Miracles abound everywhere. I ran across this post and thought you might enjoy seeing how God still grants miracles. Christy Wilkens and her family travel to Lourdes with the Order of Malta American Association because their son, Oscar, suffers from refractory epilepsy and significant developmental delays. Doctors offer no clear diagnosis, only an expanding list of symptoms and therapies with limited progress.
After the baths in Lourdes, something changes.
During the remainder of the pilgrimage, Oscar seems more alert. He babbles more. He smiles more. He watches the world with a new intensity. The most striking moment comes the Saturday after they return home. In the van, Christy plays peekaboo — a game Oscar has never once understood. This time he anticipates the reveal. He laughs. He participates. He pushes her hand down before she can say “boo,” delighted by the joke.
In the days that follow, new abilities emerge. He responds to his name. He turns toward voices. He sits upright without slumping. He imitates gestures. At his neurology appointment, he makes direct eye contact and deliberately claps in response to encouragement. His therapists notice. His neurologist notices. The difference is undeniable.
Was he suddenly typical? No. But he is unmistakably changed — more engaged, more responsive, more present.
Christy names it plainly: miracle.
I will include a link to the full original post below for those who would like to read the entire account
Miracles abound everywhere. I ran across this post and thought you might enjoy seeing how God still grants miracles. Christy Wilkens and her family travel to Lourdes with the Order of Malta American Association because their son, Oscar, suffers from refractory epilepsy and significant developmental delays. Doctors offer no clear diagnosis, only an expanding list of symptoms and therapies with limited progress.
After the baths in Lourdes, something changes.
During the remainder of the pilgrimage, Oscar seems more alert. He babbles more. He smiles more. He watches the world with a new intensity. The most striking moment comes the Saturday after they return home. In the van, Christy plays peekaboo — a game Oscar has never once understood. This time he anticipates the reveal. He laughs. He participates. He pushes her hand down before she can say “boo,” delighted by the joke.
In the days that follow, new abilities emerge. He responds to his name. He turns toward voices. He sits upright without slumping. He imitates gestures. At his neurology appointment, he makes direct eye contact and deliberately claps in response to encouragement. His therapists notice. His neurologist notices. The difference is undeniable.
Was he suddenly typical? No. But he is unmistakably changed — more engaged, more responsive, more present.
Christy names it plainly: miracle.
I will include a link to the full original post below for those who would like to read the entire account
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