It was Monday and the start of a new job in Fairfield, CA. I noticed we had a new guy, and as it was still early, he was just kind of standing around. No one seemed to be talking to him, so I went over and introduced myself. He said his name was Mark, and was from Vallejo, just down the freeway a bit. Seemed like a nice guy, slender, kinda quiet, maybe about 30 years old, or so. 

Over the next couple of days, I went out of my way to talk to him some more, here and there, nothing too deep, just chitchat really. Finally, on Friday, I asked him if he wouldn't mind having lunch with me. He said, "Sure." 

After a bit of small talk, I said to him, "Mark, do you mind if I ask you something?" He said, "No, go ahead." I said, "Do you believe in miracles?" This is one of the questions I've used over the years in sharing the Lord with people. 

He looked straight at me and smiled and said, "You bet I do. I'm living proof miracles exist." 

Well, I was somewhat taken aback. Most people kind of hem and haw around a bit when you ask them something like that. But not Mark…he was dead sure. 

So I asked him what he meant by that, and he shared with me this story…

Mark had grown up on a farm, and was always helping his Dad work the fields. One day, one of the pieces of machinery he was riding on got jammed up, so he turned it off, and he jumped down to the ground to see if he could fix it. But when he jumped off, he miscalculated and came down on one of the blades, which tore a deep cut right through the inside of his thigh. Mark instantly cried out in pain and collapsed on the ground, his leg spurting blood. He screamed out for his father, who was in the farmhouse, a short ways off.

"Dad!"

"Dad!!"  

His father came rushing out of the house to see what all the commotion was about. Seeing his son lying on the ground next to the big machine, he began sprinting towards him. As he got close enough to Mark to see what had happened, and all the blood which by now was starting to go everywhere, he suddenly stopped, turned around, and bolted back for the house.  

Mark thought, "Good, he's going back for bandages."  

He told me he thought to himself at this time that he might die, and it scared him. His mind began to wonder. He thought of his family, his mom and brothers.

He then heard the screen door of the house slam, and he lifted his head up and saw his father running wildly towards him. He was carrying something, but it didn't look like white bandages. As he got closer, Mark saw what was in his hand.  

It was his Dad's Bible. 

He rushed up and collapsed on his knees next to Mark. He opened the old Bible and began turning the pages frantically. He finally found the place he was looking for, and with shaking hands and trembling voice, began to read these words:  

"Thou wast cast out in the open field…and when I passed by thee, and saw thee polluted in thine own blood, I said unto thee when thou wast in thy blood, Live; yea, I said unto thee when thou wast in thy blood, Live." (Ezekiel 16:5-6)  

Mark laid his head back on the ground, and began to pray, "Please, Lord, don't let me die!" He was getting so light-headed, that as he looked up to the sky everything began to swirl and fade in and out of focus.

His father was by now almost screaming out the words, repeating them over and over…

"I saw thee in thine own blood,  

"I said unto thee, Live, 

"I said unto thee, Live, 

"Live…Live…Live!" 

He didn't know how much time had passed. It began to grow quiet. Mark seemed to feel a sense of peace begin to flood over him, and he noticed the pain in his leg was going away. His fear gave way to a strange tranquility. He wondered to himself if this was what it felt like to die. He felt something, a pressure, on his thigh, and looked up to see if his dad had put his hand there to stop the blood.

But his father was, by now, laying next to him facedown on the ground, with his face buried in the open Bible, weeping softly, his out-stretched hands clenching at the dirt. 

He glanced at his thigh to see what it might look like. It was strange, but Mark was feeling so peaceful, he almost didn't care how badly it might be mangled. 

Although his pants were torn wide open, his leg wasn't mangled at all. Just a deep cut.

And it had stopped bleeding.

_____________________________

Later that afternoon, after his Dad had carried him back into the house, and he was laying on the sofa, Mark commented to his father that when he first saw him, he thought he had turned back to the house to go get some bandages. His father told him the way he could see the blood was squirting out, he knew they would've done no good anyway. All he could do was turn to God. 

A lot of people will tell you that the Bible is just a book, like any other, that it isn't relevant for our day. They will tell you that it shouldn't be called "God's Word." I mean, after all, how can we know for sure, since science and archaeology contradict it, right? Oh, well yes, they admit, it may contain a few wise sayings, with a little truth sprinkled here and there, but a lot of the stuff in it is just not true at all. It's mostly just a collection of nice old stories and tales. Nothing special really. 

But don't ever say that to Mark or his Dad. They know better. 

-joebib