The Boy Who Came Back from Heaven: A Remarkable Account of Miracles, Angels, and Life Beyond This World (5 page)

Three days after the accident, I woke up and made my way to the shower. I had slept fitfully the night before. It felt good to let the steaming water cascade down my face as I wondered, Was Alex experiencing something like sleep? What was happening to him? Where was he? He had seen his way through the first three days . . . but would he remain asleep forever?

Medically speaking, there were so many unanswered questions, so many uncertainties. Beth and I would have given anything just to do something practical for Alex to improve his chances. The most we could do, however, was to pray, and we had to remind ourselves that this was a significant contribution.

But we felt there was something else we could do: we could get the word out to everyone who believed in the power of prayer and who might agree to intercede for Alex before God.

People had been calling the hospital and pouring into the hallways since the moment visiting hours began—we’d never dreamed that we had so many true friends and loved ones and would make so many new friends besides. But we wanted to spread the word far and wide, to Columbus, to Ohio, and to the uttermost parts of the earth, if possible, so that prayer warriors everywhere would take up Alex’s cause. We’d heard stories of miracles that happened when God’s people were diligent in taking their requests before the Lord. We simply weren’t prepared, however, for the depth of the encounters we would soon be having in prayer as we became surrounded by a group of saints we called Alex’s Army.

“Nice” Christians or Prayer Warriors?

How often do we hear people described as “nice”?

But is that really what our faith is all about? Isn’t it possible to appear to be a pleasant person, with a smiling face, saying all the right words to give the impression that one is close to God? Isn’t it revealing that Jesus, the apostle Paul, and all of the great saints of the Bible were
never
described as nice?

God had taken care of where He placed us—not among your average “nice” people, but among true men and women of God, soldiers of the Cross who were ready to mobilize. These were people who understood spiritual warfare in ways the vast majority of us never recognize.

What’s all the more amazing is that these were
practical
people as well. Some served God with their hearts, others with their hands, but the people around us excelled in both faith
and
works. As Alex lay there in a coma and as we stood watching, shocked and numb—with our other children needing us—God used the ministry of prayer-centric people to sustain us and to carry on the fight for Alex’s recovery.

Our lives were quickly becoming intertwined with those of prayer warriors in ways that we’ll never forget as long as we live. One of them had a most unusual name.

Hillbilly Graham

Neither
Hillbilly
nor
Graham
appeared on his birth certificate. He had the distinction of a double nickname. The first came about because of his entertaining country accent, the second because of his remarkable passion for introducing people to the Lord—a genuine “hillbilly” version of Billy Graham. What made this man’s nicknames even more amusing was that he was actually a successful dentist who resided in one of the affluent suburbs of Columbus.

Knowing Hillbilly’s spiritual wisdom, I was excited to see him walk into Alex’s room during our first full day in the hospital. Hillbilly visited with us for a few minutes and quickly became a comforting presence, describing times of sickness and trouble in his own family and explaining how prayer had made the difference—how it could do the same for our Alex.

A question had been forming in my mind, and it occurred to me that Hillbilly might be just the person to answer it. But it was the kind of question I wanted to phrase very carefully.

“Hillbilly, can I ask you something?” I offered tentatively. “I’m a little reluctant to say it, because I don’t want you to get the wrong idea.”

“Don’t worry ’bout that!” said Hillbilly in his trademark drawl. “What’s on your mind, Kevin?”

“Well, you see, since Alex was very little, I’ve had this strong feeling that someday he might be a pastor. You know, I’ve watched him closely, and I’ve known he was spiritually sensitive and special in so many ways. And I just began believing that someday he would feel a call to the ministry.”

My eyes moved down to take in the image of my little boy who had engendered such lofty ideas, which now seemed refuted by all the machines, tubes, and IVs running chaotically in every direction. “Then, well, since the accident, I’ve started to wonder if it could be the devil behind this whole thing—I mean, causing the accident. Because if I were the devil and I spotted this child who had great potential to serve God, I’d want to cut him off at the pass, right?”

Hillbilly began to nod and smile as if he knew exactly what I was saying.

“Now don’t get me wrong,” I added quickly. “I’m not passing off responsibility for what I did. It was
me
behind the wheel, not the devil. I’ve never been the kind to say ‘the devil made me do it’ whenever I spill a glass of milk, and I’m
not
trying to pass off the blame on some invisible—”

Hillbilly threw his head back and burst out laughing. His big hand came down hard on my shoulder,
smack!

“Bless your heart, man. I’m right there with ya. What you want to know is—did the devil want to kill your son? And I say, ‘Ya
think
?’”

Then he waved a hand across the room, where people were praying. He continued, “Yes
sir
, I believe the devil tried to kill your son—but you know what? As usual, all he accomplished was to stir up a hornet’s nest!”

I stopped, looked, and listened to the hushed murmur of praying voices that filled the room like soft music. Hillbilly was exactly right. The only thing the devil had accomplished was to mobilize the saints to turn to God. How quickly they had organized to spread the love of Christ by meeting our needs and serving as a major witness to everyone who came in the doors of Children’s. I suddenly felt buoyed by an incredible power.

