The Boy Who Came Back from Heaven: A Remarkable Account of Miracles, Angels, and Life Beyond This World (14 page)

Days of Worship

As if our local church hadn’t already done more than enough, they decided to do something more—a Sunday-morning service dedicated to Alex. What an honor that was, a chance to magnify the Lord through the amazing things He was doing for our son. The best part, of course, was that Alex was able to be there and to enjoy every moment of it.

After we watched a brief video that told his story, I wheeled Alex down the center aisle. You can imagine what happened then—everyone jumped to their feet. Alex got a raucous standing ovation as everyone felt God’s glory in the moment. Few had dry eyes that day.

Amid the praise, I leaned down to whisper to Alex, “This is not about you.” He rolled his eyes at me—his favorite gesture, which has multiple meanings. In this case, I interpreted it as, “Daddy, that’s what I’ve been telling you all along!” His trial and subsequent experiences had made him wise in the faith, even as a little guy. He said he had been to Heaven. People might question someone else saying such an outlandish thing, but in Alex’s case, no one doubted it because it was all too clear that something had radically changed this six-year-old boy. Someone had brought him back to life when he seemed to be dying. Someone had healed his vertebrae. Someone had awakened his mind and awareness when we were told it was extremely unlikely. And Someone clearly had future plans for Alex Malarkey.

For Alex, it’s all about that Someone. There has never been a moment when he took one iota of credit or reacted to a compliment in any way other than to redirect the glory to God. My greatest goal in life is to attain that mind-set myself, to become a billboard for Heaven rather than a sign of the times.

As the worship service progressed, the spirited songs of praise continued. Alex sang along with the congregation. I kept an eye on his face, because I love seeing him exalt God in music. Soon people began to stand and talk spontaneously about the amazing impact that their interaction with Alex had had on their lives. What a blessed day that was. Our hearts needed it so much.

Many months later at another service, where Alex was singing with the children’s choir, my mind went back to the morning before the accident. Alex was so shy and clingy. In a way, this was a shy child’s worst nightmare—every eye fixed on him. But Alex was a different creature now. He didn’t want to be a spectacle, and we didn’t want him to be one either. If he could have an ordinary experience of singing with the children’s choir, it was a wonderful answer to the kind of prayer we had sent frantically to Heaven when he was in his coma. Having him back was the best we could have hoped for, and if by the grace of God he could have the normal experiences that other children enjoy—well, that was even better.

Not long afterward, there was yet another service—a special Sunday evening gathering at our home. Here was another use of our “dream home” that we’d never dreamed of. Hundreds flooded in from all over central and western Ohio. After parking in our church lot, people boarded shuttle buses that brought them to our home. The church men struck again, setting up a sound system under a large oak tree, in an open area near the house. Pastors from different churches spoke. Then, once again, there was a time of sharing. We kept hearing about miracles, about good things happening in people’s lives through God’s showing His greatness in what the world saw as a tragedy.

Alex stayed off to the side and listened quietly on this particular evening. He was asked to speak, but he declined. After all, he said, this service wasn’t in his honor—it was all about God. The right thing to do was to let God speak. My amazing son sat in the background, where he was most comfortable, and listened . . . as God did just that.

Time is a quiet miracle worker, healing, bestowing wisdom, and providing perspective.

Time was doing its work, making routine that which was once traumatic. Hospital trips were no longer distressing. Alex struggled along, making great progress on some fronts. Beth cared for the children. I went back to work and began rebuilding my business. Our family gradually found its rhythm, and periodically we enjoyed rest along the way. But permanent peace in this life is not to be found. That’s what the next world will look like, not this one. Spiritual warfare is occurring at all times. Isn’t that why the Bible speaks of the necessity of spiritual armor? We may be oblivious to it, but that doesn’t change the reality of Ephesians 6:12. There are forces at work that attempt to destroy everything God wants to do among us—and there is the “still, small voice” calling us to prayer, to vigilance, to standing against the enemy.

I wasn’t thinking about any of that sitting in church on a warm Sunday morning in August 2005. In those days, I was confident our biggest battles were behind us. It was gratifying to know that things had calmed down—that most of the real surprises had already happened. Our life was reasonably normal, at least our kind of normal. Alex was back in the hospital with a lung infection, but the doctors told us it was manageable.

