By Kathryn Kuhlman
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Additional resources for 10,000 miles for a miracle
I bit my lips. I wanted, desperately, to testify of the healing power of God, but I was afraid to tell Dr. Etheridge that I had been to the meetings—and that God had touched me. So I said nothing. Like Simon Peter of old, I refused to testify that I had been touched by God. Even as I left the doctor's office I felt I could sense the sad eyes of Jesus on me. The healing was mine. He had given it to me. But I had refused to take it ... had refused to testify. Exhausted, I had to retire early that night.
At dinner Jack surveyed the table, then looked up at me. "Like cheese and wine, you improve with age, Morag," he said with a sly grin. "Wine I know nothing about, thank you," I laughed. " Jack reached over and squeezed my hand, then bowed his head and asked grace. "Lord, I thank you for these fifteen years ... " My mind wandered as he finished his prayer. Was fifteen years with Jack all I would have? Rob could grow up and take care of himself, but who would care for Bruce if I were gone? I tried to enjoy the dinner, but fingers of fear had snatched my appetite.
I had almost forgotten about Bruce who was standing behind me. I grabbed his hand and pulled him toward Miss Kuhlman. The doctor was telling her something about my aorta valve ... Australia ... Bruce ... and suddenly I was on my back on the floor. For a moment I had a vision of Elijah, ascending to heaven in a whirlwind, and then it was like the emerald South Pacific at dawn, stretching for limitless miles beyond the horizon, calm and glassy, with only a slight ripple on the beach. Someone helped me to my feet and I saw Miss Kuhlman's face in front of me, smiling.