Christmas Miracles: Foreword by Don Piper, Author of 90 Minutes in Heaven

by Cecil Murphey, Marley Gibson

Overview

Celebrate the season of hope and miracles with these inspiring true stories that will warm the heart and touch the soul…

A man lies gravely ill in the hospital on Christmas when he hears angels singing and immediately makes a full recovery. A little boy with dyslexia sits down to read a Christmas book and realizes that his disability has vanished. And a woman's faith is renewed by the chance discovery of a simple nativity set.

Many ordinary people experience God's grace during those special moments when Christmas becomes more than just a holiday, but a time for miracles. Cecil Murphey and Marley Gibson bring you the real-life stories of everyday people who have experienced these life-changing moments of hope, comfort, and transformation—all during the most wonderful time of the year.

Product Details

ISBN-13:	9781429987943
Publisher:	St. Martin's Publishing Group
Publication date:	10/13/2009
Sold by:	Macmillan
Format:	eBook
Pages:	256
Sales rank:	901,123
File size:	283 KB

About the Author

CECIL MURPHEY is the co-author of the New York Times bestseller 90 Minutes in Heaven. He has published 108 books and lectures widely. MARLEY GIBSON has written several young adult novels.

Cecil Murphey is the co-author of the New York Times bestseller 90 Minutes in Heaven, and the books Christmas Miracles and The Spirit of Christmas.

Marley Gibson has written several young adult novels.

Read an Excerpt

CHAPTER 1

My First Christmas

Cecil Murphey

I sang with the small group that gathered around the piano. Shirley, whom I later married, played carols and sang alto. My best friend, John Burbank, had a beautiful tenor voice. Others harmonized so their voices blended nicely. I knew enough about music to realize it sounded better if I moved away and listened.

I walked over to the window and stared into the dark evening. The snow had started to fall shortly after lunch on that Thursday — four days before Christmas. By now, at least two inches had accumulated. The streetlight made the heavy flakes glow as they hit the ground.

Just then, Shirley began to play "O Come, All Ye Faithful." Of all the carols, that was and continues to be my favorite. Momentarily I closed my eyes and listened to them sing. When they finished the third stanza, I asked, "Would you sing it again? Just for me?"

Shirley touched the keys and they sang.

That was one of the most perfect moments in my life. Each Christmas I reflect on that scene. Many years have passed so my memory may not be accurate on every detail. It doesn't matter: That was my first Christmas — the first time I grasped the meaning and the purpose of that holy day.

I was a month away from my twenty-second birthday. I had grown up with a limited exposure to the church during my first eleven years. That's when I decided that church was "for old ladies and dumb kids." I had walked out of a Sunday school class, out of the building, and as far from Christianity as I could. For a decade I never walked inside a church building.

At age twenty-one, my world crashed over an aborted love affair. In my pain, I thought about God, and went to a church service. I'm not even sure why. On my way out, I picked up a free New Testament. I didn't return to that church, but I did read the New Testament.

After months of almost-daily reading, I decided I believed what I read. "If I believe, I need to do something about this," I said to myself. That's when I seriously attended church. I met Shirley and we fell in love. Six weeks before Christmas I was baptized in her church.

As the group reached the crescendo with "Christ the Lord," I smiled. I understood those words. It's not that they had been unintelligible; it was that I had been unable to personalize the Christmas message.

I knew the story — what child didn't? But until that night, the meaning of Christmas had been lost on me. The season had been one of giving and receiving gifts, of constant music in stores, and greetings everywhere of "Merry Christmas." People decorated their houses and sometimes their yards. The theaters released their cheery and sometimes sappy Christmas films.

At home my mother always made mince pie — her favorite, I suppose. Friends gave me gifts and I bought presents for them. In general, people seemed a little nicer and maybe a few degrees happier.

On that Thursday night before Christmas, I understood. Christmas is a night of promise — a promise to the entire world. God presented his greatest miracle to the world. In God's quiet way he was saying, "This is to show you my love. I've given you my son. One day he will grow up and willingly die for you. That's how much I love you — enough to give you the most important thing in the universe — a part of myself."

Tears surfaced and I turned away from the group. I suppose I was too embarrassed to let them see my tears. But those were what I called happy tears.

This is my first Christmas. Now I know what it means.

In the years since, I've celebrated Jesus' birth in many places and under varying circumstances. Many of them were special moments for me. But none of them have ever touched me quite as deeply as that first one.

Perhaps that's the reason: It was the first. It was an awakening. From someone who had no interest in spiritual things, God performed a special miracle in my life. That baby was a living love letter to me.

