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I’m ramping up my article submissions to Christian magazines. Another has been accepted by Guideposts: “His Wind at My Back—The Morning Everything Went Wrong.”
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As you can well imagine, five weeks in a hospital and acute care rehab gave me revelation from God, and much time to reflect, think, and pray about the experience. With that in mind, I’m working on a third book in the Spiritual Musings series: Spiritual Musings from the Pillow of a Hospital Bed.
The piece below will give you a good idea of what’s been going on in my life these past few months. It’s actually a brief composite of the introduction for the new book and one of its chapters about miracles:
Was that Really a Miracle*?
*An act or event that does not follow the laws of nature and is believed to be caused by God . . .OED
September 25, 2025, marked the onset of a journey that would shake my family’s life at its very core. It was only the second time something of this magnitude had occurred, the first being a devastating fire twelve years earlier that destroyed our home and property.
To be more accurate, this journey likely began much earlier; I just didn’t recognize the warning signals. You see, I’ve been struggling with lower back pain for several years. Assuming it was simply due to adjusting to a right ankle reconstruction three years ago and a right hip replacement a year ago, I’ve been doing physical therapy consistently for several years. No matter how hard I worked, the pain persisted.
In early September, the pain increased to the point I became concerned, wondering if, perhaps, it was something more serious. Even walking was labored, and painful. In late September at Urgent Care, they diagnosed me with muscle spasms and sent me home with muscle relaxants. The next day, as I lay in bed, I knew that wasn’t it. I couldn’t move my legs. My lower back screamed with pain.
So, for the first time in my life, I called 911, and was promptly taken by ambulance to the nearest emergency room. At the adjoining hospital, through a contrast-dye MRI scan, I was diagnosed with sepsis (blood infection) that had coated my spinal column, creating an abscess and stenosis (narrowing) at the lower lumbar region. Transported two days later to a much larger hospital downtown, I underwent emergency surgery in which the team of neurosurgeons opened my spine, removed the blocking abscess, and painstakingly scraped the infection off the lumbar vertebrae.
That wasn’t the end of the story, however—within hours, the same kind of coating was detected in the neck portion of the spine, limiting motion of my arms, hands, and shoulders, so another surgery followed in which that part of my spine was similarly scraped, then fused.
Afterwards, in ICU, my body went into shock, causing damage to my kidneys, resulting in reduced hemoglobin production that called for four transfusions. Additionally, I developed high blood pressure, pneumonia, low oxygen, an allergic reaction around my torso, and (believe it or not) a weight gain of over 40 pounds—due to the fluids poured into my body. A harrowing, life-threatening experience, to be sure, during which I felt great peace which had to come from God. In fact, at a recent follow up, my infectious disease surgeon asked, “Do you have any idea how sick you were in the hospital? You could easily have died!” Incidentally, during those three days in ICU, while drifting between consciousness and unconsciousness, I vividly recall my wife urging me, “Stay with me, John; please don’t leave!”
At some point before the first surgery, I lost vision in my left eye, learning that the infection had spread that far. I honestly thought I’d experienced a detached retina, as I’d seen plenty as an optometrist from the front side of a patient; never, however, from the patient’s perspective. Then, just before the first surgery, an ophthalmologist arrived at the hospital. He determined it to be endophthalmitis, an infection of the inner eye and potentially far more serious than a retinal detachment, even risking fatality due to its proximity to the brain.
He told me that he couldn’t view the retina because of the immense debris in the vitreous cavity. He added that he couldn’t even see the macula, the most sensitive part of the retina (that part giving us our best vision). It was totally coated with the infective material and was abscessed. He certainly did not give me much hope for recovery of my vision. As I underwent anesthesia, he administered an injection of antibiotics into the eyeball.
Returning three days later, the ophthalmologist assured me that the retina was, in fact, attached. He did not, however, seem optimistic that I’d regain vision—I still could only see light and dark—no details or color. I felt great peace, however, reasoning that while I may have lost vision in my left eye, I still had great vision through my right. Again, it had to be the Lord as my comforter, since binocular vision is so important to me.
