It was a loud bang with the door kicked in, watching three rival gang members entering in. The blade flashed open with angry eyes.

Being penned into a corner, he felt the sting of the blade stabbed into his stomach. Then came the excruciating pain as the blade was yanked upward. All the drugs he had taken couldn’t kill the pain.

As they turned and ran out the door, he stumbled out, collapsing in the parking lot of the old motel. His guts were extending out of the wound as he saw others rushing to his aid. Asking him if he needed help, all he could do was shake his head.

Floating in and out of consciousness with EMTs on all sides. Slowly going for the long haul. He could hear them say, “he’s not going to make it.”

Returning to consciousness, he opened his eyes. He saw angels all around, with doctors and nurses wide-eyed and jaws dropped. Floating back to unconsciousness.

After two days of going through the pains, he was told he needed to get up and walk. Crawling out of bed, he noticed the black Xs on his hands and feet. He knew what that meant.

Finally being released and going home, he thought hard about it all. He knew he had died and who saved his life. The outstretched hand from above wasn’t done with him yet.

Knowing his life was a miracle, he had a bigger calling to fulfill. He knew he was a miracle child with a message to tell.



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@Becky M Scranton