Jesus looked at them and said, “With man this is impossible, but not with God; all things are possible with God.”—Mark 10:27 (NIV)

Six years after my deliverance from pain and prescription opioids, you’d think my miracle would’ve lost a little luster. But there’s no trip back in time like revisiting old journals. When life was its hardest, I’d named them Learnals. Yearnals. 

How well I remembered the cheerful spiral book with hearts sprinkled on its cover. A bud of hope lived in my heart awaiting winter’s thaw. But an unexpected tumor surgery took care of that. 

I was almost afraid to crack it open, to return to days I’d tried to forget. Yet something compelled me. Its pages were devoid of entries. A chill came over me. I’d been in so much pain I couldn’t even jot in a journal. 

As I closed the cover, I noticed a single entry I’d missed before. The words were dated and in quotation marks, but no author was cited. A snippet of conversation or a comment on the radio? 

“What would you dream that is so impossible, if it came true, you would know for certain it was from God?” 

Fourteen years before, I’d scrawled in a shaky hand, the most fragile of faith: “I’d dream of no more tumor pain. But everyone knows that’s impossible.” These days, I give away journals so struggling others can dare to believe. Miracles aren’t always borne of faith that moves mountains. Only of a God who does.