CHAPTER 2

Miracle in the Storm

Elizabeth M. Harbuck with Marley Gibson

Christmas 1967 might have been a delightful but ordinary time except for one thing. Mother and Daddy drove from Alabama to Massachusetts to spend the Christmas holiday with us. They traveled in their new four-door Thunderbird, which was the prettiest car they had ever owned. Before they made the long trip north, Daddy had it serviced at the local garage.

We had a wonderful time together and did all the seasonal things. We attended Christmas Eve service at church, wrapped and later unwrapped presents, talked, joked, baked, and argued about whether this year's dressing in the turkey was as good as last year's.

The beautiful white Christmas was perfect for New England. Then the day came for my parents to leave. The snow had piled high on the ground and the weather reports predicted more. I was a little worried and asked them to stay.

Daddy wasn't concerned. "I've driven in heavy snow many times," he reminded us. He also pointed out that they would drive on the then-new interstate highways. "Besides, I have a new car and it's in top condition. I don't expect any problems getting home."

They considered stopping at a motel until the storm blew over, but decided to drive through to Alabama. Somewhere in Connecticut, a blinding snowstorm caught them. Daddy had about a five-foot visibility. He slowed the car to a crawl. They hadn't seen any other vehicles for a long time and no snowplows had come through.

Just then, his right-rear tire blew. The car jolted and thudded as the rim of the wheel took the weight. He pulled the car to the side of the road. The visibility hadn't improved and snow pelted the car. He was weak and feverish. Neither he nor Mother had any idea where they were except somewhere in Connecticut. This happened long before the day of cell phones.

Daddy had a choice: He could wait until someone came along to help — and neither of them had any idea when that would happen — or he could get out in the blizzard and change it himself.

"Sit tight," he told Mother. "I'll change it as quickly as I can."

"Let me help —"

"One of us out in the storm is enough. No sense in your getting sick. Stay inside, pray, and keep warm."

Mother was upset over the flat tire. She also felt concerned about his safety. They had heard terrible stories of people being robbed on the highway. After Daddy got out of the car, she folded her hands together, closed her eyes, and prayed, "Dear God, please help us."

No sooner had Daddy opened the trunk to take out the jack than two young men appeared.

Surprised, Daddy looked up. He had no idea where they came from and didn't see another car. His immediate reaction was, Oh, they're going to rob us.Maybe kill us.

"Hello there!" one of them called in a cheery voice.

"Sir, we'll be glad to change the tire for you."

"Thank you, but —"

"Please get back in the car, sir," the second man said. "It's freezing out here. We'll change the tire."

Afraid to argue with them, Daddy nodded and turned back. He got inside the car.

"You haven't changed the tire already?" Mother said.

He shook his head and took her hand. She couldn't see what was going on, so Daddy explained about the two men.

"Do you think it's safe?" she asked.

"I don't know," he said. "But they don't seem bad. Besides, we don't have a choice, do we?"

Mother continued to pray.

The two men changed the tire quickly and put the jack and the flat inside the trunk. After they finished, one of them tapped on the window. Daddy lowered the window.

"It's all done, sir." He waved and they started to walk away.

"Wait! Let me pay you something."

It took a few seconds for Daddy to roll up the window and get out of the car. He looked around and couldn't see the two men.

Puzzled, he walked to the back of the car. The new tire was on but they were gone. He looked around. He couldn't see evidence that a truck or car had stopped. He turned in the direction the two men had gone.

He saw no footprints except his own.

When he got back inside the car, he explained the strange situation to my mother.

"God answered my prayer," she said. "He sent two angels."

"Do you think they were angels? Really?"

"Christmas angels," she said. "Sent by God to help us, and they left when their job was done. In the Bible, isn't that how angels did things?" More than forty years have passed since that Christmas and my parents have told the story many, many times. Most people believe it; a few remain skeptical.

"It doesn't matter whether you believe," my mother would answer. "We know that we had a true Christmas miracle in Connecticut when two angels watched over us by changing our flat tire in the middle of a snowstorm."

CHAPTER 3

Our Miracle Man

Jean Matthew Hall

Jerry, my husband, has diabetes. It is an insidious disease that can destroy every major body system. Years ago it destroyed his vision. The diabetes also damaged the nerves in his hands and legs, a condition known as peripheral neuropathy.

On December 8, 2003, Jerry became ill with flulike symptoms, but he wouldn't go to the doctor. The next day he felt horrible and was even worse by December 10.

On Saturday morning he seemed to be somewhat better. We had planned to pick up my elderly mother to spend Christmas with us. Jerry insisted we should go ahead with the trip because he felt better. Besides, he assured me, he could lie down in the backseat of the car and rest during the drive. Late Saturday afternoon we headed south.

