Miracles Come in All Sizes

I'm trying to teach my kids about the power of prayer and how God can do anything, even miracles--not just with the big stuff, but with the everyday little stuff too. In fact, sometimes I think we had a divine appointment with our minivan, and that it's sole purpose on this earth is to inspire prayer and miraculous happenings.

Some of you may think the best time to teach your children about prayer is at bedtime or at mealtimes. But, if you had the track record of car troubles that my husband and I do, you'd think the best time to teach your children about prayer is the second you step foot in the minivan. I'm not talking car accidents here, I'm talking straight-up, one chance in a million, car malfunctions. The kind of car mishaps that don't happen to the average driver--happen to us. Actually, I think of it as our little mission field.

For example, my husband once ran out of gas (typical of our family), on a busy highway, on the way home from work, driving a car with a nonfunctional gas gauge. When he stepped out of his car onto the highway to retrieve the spare gas tank from the trunk, he mistakenly locked the keys in the car. So ironically, even if he had gas in the gas tank, he still could not drive the car, without the keys.

See where I'm going with this: if my kids were there, I would have used that opportunity to pray with them for our sticky situation. The prayer would have sounded like this:

"Dear Lord, we need a miracle here. Please let a fuel tanker drive by, with a driver that happens to work as a locksmith on the weekends. Amen."

Though I don't doubt my husband sent up a similar prayer to this, unfortunately, a police man drove by who was neither a fuel tank driver, nor a locksmith. And actually he wasn't too handy either as he broke the window trying to unlock the door.

Another opportunity for spiritual teaching came about one frosty afternoon as I drove home from the supermarket with my son. We were on the last stretch of highway that leads to our home when I noticed the gas gauge inching towards the orange E. Even though, I decided to push the limits anyway.(I have a habit of doing this, always have, ask my mom.)

So as we rounded the last turn, I feel the all too familiar put-put and I grip the wheel as my power steering starts to go. As I inch over to the shoulder, I look into my rear view at my son and say, "I think we should pray."
"For what," he asks. "How come we stopped, mama?"
"We need to pray that God would help us to get to that gas station right over there."
"Do we need gas mama?"
"Yes, let's pray."
"Mama, why didn't we go to the gas station before?" he presses.
"Pray." I say again.

So we pray. We pray hard. We pray for a miracle. As I lift my head, I turn the key slowly and the engine sputters a bit, and miraculously, it starts. It stays running long enough for me to roll down the hill, right into pump stall number four at the local gas station.

"He did it!" my son shouts. "He did a miracle."
"Yes he did," I say, as I wipe the sweat from my forehead.

For the next week my son went around telling people about God's miracle of gas. Just goes to show you that miracles come in all sizes.
Yup, we're in our own little mission field over here. Bet you didn't think such spiritual growth could occur in a minivan.