In a recent episode of the television show, Madame Secretary, the character playing the nation's powerful Secretary of State sat at the dining room table with her family, lamenting over how hard it is to be the parent of an adult child saying, “I no longer have control over your life.”
The writers must have been reading my prayer journal.
You get married, and become pregnant after suffering two miscarriages. You beg God for a daughter; endure three months of bed rest, 27 ½ hours of labor (including 6 hours of pushing) and behold the miracle you give the name that means “Gift from God”.
Like your parents before you, you adopt a baby and child-rearing book. Theirs was by Dr. Spock. Yours is by William Sears, who espouses something called “attachment parenting” – which means that you nurse your daughter, co-sleep with her, homeschool her and over twenty-one years, become most definitely attached.
Then, along comes a boyfriend - and suddenly, your “Gift from God” becomes attached - to someone else. And you find yourself in yet another argument with her as she is conflicted over participating in an annual family outing – or waiting for her boyfriend.
It’s a sunny day in October, warm enough to make you bless God for extending the gift of summer to you, when the phone rings. The caller ID says it’s from your “Gift from God”, but it’s not her voice that says, “Hello Mr. Steiger, there’s been an accident.”
And immediately you begin to see God in action.
The boyfriend tells you your beautiful daughter has some cuts on her chin. A “word of knowledge” from the Lord prompts you to ask, “Did the car flip?”
At that moment, your daughter is in an ambulance headed to a hospital you’ve never heard of, forty miles and nine cities away. Another “word of knowledge” from the Lord prompts you to pray for Him to protect her face.
When you make it to the emergency room, you understand why.
Two weeks ago, a friend of mine returned from a trip to Europe with her husband. They visited a number of well-known, historical churches while they were there, which my friend felt were just dead inside. She said they seemed to be missing the very presence of God. So she prayed in each one for them to be filled with the Holy Spirit, and in one of those churches, this happened:
Psalm 91 is a prayer of protection. Since producing that video clip two weeks ago, I have been spending more time reading, reflecting on and praying that Psalm, which reminds us that in order to receive God’s protection, we must abide under the shelter of His wings.
And then the phone rang.
When the car carrying my daughter and her boyfriend flipped onto its roof, the boyfriend said “Someone” was definitely with them inside the car. He walked away without a scratch, and helped get my daughter out. Though the car was smoking, it did not explode or catch fire.
They were immediately approached by a man who had been driving behind them. “I’m a nurse,” he told them. Then a woman joined them. “I’m a doctor,” she said. She was followed by yet another nurse, and within five minutes - two EMT units, several police cars – and a German shepherd.
When I beheld my daughter in the emergency room, I saw a two-inch piece of black tubing embedded under her chin. I thought it was part of the medical work-up they were doing on her. I learned she had been impaled by it when the car flipped. And her jaw was fractured.
But her face was intact. Her eyes had not been injured. Her head had not been hit. Her limbs were fine, as was her neck, her spine and her internal organs. She would undergo surgery to repair her jaw, and in a 24-hour period of utter exhaustion, when we dealt with some wonderful nurses and doctors, and others who obviously forget the second part of the compound word healthCARE, God blessed us in several ways.
First He gave us prayer warriors spanning the breadth of the country to lift us up before him. One of those prayer warriors called me as I sat outside of the emergency room. He had felt strongly impressed to tell me the Lord wanted him to pray Psalm 91 verse 2 over us.
Two days before the accident I learned of a package of musical frequencies called Wholetones. It was produced by a Christian musician with an amazing story to tell of how God has given us thepower of music to heal. The morning before the accident, I felt compelled to purchase the package. By Sunday night, the piece titled Open Door played continuously in my daughter's ears.
And on the night of the surgery, one of the surgeons who had been kind enough to show me my daughter’s cat scan and explain what the surgery would entail, stopped by her bedside a couple of times as we waited in pre-op with her. I noticed that he wore a necklace with a gold cross on it. I caught his eye and without a word, marked a small cross on my chest. Without a word, he looked at me with the slightest of smiles and nodded.
Jesus would be in the operating room taking care of my “Gift from God.”
To read more about how God communicates with us everyday, pick up a copy of
It's Not Gas...It's God! the Book
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