By the time we picked up my mother, Jerry felt worse than he had been in the beginning. It was late at night and I was in a dilemma. Should I take him to a strange emergency room where doctors were unfamiliar with his health problems? Should I race back home to his doctors? I prayed for wisdom and decided to head for home. I hadn't prayed that earnestly or driven that fast in my life. I made it home in record time, dropped my mother off, picked up my daughter, and raced to the Veterans Administration hospital.

We arrived at the VA Medical Center at six o'clock Sunday morning. Jerry was coughing and having difficulty breathing. He sweated profusely and was pale and weak. An EKG showed nothing suspicious. The ER doctor suspected pneumonia and admitted Jerry. Just as a precaution she sent him to ICU so he would have close observation.

I praise God for that decision.

The orderly chatted with us as the elevator slowly climbed to the third floor. He asked us to wait in the hall, and he pushed Jerry's gurney through the automatic doors into the ICU. "A doctor will be right out to talk with you," he said.

Jerry smiled and waved to us. The automatic doors slid together and he was out of our sight.

I later learned that a nurse immediately greeted Jerry then turned to pick up the paperwork. When she turned back to Jerry, he was pasty-white, his lips were blue, and his eyes had rolled up in his head. His heart had stopped. Tests later revealed that it was his second heart attack within a few days.

"Code blue ICU. Code blue ICU," sounded over the intercom system.

We heard the message, but we didn't know what the code meant and we certainly didn't think it had anything to do with Jerry. Half-a-dozen people rushed past us and into the ICU.

We watched and waited. No one told us anything.

After perhaps half an hour, a respiratory therapist came out and saw us standing in the hall. "They got him back," he said. "They're still not sure he will make it."

"What? What are you talking about?" I grabbed my daughter's hand.

"You don't know? Nobody's talked to you?"

"No one has told us —"

"I'll get a doctor." He pushed the big blue button for the automatic doors and disappeared.

Our daughter started to cry.

I tried to comfort her, but I didn't know what was going on. After perhaps three minutes, a doctor came out of the ICU.

"Your husband suffered a massive coronary." She told us they were doing everything they could, but there was little chance that he could survive. "I think you need to contact your family members immediately."

I got on the phone and started to make calls. Our son flew in from Kentucky. Jerry's brother drove from Florida. In a tiny room near the ICU we waited. Each time we saw his doctor, she paused, took my hands, and said, "Pray, Mrs. Hall. There is nothing else to do."

I was the elementary principal at a Christian school. I called my boss and he started the school's prayer chain going. Soon hundreds, perhaps thousands, of people were praying.

Jerry grew worse.

His doctor asked if we wanted him transferred to another hospital with a specialized heart team.

"Is he strong enough for the trip?"

She shook her head, placed her hand on my shoulder, and said, "I don't believe he could make it from the floor to the helicopter alive. I have to ask, though, because the decision is yours."

I shook my head. "Keep him here."

She left us.

We prayed.

Jerry grew weaker.

December 18 was the night of our annual Christmas concert at the school where I taught. For years, the concert had been my responsibility. In my absence my wonderful staff members kept things on track, encouraged me, and prayed for my family.

They practiced and prayed while Jerry lay suspended between life and death. Friends later told me that the children sang their best that night. About eight thirty, the concert ended. Our administrator, who was my boss and friend, stood and explained to everyone about Jerry's desperate condition. He asked them to join him in praying for a miracle.

A hush came over the group as he prayed aloud. The three hundred and fifty children and adults stood for prayer. A few children cried softly. Parents and grandparents stood and prayed for God's mercy. Staff members tried to comfort children in the choir. Several people dropped to their knees to intercede for Jerry. A wave of sobs rippled through the crowd.

About ten o'clock that night a nurse came to the door of the waiting room. I climbed over our son's six-foot frame asleep on the floor, and went out into the silent hallway to talk to her.

"I don't know what's happening, but his vital signs are getting steadily better."

"He's better?"

"He regained consciousness and he's agitated by the ventilator now."

Thankful to God for sparing him, tears flowed down my cheeks.

"I thought maybe he might calm down if he heard your voice." She led me into the CCU and to his bedside.

I spoke softly to Jerry. I tried to explain what had happened. He blinked several times and pointed to the ventilator tube taped to his mouth.

Within twenty-four hours Jerry was off the ventilator and gaining strength. We spent Christmas Day in another VA hospital awaiting a quadruple bypass, but by Easter Jerry had recovered fully.

