These aren’t my stories, but I’m going to tell them.
Let’s call her Dana. Dana was going for a walk near her home. It was a dirt road. Her high-school reunion was coming up, she was getting into shape.
A truck pulled beside her. He slowed down. He rolled his window open, he asked if she needed a ride.
Something was wrong. It was the way he looked at her.
Before she knew it, he’d jumped out of the vehicle. She tried to get away. He overpowered her and threw her into a ditch.
She landed a few good hits to his face, but he outweighed her.
He used a pocketknife. He pressed it against her. She screamed something. She doesn’t remember which words she used, but she aimed them toward heaven.
Something happened.
His body froze. Completely. He was like a statue, only meaner. She wanted to run, but she was too scared.
That’s when she saw another man standing above her attacker. He was tall, with a calm face.
“It’s gonna be okay, Dana,” the tall man said. “Go on home, sweetie, everything’s gonna be okay.”
Here’s another:
Jim was dying. A seventy-something Vietnam veteran with high morals, pancreatic cancer, and a two-packs-a-day habit.
Doctors said his cancer would kill him.
Treatments were hell. Jim met a man in the VA hospital. A homeless man with a duffle bag. A fellow vet.
They shared a few cigarettes. They swapped stories. They understood each other. Jim invited the man home.
The man stayed in Jim’s guest room. He stayed for several months.
He became Jim’s caregiver. He wiped Jim’s mouth after episodes of vomiting, he stayed up late during sleepless nights, he helped Jim bathe. He’d pat Jim’s back when nausea got bad, saying, “It’s gonna be alright.”
And he was there on Jim’s final day, too. He waited in the den while Jim’s family gathered around his bed. When the ambulance arrived, he hoisted Jim into it.
Nobody ever saw the man again.
And I’m not done yet.
Carrie was a nursing student. She was on her way home for Christmas break. Her children were in the car. They were singing with the radio.
She hit a deer. An eight-point. It shattered her windshield. Think: antlers, screeching, crashing, screaming. She blacked out.
She woke to the smell of gasoline. Her children were crying. She was bleeding.
A man appeared at her window. “It’s gonna be okay, sweetie,” he said.
He muscled her door open. He helped her out of the car, he carried her children to safety.
Only moments after they fled the vehicle, it caught fire and turned to soot.
The man didn’t stick around.
So anyway, I don’t know what you think about the nature of life. I don’t know how you feel about miracles. And I don’t care.
Because I know you—sort of. You’re human. Sometimes you feel like you’re losing. Sometimes you feel overlooked and alone. Sometimes you talk to the sky and hope it will answer you. Sometimes you wonder if you’re going to make it.
I’ve spent this entire morning reading letters. They are stories sent to me from people who have seen things bigger than themselves.
It changed the way they see the world. It changed the way they think, even in hellish moments. And they have a message for you. It’s the same message that was delivered to them when they needed it most.
It’s going to be all right.
9 comments
Sonja Jenkins - March 4, 2024 4:20 am
I just left your show in Tupelo, Mississippi, and I cannot imagine a more delightful way to spend a Sunday afternoon! The music, the stories, the laughter lifted my heart and soul! You are one of those bright lights in this world…thank you for sharing your gifts.
Dee Thompson - March 4, 2024 4:51 am
Beautiful column. Years ago I read a book called God Stories and it changed my life. There are so many of these stories out there. All are evidence that God exists, I think. I am here because my mother went to a 4th of July party, in labor, and wanted her barbeque and peach cobbler. With her first baby she was in labor for many hours. The host noticed she was in labor, called an ambulance and rode with her to the hospital, after slowing the labor. He unwrapped the cord from around the baby’s neck and saved her life. He was Mom’s OBGYN. His name was Dr. WG Watson and he delivered more than 15,000 babies in Augusta Georgia in his long career. He never retired. He was still assisting at births at age 102 [see here: https://www.augustachronicle.com/story/lifestyle/health-fitness/2012/10/24/dr-wg-curly-watson-touched-thousands-lives-his-career-life/14477968007/%5D. I saw him years later and said “Thanks for getting me out of a tight spot!” I was young and glib. I wish, in hindsight, that I had said “Thank you for saving my life.” Angels are all around us, all the time.
Arthur Frymyer - March 4, 2024 2:36 pm
I was raised in a cult by a stepfather who used religion as a weapon. When I left home, I wouldn’t set foot in a church for 25 years. I hated religion. But during that time I married a wonderful woman. She was often sick and had degenerative disc syndrome. Surgery was a common thing for her.
My mom may have been in a cult, but there is no denying that when she prayed, things happened. So whenever my wife had to go in for surgery, she always asked my mom to pray for her. After my mom passed, the next time my wife went in for surgery she was scared to death because mom wasn’t there to pray for her. So we were in the car on the way to the hospital when a streak of red light came out of the field on the left, maybe 30 feet in front of the car and probably 10 feet off the ground. It continued to the edge of the field on the right side of the road and raised up to clear the trees at the edge of the field. It was heading in the direction of the hospital, as the crow flies.
My wife and I looked at each other. “Did you see that?” we asked each other. We had both seen it. And we knew who it was. It was my mom, still praying for us from the other side. All fear was instantly gone. And the surgery held longer than any other surgery before or after.
As I said, I hated religion. It was this experience that kept me from going full atheist. I can’t prove the existence of the afterlife, but I know what I saw with my own eyes. And for me, it is enough.
DW Rottweiler on Facebook aka David Tiesler - March 4, 2024 5:45 pm
Love you writings sir looking forward to shaking your hand on June 6th so impressed I am bringing my mother with me as well as my future wife! Thank you for all you do ! PS I love your dog !! I have a bunch of rescues myself and an older Maltese Rusty who is blind
DW Rottweiler on Facebook - March 4, 2024 6:18 pm
please excuse the grammatical error meant to say ” I Love your writings sir ” but ok with the word love as I appreciate you that much have a great day lol 🙂
Alison Baird - March 4, 2024 9:19 pm
I just got home to Arkansas after seeing you in Tupelo. It was a wonderful afternoon! Tell Jaime that if Mountain Home doesn’t work out, she might contact ASU Jonesboro or ASU Beebe. I think you would draw a good crowd at either venue. Love you! Signed the crazy school teacher from Arkansas that wants to adopt you😊❤
stephen e acree - March 5, 2024 12:13 am
Sean, what is it like to be so loved by so many? You have touched thousands by your words and insights into human behavior. From your suffering has come amazing thoughts about this world and the pain and joy it contains. And the miracles you keep reading about. I’m amazed you can read all the letters you get now.
Thomas Smith - March 5, 2024 3:21 am
One day I will make my way to Elvis’ birthplace. Like yours, my dad was an Elvis man. I cut my teeth on Elvis, Hank Sr., and Marty Robbins.
Vince - March 6, 2024 11:57 pm
Some angels write and share all the good in this world that evening news seems to miss.