A smile down at Aaron reminded me that he was just a year younger than Alex had been when the accident occurred. Suddenly, an odd sensation pierced my mind. A thought burst into my consciousness, as clear as if Pastor Brown had spoken it from the pulpit:
Alex is going to be healed
. I tried to block it out, but like the phone that won’t stop ringing until you answer it, I couldn’t:
Alex is going to be healed
.

Alex being healed was hardly a new idea. I’d heard that earnest conviction from friends on countless occasions. “God is going to
completely
heal Alex,” they would say. “I just know it’s true. I can feel it!”

The first to say it, of course, had been Dave the paramedic, and then Beth herself, on the day of the accident. Many months of doctors, nurses, ambulances, mucous blockages, and ventilators hadn’t dampened Beth’s belief. She was certain the miracle was coming. Many of her friends had taken up the refrain.
God is going to heal Alex. It’s coming, just believe it!

I certainly
liked
that message and had no trouble accepting it, after a certain fashion. From the very beginning, God had been stretching our faith. It could be argued that His blessing Alex, taking him to Heaven, sending ministering angels, and the rest were clearly part of a trend that would culminate in the grand finale of the full healing of our son—if you were given to that way of thinking. As a matter of fact, even if you didn’t believe in God, you had to believe in Alex. His courage, determination, and tenacious spirit were the raw materials of a victory of mind over body. However, we did believe in God, and we knew that all things are possible in Christ.

I heard from God in my own way. I spent time with Him daily, studied His Word, and prayed constantly. But I wasn’t one of those people who hear prophetic messages from God’s lips to my ear . . . until that August day in church, sitting beside Aaron. That’s when I finally got the memo.

One minute I was closely following the pastor’s words, and the next I was hearing:

He will be fully healed.

I shrugged it off and went back to listening to the pastor, but it kept coming:

He will be fully healed.

The message was so persistent, I knew it wasn’t coming from me. But I was not eager to embrace the idea of “hearing voices.” It wasn’t something I’d ever experienced. Could I accept, in faith, that this was God speaking? It was a huge commitment—the kind of commitment that will break your heart if fully yet falsely embraced. It was the kind of idea that convinces people you’re out of your mind if you walk around telling everyone. It was okay for my wife and her friends, but I had a scientific mind-set, in keeping with my occupation. This just wasn’t me.

But the Giver of that message was determined to hammer it home. Those five words took on a power of their own, assaulting the fortress of my intellect. It was time to come to terms with what so many had already embraced. God was ready for me to know that He was going to heal Alex. Was I ready to receive it?

Was I supposed to feel joy? I can’t say I did. This development was too strange, too frightening.
Alex is going to be healed.
It was Beth’s brand of faith, not the careful, analytical type I preferred. It was great for her, not for me. But suddenly, there I was, walking with her in the twilight zone of faith.

Is God bound by my intellectual understanding? What was keeping me from embracing a wonderful truth—fear, unbelief, pride? Then, in a moment, the mercy and greatness of God overwhelmed my tiny intellect, and He gave me the faith to believe. I simply
knew
God was speaking truth to me:
Alex is going to be healed
.I accepted the message, believed it, and received it, and when I did, a new message was impressed on my heart.

Go forward and pray.

God was literally instructing me to walk to the front of the sanctuary and ask for prayer. I touched Aaron’s arm and whispered, “Would you come forward with me for prayer?”

He gave me a look and said, “No way, Daddy! They’ll crush us.”

I grinned. Aaron knew this church pretty well by now. They get very excited, very enthusiastic about the opportunity to pray with you. If you’re a little boy, that stampede is a bit frightening.

God wanted prayer; Aaron wanted to avoid being squashed.

It seemed important for Aaron to be with me. I thought about it a minute. “Aaron,” I whispered, “if you’ll go up front for prayer with me, I’ll take you to Dairy Queen after the service.”

That offer (bribe!) proved too enticing to a young boy, even one confronted with being flattened by God’s people. So we were all set when the pastor asked, “Would anyone like to approach the altar for prayer?” And up we stood.

Dave was one of the prayer leaders in our church. He would wait in the front of the sanctuary, greet those who came forward, and accompany them in lifting up their requests. As he took my hand, I told him, “God is going to heal Alex.”

He replied, “I know he is,” as if this were old news. “Is that what you want to pray about?”

I said, “He just told me.”

We began talking to God, and people began flowing toward us and joining in. At some point there came a shout from about eight layers of people back. “Have you prayed against the devil?” Little did I know that this question would soon become key to Alex’s life.