His doctor still shakes her head each time she sees us. "It is a miracle, Mrs. Hall. That's the only explanation." She turns to Jerry and says, "You should not be here now. You are our miracle man."

Today Jerry's heart is stronger and healthier than it has been for years. He praises God for answering the prayers of our friends and family, and the children in that school.

God gave us a miracle — a Christmas miracle. It was the greatest gift we could have received. Jerry is still around and we agree with his doctor, he's our miracle man.

CHAPTER 4

Miracle of the Nativity

Tracy Ruckman

December that year appeared bleak. As a newly single parent of two small boys, I worked two jobs to pay our bills. At times, it seemed I earned just enough salary to pay the babysitter, with nothing left over for the basics.

Then it got worse.

In the first week of December, the owners of the store where I worked full time decided to focus their energies on their parent store in another town, and planned to close ours within a few days. The same week I received my notice, I had a disagreement with the editor of the paper where I worked my second job. He wanted me to report a false story. When I refused, he forced me to resign.

In one week's time, I lost two jobs — both just before Christmas.

I spent most of my time seeking other jobs, and tried to keep life as normal as possible for the children. The dreary weather matched my mood, and I struggled to stay upbeat for my kids. Their world — my world — depended on me, and I seemed to be failing miserably.

On December 12, I came home from one of my final days at work to find a black trash bag hanging on my front door. I shifted the baby to one arm, and with the other, cautiously lifted the bag from the handle. "Stay back," I yelled at my older son. I had no idea what was inside.

(Continues…)

---

Excerpted from "Christmas Miracles"
by .
Copyright © 2009 Cecil Murphey and Marley Gibson.
Excerpted by permission of St. Martin's Press.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

---

Table of Contents

Acknowledgments,
Foreword,
1. My First Christmas • Cecil Murphey,
2. Miracle in the Storm • Elizabeth M. Harbuck with Marley Gibson,
3. Our Miracle Man • Jean Matthew Hall,
4. Miracle of the Nativity • Tracy Ruckman,
5. Hungry at Christmas • Geni J. White,
6. Do You Trust Me? • Edwina Perkins,
7. Christmas in the ICU • Cindy Thomson,
8. Milton's Gift • Dianna Graveman,
9. Three Christmas Eve Miracles • Fred W. Iverson,
10. Homeless at Christmas • Sandy Cathcart,
11. The Day God Laughed • Marcia Lee Laycock,
12. The Gift • Pam Bostwick,
13. Black Shoes for Christmas • Cecil Murphey,
14. A Ruined Christmas Eve • Sunny Marie Hackman,
15. The Greater Miracle • Shawnelle Eliasen,
16. A Small Christmas Miracle • Beverly Hill McKinney,
17. Breakfast with Santa • Claudia Sodaro,
18. All I Want for Christmas • Madeleine Kuderick,
19. Stranded in Thailand • Scoti Springfield Domeij,
20. Miracle on the Train • Violet Moore,
21. Holy Ham at Christmas • Celeste Coleman with Jane Rumph,
22. Always a Christmas Tree • Pamela J. McCann,
23. A Christmas Basket • Laurie Kolp,
24. The Christmas Guest • Donna Dawson,
25. The Birthday Party • Shari McMinn,
26. "Let's Play, Mommy!" • Lisa-Anne Wooldridge,
27. The Magical Twenty • Virginia B. Tenery,
28. The Question • Donna Teti,
29. "Thank You, Amen" • Elizabeth M. Harbuck with Marley Gibson,
30. A Christmas Lesson • Suzan L. Wiener,
31. Poinsettias from God • Twila Belk,
32. A Lucky Christmas Miracle • Dave Schrader,
33. A Christmas Child • Theresa Robbins with Kathy Winchell,
34. The Miracle of "The Lord's Prayer" • Kelly Carper Polden,
35. One Turbulent Christmas Season • Florence C. Blake,
36. Baby Jesus Lost • Emily Osburne,
37. Ian's Christmas Gift • Jennifer Lynn Cary,
38. A Christmas Healing • Ingrid Briles,
39. A Light in the Closet • Renie Burghardt,
40. Pray and Trust • Drienie Hattingh,
41. Stretching Christmas • Mary Kay Moody,
42. A Little Angel's Big Prayer • Phyllis Ring,
43. "Do Not Worry" • Denise Aulie,
44. A Christmas Miracle • Sheila Wipperman,
45. Miracles in a Box • Jane McBride Choate,
46. It Took a Miracle • Twila Belk,
47. Facing Failure at Christmas • Cecil Murphey,
48. Sean's Question • Sara Zinn,
Who We Are,