was even trickier was taking pictures over land. They’d have to dive straight into the antiaircraft guns and take pictures of them so the bomber crews would know what kind and how many guns they would be facing in any offensives they were planning. They got shot at a lot. Oh yeah, during those missions they were not armed, so they couldn’t even shoot back.
Now none of this really has any bearing on what I want to write about other than to say I think Dad secretly loved the adrenalin rush and was definitely a bit mad. That, and I’m really proud of him (which I never told him while he was alive). Oh—and most importantly—I definitely inherited from him on both counts!
After the war, he returned to England and became a surgeon, working mostly in an emergency room. I guess he must have read a few books or something. My dad was a pretty smart guy.
After a while, I think God told him that there were even better things than bodies to save, so he got it into that wonderful head of his that being a missionary and saving poor savage souls was just the thing for him. So, off he went and hooked up with an outfit called New Tribes Missions and for the second time in his life found himself in a war, this one even more important than the last. This was around when the miracles started. At least the ones I heard about. I’m sure there were plenty of others.
See, before my father went to New Tribes boot camp, God told him that was where he would meet his future wife. Well, when he got there, missionary school was a total bust. No single dream girl in sight. But because God says, and Dad’s Dad, he decided to stick it out and began teaching. Seems like he taught wherever he was, at least as I recall it. He did this for a while, but as the clock ticked on and time got short, there was still no sign of Mrs. Right. Or should I say—Mrs. White.
One day in camp he was kicking back on his bunk with a prayer chain magazine, and he stumbled across an article about a young Canadian girl who, while serving with New Tribes in the Pacific, had contracted tuberculosis of the spine. At that time this particular type of tuberculosis permanently crippled or killed everybody who got it.
Now, for some reason this pissed my father off something fierce, and as he recounted to me, after reading it, in a heartbeat he tumbled out of his bunk, was onto his knees, and started getting real pushy with God—like actually arguing and demanding that God heal this woman—and with fast quickness too!
Dad told me that as he’d been reading he became frustrated and angry at God. Dad felt that this was all wrong! He began pointing out in no uncertain terms that God needed to really re-examine himself on this particular issue, reconsider exactly what he was doing here, heal this girl up right quick, and get her back in the saddle again, pronto! As in right away! The funny thing about it all is that Dad didn’t even believe divine healing existed anymore. But for some reason that didn’t slow him up too much that day.
Now there is a point to all this, and I’m getting to it now. The facts are that miracles were running way wild in my family long before I ever showed up. You see, I come by the kind of things I am going to describe to you honestly. Premonitions, visions, and manifestations of God’s incredible love and holiness were shared by both me and my father. I didn’t ask for them. I didn’t go looking for them, and there are many times I wished I’d never experienced them. Also, I’m going to show you, very clearly, that none of this is my fault, that I never stood a chance, and that I was set up from the get-go. Here are two miracles right off the hop, and then I’ll get to the “Big Set-Up.”
What my father could not have known was that right around the time he was in this big kerfuffle with God, the young lady who was responsible for said row was already back in Canada and headed for a sanatorium. There she was to be put in a body cast, probably for several years. (That’s if she lasted that long.)
The thing was, she had stopped at a church in Halifax to speak to some young people about the mission field, and right in the middle of her speech God just stepped in and “Bingo!” she was completely healed! Just like that! No trace of any illness in her body at all. Her spine just went completely straight again, and there was not a single sign of tuberculosis in her body. Done! In her own words, it happened like this:
When I arrived at the church I was led up to the front towards a chair, but as I started toward it God said to me, “Where do you think you’re going? I want you to stand at the podium!” So I did. When I began speaking I was leaning heavily on it, bent over, as I could not stand upright. As I continued speaking, all of a sudden the young people of the church started clapping. I had absolutely no idea at all why. I continued to speak but later they started clapping again, only this time they were laughing as well. I thought perhaps I had said or done something foolish, but I kept on talking anyway. What I didn’t realize was that as I was speaking I had begun to stand up straight. By the time I finished speaking I was standing erect and completely straight. The young people had seen all of this and that’s why they had started clapping in the first place. They knew before I did that God had been healing me as I spoke.1
After having x-rays redone and freaking everybody out, she returned to boot camp for reassignment less than a month and a half later with a straight back and no trace of tuberculosis. At 90 years old, she still stands erect and without pain.
Healed in May, back in July, and I bet you have no clue who she runs into at boot camp! Yep! You got ’er!—a certain daring (but very lovesick) young naval intelligence officer. The fireworks were ballistic. (What is it about camps and romance? Sigh.)
Now according to my father, he was just standing around minding his own business one day when he was, and I quote, “struck suddenly by a vision of beauty” who just happened to wander by. (Minding his own business?) Well Dad, not being one to waste any time, does a bit of fancy footwork and a few hours later has his “glory” alone on a riverbank and is asking if she wants to marry him and have four children (not a good example, Dad!).
Now I just love my mother. She says she wouldn’t mind the babies, but she’s not too sure about the boy. Poor Dad. You can tell she’s a fisherman’s daughter though, eh? Brilliant technique!
As things turned out they had to decide quickly as they were both going to be headed to different parts of the world very soon, so they shook hands on it (or something) and decided that they were going to tie the knot. Ten days later they were married, and they stayed that way happily for 45 years without one single serious argument, until my father passed away at home in her arms. This was after they had both lived incredibly amazing lives together, travelling all over the world in God’s service. Together they raised five children, and in all of my life there was never once that I ever thought ill of my father—ever. He is the reason it is so easy for me to call my God “Father.” As for my mother, no words can describe the love I hold in my heart for her.
It’s funny though; they didn’t put the whole—Mom getting healed and Dad praying for her—thing together until some years later. It must have been special for them—you know, all romantic and stuff. That was miracle #1 by the way. Here comes miracle #2.
You’re probably wondering where and when I come into the picture, but you’ll just have to wait because my big brother came first, and he’s the one who saved all our lives while I was still inside my mother just itching to get out and cause some trouble. (That’s not the miracle part—believe me.) For the miracle part, we’ve got to time warp forward about five years.
Now just to set the stage, Mom and Dad had been doing their missionary job at a leper colony in Bolivia up until my father got re-posted to work with InterVarsity Christian Fellowship, strengthening, encouraging, and organizing the Christian university students in Latin America. This of course means Mother got re-posted to work strengthening, encouraging, and organizing my six-year-old brother Scott and an unborn hell-raising Kevin onto
