense. I began to believe that this could be God’s direction and threw out an outlandish test to find out.

God, if that is you speaking to me, when I look around my stack of car parts, Betty will be holding her head in her hands.

I waited a few moments, somewhat anxious about the prospect of laying hands on Betty for any reason. Finally, I found the courage to look around the stack of car parts toward Betty.

Betty was sitting still, holding her head in her hands.

Without hesitation—and I’m sure with courage from God—I walked to Betty’s station. Betty looked up at me.

With a quivering voice I said, Betty, God sent me here to lay hands on your head and to pray for your headache to be healed.

She sat motionless. I prayed and quickly retreated to my seat.

Now it was I who sat motionless, my heart racing, my eyes fixated on the object in front of me. I guess I didn’t notice when she arrived next to me. But my downward gaze recognized the all-too-familiar military tennis shoes. They were Betty’s.

I raised my face slowly until our eyes met. Tears were streaming down her cheeks, and for the first time I saw burly Truck Driver Betty shake with emotion.

My headache is gone, she said. I don’t understand it, but all the pain is gone!

Oh, dear Betty, I replied, barely able to say the words through my own tears. God has touched you. He has healed you. He did it so you would know how much He loves you.

God had indeed answered prayer. Betty came to know Him personally that night. I heard later that Betty was still in charge of the night shift, but now God was using her to pray for others. And the others at the break table had given her a new nickname: Merciful Betty.

Persistence in Healing

Richard Spillman

We all remember the firsts in our lives. They always mark a transition of some sort. Your first car lingers in your memory as the gateway to a newfound freedom. Your first home is the sign of a newfound responsibility. But for me, the first time God used me to heal a friend marked a different kind of transition: a transition into a new relationship with the Father.

It took a long time for my first healing experience to occur, but when it came I was more than ready for the transition. For more than twenty years I prayed for others to be healed. Usually they were tentative prayers asking God to direct the doctors to heal a loved one. There is nothing wrong with praying for our doctors; they need wisdom to do their work. But I always felt there was more that I should be doing when I entered the presence of God in prayer.

I eventually reached the point where I was so hungry for a healing experience that I decided it was time for boldness. Tentative, even timid, prayers would have to go. Jesus gave the apostles the command to heal the sick (Matthew 10:7–8) and also sent out the seventy-two disciples with a similar command: Heal the sick, and tell them, ‘The Kingdom of God is near you now’ (Luke 10:9). He didn’t say to go out and ask God to heal the sick; the command is quite clear. It was their responsibility to let Jesus heal through them. It was now time for me to boldly proclaim healing in the name of Jesus.

I wish I could say that the first time I prayed in this manner someone was healed, but it didn’t happen that way. Yet I was not about to be discouraged. I was going to go after healing with the same persistence with which the widow of the parable went after the judge (Luke 18:1–8).

It happened quite unexpectedly one cold Sunday morning after church. I am the associate pastor of the Downtown Crossing, a church for the homeless in Tacoma, Washington. After the service, a homeless woman named Ann got up from her seat and struggled to move to the front. She grimaced in obvious pain as she used the chairs for support. She asked our pastor, Ben, for prayer, explaining that she had a very painful attack of gout and could barely walk. Ben had to help a person in a wheelchair get down stairs, so he asked another woman nearby, Matilda, and me if we would pray for her.

Matilda and I placed our hands on Ann’s shoulder. We commanded the pain to leave in the name of Jesus. We commanded her legs to heal. All of a sudden, Ann let out a cry, Whoa, what was that? Neither Matilda nor I had noticed anything; we had barely started praying. I asked Ann what happened. Ann said she felt warmth spread down from the top of her head to the bottom of her feet. She suddenly felt at peace. I asked her how her legs felt. She paused to think for a moment about my question. Her attention had focused so much on the calming warmth that had engulfed her body that she hadn’t thought about the pain at all. Now she realized that it was gone. She told me that all the pain in her left leg was completely gone and her right leg was just a little uncomfortable.

While she did not leap on her way out of the room, she did walk at a normal pace without requiring the help of the chairs. As Ben met her, he noticed that she was crying. Not knowing what had just happened, he asked, Why the tears? Her answer was remarkable. She was not crying because she had been healed; rather, she told Ben that she had just been touched by God.

This was the first time I had prayed for someone and they had been instantly healed. It was Ann’s time to be touched by God, and it was my moment of transition. I had learned a lot during my long struggle to see God heal. I had learned the power of boldness and the virtue of persistence. Most of all, I learned the power of faith. I knew that God wanted to heal, that He had the power to heal, and I was not going to let those times when healing did not occur change that belief. Every time I prayed and there was no healing, I became more determined than ever to seek healing the next time I prayed. I knew all along that one day I would meet someone like Ann and that I would see a miracle. Now that day had come and I would never be the same again.

Ann was not the only one healed that day. My life was changed, as well. Since that day I have continued to pray just as boldly as I did with Ann. Not everyone I have prayed for has been healed, but some have. I prayed and saw a woman’s left leg grow to the length of her right leg. I prayed for a deaf ear to be opened and shared in the joy when a woman heard sounds for the first time. I saw God heal a lifetime of back pain as I prayed. But I will never forget the first time I saw God heal. The image of Ann walking away fully restored, proclaiming through her tears that she had been touched by God, is forever burned into my memory.

So, like me, if you have not seen God heal, be bold, be persistent, because there is a first time coming in your future, as well. Someday you will meet and pray for someone just like Ann. Someday you will have a new first in your life.

Ride of a Lifetime

Dianne Fraser

The clouds hung heavy with snow over the glacier, and to five-year-old Jayden it meant his dreams of a helicopter ride were over. We’d planned our trip to New Zealand from our home in Australia for the past year, and each of us had chosen one thing we would love to do. Jayden’s first flight in a chopper was his choice, and it was something we had all eagerly anticipated.

The tour operator called to confirm that we would not be flying in the morning. In the grand scheme of things, it was not the end of the world, but it seemed like it to our young son.

In an effort to explore all the possibilities, we scanned the weather forecast for the coming days and spoke to the tour operators and even the locals, who all shook their heads at a change in prospects. It all pointed the same way: We may as well pack up the camper van and head on. New Zealand weather had set in, and an anticipated highlight of our holiday was looking like a non-event.

As we tucked Jayden into bed that night, we tried to placate him with new suggestions and other opportunities and adventures that lay ahead in the coming days.

We could go jet-boating, and Puzzling World looks fantastic. As we tumbled over ourselves to help him navigate his disappointment, he looked calmly out at us and declared, No, we will go for a helicopter ride tomorrow morning.

Seeking to suppress our frustration, we told him again that this would not happen.

They aren’t flying tomorrow, Jayden. The tours can’t run if the weather is poor.

Well, I asked God to take away the clouds in the morning, he said, looking up at us from his pillow. God heard me ask.

My heart sank. If it wasn’t enough to deal with his holiday disappointment, we would also have to deal with damage to his budding faith when God didn’t come through.

Well, sometimes God knows what’s best for us, and maybe He thinks it is better if we do something different, I said. Trying to think of all the platitudes and reasons why God wouldn’t change an entire weather forecast for a five-year-old, I let him fall asleep with his hopes and went for a walk.

"What am I supposed to tell him, God?