“The Spirit who lives in you,” wrote the apostle John, “is greater than the spirit who lives in the world” (1 John 4:4). Since I had watched the helicopter bear my son away, I had felt totally weak and helpless. Now I was realizing, in a very practical way, that there are other ways to see things. You can choose to view life as an impersonal machine that provides no user’s manual, or you can see it as a spiritual battle in progress, in which a prayer army can make a real difference.

Ours was already on the front line, and I was beginning to gain courage from their presence.

As we continued to discuss these things, someone near me suggested that we leave Alex’s room and adjourn to an empty one across the hall. I figured we were doing this out of consideration for the people trying to pray. But as soon as we got there, Hillbilly pushed me down into a chair. Then he gathered everyone in a circle around me. This was for me! It was the last thing I was expecting, and I felt a little awkward. But all I could do was go with the flow. Everyone present laid hands on me while Hillbilly knelt at my feet. He asked me to fully extend my legs. Then he held my feet in the air and began praying.

“Lord God,” he said, “we need Your wisdom right now so that we might understand how to pray and what to ask for. Use us as vessels for Your healing power.” The others whispered their prayerful affirmation. “We are here for Alex, dear Lord,” he continued, “but now we lift his father, Kevin, before You. He is a victim of this accident too. Heal him in every way, mind and body. You are the Great Physician; place Your healing hand upon him, we pray, in Jesus’ name.”

Hillbilly Graham finished praying, placed my feet back on the floor, and said, “You’re done.”

“I beg your pardon?” I asked.

“You’re going to have no physical problems from that wreck,” he said. “God is strengthening you so you can be strong for your family.”

The Art of Prayer

I did have some soreness from the accident. I still limped a little and had that sharp pain in my neck when I turned my head just so. It’s typical to have lingering physical problems, which can last for years, from the kind of contortions a body goes through in an accident like ours. The soreness and pain in my neck didn’t vanish immediately, but an amazing thing did happen: following Hillbilly’s prayer—and to this day—I have never needed any medication or medical help of any kind for those injuries and have no residual or recurring problems.

I looked around me at those faithful friends who were gently gripping my arms and shoulders, asking God to intervene for my health. Just the day before I’d been wondering,
What do these people really think about me?
Here was what they thought: they loved me and wanted God’s best for me.

I felt ashamed for having doubted them. How often did I do others the injustice of assuming the worst about them? I still had my own guilt to contend with, but it was such a relief to know there were brothers and sisters in Christ who had my back, who wouldn’t judge me, and who would pray for me when it was so very difficult to pray for myself. The love they showed filled me with a fresh energy to pray for Alex.

Hillbilly Graham was not finished, however, and he had a question for everyone. “Is there anyone here who has any unconfessed sin in their hearts? We can’t approach God effectively when hiding sin in our lives. He won’t hear us. The only thing we accomplish when we pray without examining ourselves is to obstruct prayer. We need to prepare our hearts, so if there is anyone here who needs to get right with God, now is a good time to take care of it. Let’s bring those sins before God and receive the forgiveness He offers. Let’s be as pure as we possibly can before we take up the huge task of praying for this little boy. Everyone take a moment and reflect silently. First John 1:9 says, ‘If we confess our sins to him, he is faithful and just to forgive us our sins and to cleanse us from all wickedness.’ Let’s confess before God and then come together in prayer for Alex.”

There were many incredible prayer sessions during this period, but this one and Pastor Brown’s in the waiting room the night before truly stand out. There was a palpable feeling of the presence of God among us.

In prayer, we reiterated that the doctors had spoken and that we wanted God to have His say. We prayed for Alex’s brain and skull, we prayed for his breathing, for the healing of his spine, and finally that the doorway to death would be locked shut for him. We knew that Heaven awaited him someday, but we believed that God had more for him to do in this world. As usual, Hillbilly led the charge.

There was a midweek church service a week or two later, and the congregation was again praying for Alex while we kept our vigil at the hospital. Hillbilly felt something touch his soul during that prayer, and he began to weep uncontrollably. When I heard about it, I gave him a phone call.

“What is happening, Hillbilly?” I asked. “What made you cry?”

“I had an amazing sensation. Kevin, things are happening in Heaven that concern Alex. The Spirit of God is moving. I could feel it as we prayed together, and I just felt overcome with emotion.”

Science and Sovereignty

The testimony of science said that Alex was unconscious and that he wasn’t even breathing on his own—he was physically incapable of movement. As far as the world knew, Alex lay still and quiet in a coma. The doctors felt there was very little hope for his survival. And even if Alex’s body did continue to hang on, there was the question of his mental function. There had been traumatic injury to his brain, and we were told that the sweet six-year-old boy we had known would never speak to us again.

But Alex’s testimony is that he was as wide-awake and attentive as Beth, the other children, or me. As you’ve already read, he has a detailed memory of how the accident played out. He can remember the men removing him from the car and saying that he was a brave boy. He recalls seeing me get into the ambulance, after the helicopter had flown away—yet he doesn’t remember the helicopter ride, in which he actually participated.

How can we explain these things? Alex certainly knows what he saw, heard, and felt; he has never wavered on any of the details. He offers his memories, and it’s up to the rest of us to draw our own conclusions. It seems to me, on hearing his account, that God allowed my son to see all the events at the accident scene. Then Alex’s spirit was called deeper into Heaven for the remarkable events that were to transpire there.