Many people were praying for my back and neck surgeries, as well as my vision loss. Lest there be any question about the power of prayer, here’s where it gets interesting. Over the next few days I began to discern a few colors, correctly telling a nurse he was wearing a blue shirt. And over the ensuing days, I began to identify facial features in those around me. While that was moderately encouraging, I urgently wanted to see better. This may sound a bit weird, but I think I’d prefer no vision in one eye to uncorrectable poor vision in the same eye.
Eventually, my vision in the left eye improved to the point where I was seeing well outside my central view. I couldn’t read with it as the macula had suffered physical distortion during the infectious stage. It was particularly evident when I wore my distance glasses, thus highlighting the great central distortion. I thus chose to wear my computer glasses instead, as their overall blur masked my discomfort with that central distortion.
One day I noticed that my left eye could read fine print if I held my glasses closer to my face. I was thrilled, reasoning that I’d undergone a nearsighted shift in that eye, meaning that with a prescriptive change, I should see well again. Wow, was I ever thrilled!
Several weeks later I had my follow-up with the ophthalmologist. He ordered a high-resolution scan of the retinal layers which showed a normal-looking left macula. He appeared stunned, then paused before announcing, “This is the closest thing to a miracle I’ve ever seen!”
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I’ve thought lots about miracles over the years since becoming a Christian, often wondering why I’d never seen a dead person raised to life or a cancer victim healed. Was my faith simply too weak? Not likely, as I wholeheartedly believe all the miracles recorded in the Scriptures.
- I believe God parted the Red Sea so the Israelites could pass on dry ground.
- I believe that Elijah did not die but was taken to Heaven in a chariot.
- I believe Jesus walked on water.
- I believe He fed a crowd of 5,000 with only two fish and five barley loaves.
- And I truly believe God moved the sun back backward for Hezekiah.
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And so many more. Simply, I believe all the documented Old and New Testament miracles.
Why is it that I believe these amazing miracles, while often doubting others I see with my own eyes? Simple—I’ve made the Scriptures my standard for truth, believing they were entirely inspired by God and, thus, could/should be trusted. In fact, while some parts may be difficult to understand, I’ve never found a contradiction. Jesus surely placed great weight on the veracity of Scripture, citing them over 300 times in the New Testament, principally by, “It is written.”
So why am I skeptical of modern day “miracles?” Easy—I’m reminded that in Jesus’ day, many observed Him perform countless miracles, including raising three people from the dead, notably Lazarus, and so many supernatural healings. Not to mention His widely witnessed resurrection after dying on a cross. Amazingly, even after viewing such, many chose not to believe. And today, how many deceivers/charlatans do we observe, e.g., magicians who perform “miraculous” feats that really aren’t, and “faith healers” who’ve been proven to be frauds? Makes me wonder—could I have been one of those doubters in Jesus’ day?
Perhaps faith truly comes less by seeing, and more by hearing, as the Apostle Paul writes in Romans 10:17:
Consequently, faith comes by hearing, and hearing by the word of Christ.
As I reflect on my salvation experience, I think God gave me exactly what I needed to make an intelligent decision for Him and develop a strong faith. This is true for all of us, as God is primarily interested in our hearts, and uses whatever it takes to draw us to Him. It is not His desire that anyone perish, but that all come to repentance. 2 Peter 3:9
In fact, I’m coming to believe that circumstances should impact our faith far less than faith should impact our circumstances.
Was this remarkable healing of an eye that promised little hope for recovery really a miracle? Of course it could be. I have no idea and, frankly, it doesn’t matter to me whether it is or not. What I do know is that it confounded the logical thinking of an experienced ophthalmologist (and me), and it served to draw me closer to God. I believe God was immersed in the entire ordeal. So I choose to unreservedly exclaim, “Thank You, Lord!”
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