The Miracle Man

The fifty-something patient arrived right after me. He used a cane and wore an elaborate neck brace. With what appeared a practiced effort, he settled on the chair to my left. We were in the radiology waiting room of my orthopedist’s office, a space with a dozen identical seats in rows. Patients came and went, a kind of musical chairs for the walking wounded.

I was there to X-ray my troublesome right foot. I figured his reason had to involve the neck or spine. Because I’m randomly shy, and because he couldn’t turn to face me, I remained silent.

Two more people arrived and sat in the row facing me. I wasn’t sure if they were married or friends or siblings. She completed forms while he fussed with his phone. Probably in his late thirties, casually dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, he looked up from his phone and smiled at the man with the neck brace. They were directly across from each other.

“What happened?” he asked.

With words as rehearsed as how he’d initially sat, the man to my left briefly explained. He’d apparently had several discs in his spine fused together several years before. New problems demanded more X-rays. He mentioned the possibility of a metal bar being inserted along his spine. My troublesome foot seemed trivial.

Focused on the man with the neck brace, his phone ignored, the fellow asked, “Is it all right if I pray for you?”

That startled me. Did I hear him correctly?

Beside me, there was silence.

“I’m having a church meeting tonight. Would it be okay for us to pray about healing for you?”

A little more silence. Then, “Sure. That’d be nice.”

“What’s your name?”

“Lee.”

Nodding, he quickly returned to his phone and—this is a guess—wrote a note which probably included Lee’s name.

“Thank you,” Lee said.

“I’ll pray for a miracle for you. We’ve had lots of miracles. Cancer. Heart conditions. Many other things. I’ll pray that you are healed at our meeting tonight.”

They talked a bit longer, with Lee mentioning a friend’s abrupt, unexpected death and the man across from him gently repeating the power of prayers and miracles.

Lee’s name was called. He left.

Seconds later, the woman beside who I now thought of as Miracle Man, also left. She followed an assistant in scrubs out of the waiting area. More patients arrived. Miracle Man smiled at me and returned to his phone.

“What church are you part of?” I asked.

I am shy, officially introverted according to the Myers-Briggs personality inventory. In truth, I’m shy and brash, intro- and extroverted. A retired United Methodist pastor, I’m also a mix of reverent and irreverent. I’m forever fascinated by different Christian denominations, other faith traditions, and those who claim no faith.

Miracle Man said he belonged to a Pentecostal Church in Hanford, a town thirty miles from Fresno.

“We mostly meet in homes,” he said. “That’s when we gather to pray for miracles.”

Our time together abruptly ended when an assistant called my name.

Miracle Man and I made eye contact. We nodded and smiled. I limped away.

I recall being a new pastor at a rural church in California’s Mendocino County. On my first Sunday, several church leaders told me that I must visit Ron. He was a blacksmith, a “really good man,” they said, and Ron had surgery scheduled for a brain tumor.

I visited Ron and his family a few days later. Wonderful folks. We prayed. For hope. For healing. For he and his wife. For the surgeons who’d soon literally explore inside his brain.

Before I left, Ron said, “I believe in prayer. In miracles. But also, in good doctors.”

Ron lived. He later fulfilled his lifetime dream and became a veterinarian.

I think about Miracle Man. My irreverent side couldn’t ignore the irony when he spoke of miracles while we—including his companion and Lee with the neck brace and other patients—were surrounded by medical technology and highly-educated doctors. We were all hurting, some with injuries requiring X-rays, but I’m sure everyone with grief or regrets or fears.

What is a miracle?

• Was the bullet that only nicked President Trump’s ear a miracle? Then what of Corey Comperatore, protecting his family at the Butler, Pennsylvania rally, and yet killed by the same assassin’s gun?

• People were miraculously found alive in buildings destroyed by the June 2026 Venezuelan earthquakes. What about those who died under the same collapsed structures?

• I recently watched Miracle again, the movie about the U.S. hockey team beating the U.S.S.R. in the 1980 Olympics. A miracle? Good luck? Hard work? All three?

I’m aware of the presence and absence of God in my life. I believe in miracles but do question how easily we label events as miracles. What I also believe in is the kind-heartedness revealed when Miracle Man reached out to another.

I’m confident that later that night he’d be praying for Lee. I will be praying too.

Thanks for reading. More next week . . .

in Peace,

Larry Patten

Photo from here.