Most people firmly believe in the power of prayer. But even among evangelical Christians few seem really to believe that a miracle will be worked for them. Here is a story of divine healing that should encourage the most faint-hearted believer
by Elise Miller Doris and Edward S. Zelley, Jr.
Reprinted courtesy of Reader's Digest
Mr. Squire’s eye: Solo—-“Trust in Him”—Mrs. Robert Stout. What he did then seemed to be dictated by a Power beyond himself. Stopping in the midst of the service, he left his pulpit and faced his congregation be fore the altar rail. “ It is 11:15,” he said. “ Bob Stout is critically ill at Perth Amboy Gen eral Hospital and soon will undergo an operation. I think Bob and Mil dred would like to know we are pray ing for them.” He asked each member of the con gregation to concen trate on Bob Stout, to surround his hospital bed with love and faith. Then he turned and knelt at the altar as every head bowed lii prayer. Picturing Jesus as long ago He had gone about on earth touching the sick and healing them, Mr. Squire prayed, “We beseech Thee to go with us now, O Master, to the hospital at Perth Amboy; to walk up the stairs, down the hall to Room 248, to enter and stand by the bed. “Now, Master”—the pastor’s voice faltered — “ lay your hand on Bob Stout’s brow and heal him!” An unreal moment of vast silence hung in the air. Then Mr. Squire rose, returned to his pulpit to continue the service. The prayer had seemed long to him, but when he glanced at his watch it was only 11:20. After the service, Roger Squire sat alone in his study when the phone
risk was great, chances were slim. On Sunday morning Bob Stout's nurse telephoned Mr. Squire, as re quested, before he left for church service. “Mr. Stout’s wife is the only person in the world who is sure he will livo,” she said. “She just keeps saying, I’ve put my trust in Him’ ” . As tL ; pastor began the 11 o’clock service, he saw sad reminders of the wreck in many pews. Patches, band ages, slings. About 30 of his parish ioners had been injured. Three had died. But Bob Stout still lived. A line from the order of worship, mimeographed days before, caught ilege to take it to the throne of grace. Your request will be held in the strictest confidence. Ad dress: The Editors, K in g ’ s B u s i n e s s magazine, 558 So. Hope St., Los Angeles 17, Calif. (Emergency requests are prayed for immediate ly upon arrival. Telegraph, or phone MAdison 1641, extension 68 from 8 A.M. to 4:30 P.M., Mon day through Friday.) “Faith, mighty faith, the promise sees And looks to that alone; Laughs at impossibilities, And cries ‘It shall, it shall be done!”
rang. Answering, he heard Mildred’s voice, husky with tears. “There’s. no medical explanation for what happened,” she said. “His pulse and respiration were almost nonexistent, and then—he just opened his eyes.” Instructed to report to the doctors even the slightest change, the nurse had run from the room. When she returned with a doctor, Bob was un conscious again. He was then wheeled to the X-ray room. There the specialist re-examined Bob. “ I honestly don’t know what made me do it,” he commented later. When he gently p inched Bob’s shoulder, the patient responded, “Ouch!” It was Bob Stout’s first word in five days! The surgeon turned from the table. He sent word to Mildred that the operation was being called off. Bob’s pulse and respiration improved unbe lievably.. He had passed a crisis and the results of trauma were receding. As Mildred’s voice came over the wire, Mr. Squire re-created vividly the scene at the hospital. What had actually come to pass? Who could say? Perhaps miracles do happen. “Just one thing more,” the pastor said, recovering his voice. “Does any one know what time it was when Bob first opened his eyes?” “Yes,” said Mildred, “ it was 11:20.” Mr. Squire hung up the receiver and bowed his head. END.
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