“I told you they’d crush us,” said Aaron after it was over. But there was a big smile on his face.

I laughed. “Let’s go. I owe you a trip to Dairy Queen.”

As I stood at the counter, the man taking our order kept looking intently at us. It was becoming awkward, so finally I met his gaze with a curious demeanor.

“You don’t remember me, do you?” he asked, the serious look remaining on his face.

I hate it when people say that. Smiling politely, I only proved him correct. He kept on with the guessing game, which of course makes things even more uncomfortable.

“Come on. You’re sure my face doesn’t ring a bell?”

“I’m sorry; we’ve had a lot going on. You’re going to have to help me out.”

He said, “My name is Chris. I was at the accident scene, next to your car . . . with your son. I prayed for him to be all right.”

“That’s incredible! You were there?”

Chris Leasure, eyewitness to the accident who got into the car with Alex before Dan Tullis arrived

“Yes, I was.”

I looked at him, amazed at the greatness of God. Dairy Queen on Sunday was not a planned stop. Without the direction of God, I might never have met Chris. From a human perspective, life is random, and sometimes random turns out well. But I know God put Chris directly in my path that Sunday.

Chris looked down at Aaron, with eyes a little wet. “Is . . . is this him?”

“No,” I said gently. “This is his younger brother Aaron. Alex is in the hospital with an infection in his lungs. But he’s doing better.” I reached out and took his hand. “He’s doing better because people like you have been there to pray for him. Thank you, Chris. Thanks for praying that day. God answered you.”

God never seems to be quite finished astounding us with wonder and amazement.

Defense

After spending a little time at home that afternoon, I headed to the hospital. Alex and I would spend the night together. The events of that day played over in my mind: God’s telling me that Alex would be healed; being directed to seek the church’s prayer; the surge of power and faith I felt as everyone laid hands on us and lifted us before the throne of God; then, in the wake of that prayer experience, immediately crossing paths with a key prayer warrior from the beginning of the journey. What an amazing day! I couldn’t wait to tell Alex all about it.

My spirits were high as I rounded the corner with a smile and entered Alex’s room. The moment I saw him, however, my spirit froze. Alex seemed desperate to see me. I’d never seen him like this.

“How’s my boy?” I asked, searching his worried face.

“Hi, Daddy,” Alex said weakly. “I’m being attacked.”

The smile vanished from my face.

“What?” I asked. “What do you mean, Son?”

Alex looked pale, drained, frightened. “The devil—he’s attacking me. He’s saying terrible things. I want to make him go away.”

I felt a knot form in the pit of my stomach. Alex had never said anything like this before.

“Oh, Alex, Daddy is right here. And God is with us too. Everything is going to be all right.”

Trembling, teary, and clearly in pain, Alex looked into my eyes and said, “I can’t say His name, Daddy.”

“Whose name, Alex?”

My mind raced to understand what he could mean. He had already said the devil’s name. And then it dawned on me.

“Jesus? You’re having trouble saying the name of Jesus?”

With frantic eyes, Alex said yes. A sense of panic rose in my chest. This was new territory for me. I wanted to help. I’d do anything and everything to help my son, but I didn’t know what to do.

“Alex,” I said, “would you like to pray with someone special? What about Jay?”

Jay was a friend of ours, a man of prayer, and a man of wisdom on spiritual matters. He really knew how to pray.

“Yes, Daddy, call Jay.”

Jay was quick to pick up the line.

“Jay, it’s Kevin. Listen, I’ve got a situation with Alex. He’s being attacked by the devil, and he can’t call out to Jesus. Would you pray with him?”

“Of course, let’s pray.”

I held the phone to Alex’s ear, and in moments an amazing transformation took place before my eyes. The tension slowly loosened and melted away. The color gradually seeped into his cheeks. The fright in his eyes mostly melted away. As I thanked Jay and hung up the phone, Alex smiled. He looked at me and said, “I can say His name now.
Jesus. Jesus. Jesus!
”

I laughed, held his hand, and we said Jesus’ name together several times. No name has ever sounded more beautiful. We relaxed, joked around, and made small talk for fifteen minutes, but then things took another ominous turn. The fright had returned to Alex’s eyes.

“Alex, are you all right? Is it the same thing as before?”

He signaled yes.

“Do you want Daddy to call Jay again?”

“No, Daddy. I want just us to do it.”

“Well, then, that’s what we’ll do, Alex. Let’s you and me start praying, okay?”