Contrary to what you’ve heard, God is a big fan of people. He’s a huge fan. In fact, that’s why he came.
His visit was an under-the-radar thing. It was non-publicized. God wasn’t in it for press.
First, he came to Birmingham, Alabama. Of all places.
He stepped into a sleepy hospital corridor last night, and wandered the aisles barefoot. He stopped in the room of a little girl with terminal brain cancer.
The little girl was sleeping. He touched her bald little head. She never even knew he was there. All she knew was that she was dreaming of “angels and stuff.”
When the little girl awoke, something wonderful had happened. Something almost too impossible to believe.
Her mother was seated beside her bed. Asleep in her chair. The little girl sat upright. She stretched her arms. She yawned. She remarked how good she felt. Doctors checked her out. They couldn’t believe she felt “good.”
Because for the last six months, the child has felt like heck. For the last six months, the little girl has been dying. But today, something had shifted. All the treatments. All the therapy. Something was working.
Turns out, the scans the doctor sent away had come back all clear. The child okay. Not just a-little-bit okay. She is totally fine. No traces of cancer. Not a single bit. This child will live.
“My baby will live,” said her mother.
After that, God went to Oklahoma City. It’s not clear how he got there. Maybe he took a Greyhound. Maybe he flew. Maybe God doesn’t take public transportation. Maybe he just did the Star Trek thing, and beamed himself up.
Either way, he landed in a little town outside Oklahoma City. A dusty town which shall remain nameless, because it is small, and everyone knows everyone’s business.
There was an old man who was was suicidal. He is Cherokee. He was locked in his bathroom. He had the gun. He was going to do it. Really going to do it.
But then something warm washed all over him and told him, in an audible voice, “Don’t do it. Rachel drew you a picture.”
He stepped out of his bathtub when he heard the phone ring. It was his granddaughter. She was Facetiming him.
“Hey Grandpa,” said the 6-year-old child. “I called because I just drew you a picture.”
Her name is Rachel.
Then God then traveled to Oregon. The 33rd state. A state with rainforests, mountains and harsh deserts. God must have taken a pretty fast plane because he got there in just the nick of time.
There was a young man named Rob who was having a heart attack in his home. Rob is 26. He was standing in his hallway, and he was so scared. It’s not every day a 26-year-old collapses in his hallway, clutching his chest in terror.
“Don’t let me die, God,” Rob uttered.
When he woke up, he was in the ICU. The doctors said he had been dead for several minutes before they revived him.
His mother, who was sitting beside his hospital bed asked what he’d seen when he was clinically dead.
Rob said, “I just met my father.”
The young man’s father has been dead since he was a toddler. He’s only seen pictures.
“What did he say to you?” his mother asked.
“He said something about Baltimore, Maryland.”
His mother started crying.
“Why are you crying, Mom?” the kid asked.
“I never told you this, but your father asked me to marry him in Baltimore.”
Listen, I don’t know where this letter finds you tonight. I don’t know what you’re doing right now, or where you are spending Thanksgiving.
I don’t know whether you’re happy or sad. I don’t care whether you’re religious or not. Thanksgiving is one day away. And I don’t give the tiniest crap what you’ve heard, I want you to know that no matter who you are, no matter what you’ve done, God is your biggest fan.
I hope you have a happy Thanksgiving this year.
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