Come and hear what He has done.

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My son didn't speak to me for three years. Three Christmases. I prayed every morning, 'Father, would you go where I cannot.' Last week he called. He didn't say much; he just asked if I'd come for dinner. I said yes. I cried in the kitchen after I hung up. I am writing this with shaking hands.

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For ten years I tried to fix myself. I read every self-help book, started every program, made every promise to my wife and broke every one of them. Then one morning, on a bus in Lagos, a stranger handed me a tract. I read it. I haven't been the same person since. The fight isn't over but I'm not fighting alone anymore.

The lump came back in October. I went home from the clinic and sat in my car and didn't cry. I just said, 'Jesus, I don't have any words.' That night I dreamed I was held. That's the only way I can put it. The scans in February came back clear. I don't say He always heals; I'm not naive. I say He met me in the car.

I lost the contract on a Tuesday. By Friday I didn't know how rent was getting paid. I'd never been there before. I sat at the table and asked plainly. On Sunday a woman from a church I'd visited twice called and said the words 'I felt I should send you something.' It was exactly the amount. I am still working on what to do with that experience. I'm starting by telling people.

Peace came late and it came in pieces. After my husband left, after the diagnosis, after the years of just keeping the kids fed — there was a Tuesday morning, nothing special, and I sat on my back step with coffee and the peace was just there. Like a coat someone had put on me while I was sleeping. I don't know how else to say it.