Yes. Of all the things that made me hang on by a thread at times to the belief that there really is a supernatural and that that supernatural intersects with our world and does so with intention and purpose, it was a singular experience on an early December evening in 1975. An experience that proved the existence of a Supernatural that/who knew who I was and cared for me. Yes. Proof.

Say what? Proof of a miracle? Yes. No other possible explanation.

Oh, you can chalk up this or that occurrence to a miracle (and I do) but so many of those are wide open to skepticism for good reason.

Not this one.

Sorry, skeptics. This one is ironclad. Absurd? Yes. But, I’ll get to that.

I have told this story many times and, now, consistently for over forty years. I’ve told other stories of my powerful interactions with a supernatural reality but, honestly, none hold up to the most careful scrutiny as this one when it comes to evidence of a personal Supernatural.

You see, I had a problem. Not a huge problem, mind you. In fact, in the scheme of things, it has to rank as near the bottom of problematical problems. I mean, against all of the things that are wrong with the world, from illness to wars to natural disasters to you name it, this problem doesn’t warrant a blip on the radar. In fact, when set against all of the problems in my life, neither would it register there. Which makes this particular problem and the experience even more worthy of consideration.

Ok, here was the deal. This was my senior year in college and I’d overcome my first year’s fairly sloppy start to turn into a very good student. I was conscientious and hard working. Living off of an academic scholarship, holding down a job and determined to do well in my classes. So, there was this final exam the next week in a course and the professor was holding an evening review session at 7pm. I lived maybe ten miles from campus and usually got there by hitchhiking during the day. However, one of my roommates, Jack, had this car that was not the most reliable but it beat hitchhiking in the dark. In fact, his car had been struggling with fits and starts recently but we were optimistic it would get us there.

Unfortunately, when Jack tried to start the car, it spit and sputtered but didn’t actually start.

(I need to say something extremely relevant here. I basically did not know how cars worked. Yes, I could change a tire and put oil in when it needed it. But, I grew up with zero experience with the inner workings of automobiles. I knew there were batteries and that a mixture of air and gas would cause small explosions to drive pistons that would make the tires go round. But, how that actually happened held little interest with me.)

At which point, Jack got out, opened the hood and took off the large round air filter that resided atop the carburetor. I stood by him, passively observing. He then got back in the car to try again as I held my position adjacent to the engine compartment. Rrrrrrrrrrrr. Rrrrrrrrrrrrr. Rrrrrrrrrrrrr. Engine sort of bucking and struggling but it did not start.

Things were looking pretty bleak about getting to the review session, which was scheduled to begin in something like 15-20 minutes. I was frustrated and felt defeated. At which point, I prayed.

Honestly, I had come to believe by that point in a supernatural reality, which in my mind was probably manifested in various enlightened beings, some of whom would actually know who I was. The jury was out on a unifying being like a God. Nevertheless, I sought the assistance of this other realm in the manner of a regular prayer. I remember looking upwards into the night sky and praying, “Please. We need to get to that review session.”

Now, this is almost humorous. In the history of prayers, this has to register as one of the weakest and stupidest. Of how much consequence is a review session for an exam? In fact, I’d been a good student and would probably get along pretty darn well without the extra help. But, curiously, that’s not the point, which makes this whole thing even more incredible!

For, as soon as I said my prayer, the most amazing thing happened. A thing that is as vivid now as it was back then. A thing so remarkable on so many levels that I still find myself unpacking it.

Picture Jack with his driver’s door opened, left hand on the steering wheel and the right on his key in the ignition. Picture me, easily able to see Jack and vice versa, standing a few feet away, arms at my side with only one real care at the moment and that was that the engine would start.

When all of a sudden, to my complete surprise, my right arm swept up and across my body, not under my control, and my right hand landed flat on top of the engine mechanism called a carburetor which had laid underneath the air filter but was now fully open and exposed, the engine trying to turn over, making noises and shuddering.

And my palm stuck there. On the open carburetor. I was frozen, unable to move it.

Picture Jack’s face as he witnessed this. See his eyes open wide as he tried to process the fact that his good friend had done something really crazy, his eyes also recognizing the shock on my face. For a brief moment, time seemed to stop.

And, then, the car started. The engine turned over and the car started.

Followed immediately by my right arm sweeping back across my body and returning to my side. I had not intended any movement and was purely a witness to this bizarre situation.

Followed by Jack leaping out of his driver’s seat and yelling at me, “What the &%$* did you just do?! What happened?” (Granted, I don’t remember his exact words or mine that followed but I guarantee I have the gist of it.)

We both stood there in silence until I finally replied and said, still stunned, “I don’t know. All of a sudden my arm just rose up and my hand slammed down on the engine and it scared the &^$* out of me. Then the car started and it flew back.”

Jack thought for a moment and then concluded, “Your hand must have created a seal over the carburetor, cutting off its air supply and forcing a vacuum. There must have been a block in the fuel line and the vacuum created a suction and removed the block. This is crazy.”

“But Jack,” I replied, “I wouldn’t in a million years know how to remove a blockage in the fuel line, and I would certainly not slam my hand down on an engine that’s making sounds and bucking around!” I didn’t do this. All I did was pray.”

So, why am I telling this story? Two reasons.

The first is that, I have never found an alternative explanation for how this happened. This wasn’t a case of spontaneous healing where a valid skeptical response could run something like this: “Well, sometimes the body just heals on its own.” No, this was a highly visible and observable physical phenomenon. And there was a witness. I’ll repeat that there was a witness. That negates any objection that I dreamt it up or was/am lying. Jack saw exactly the same thing I did and was equally astonished. We both related the story immediately afterwards and for years later without change. (He’s a believer to this day.) Another legitimate objection would be that I somehow, subconsciously, knew what to do. As that line of thinking would go, I, knowing how a carburetor was all about mixing air and fuel and thinking that there was a clog, determined that I needed to create a vacuum and the best way to do that was to seal off the top of the machine with my open hand. This falls apart on so many levels as to be ridiculous. I knew none of this and was not in control of my arm and hand, pretty much horrified at what was happening.

The fact is that I was frustrated and resorted to a simple prayer in a kind of desperation. And, immediately afterwards was a witness as my arm and hand did their thing and then flew back to my side, right after the engine turned over and was running fine. Jack’s car never had a problem like that again. I am willing to listen to anyone’s take on the event that does not include supernatural intervention. I’ve never heard any indication that there is one.

So, the first reason for telling this story is that I witnessed and participated in a miracle.

My second reason for telling this story is that in the many years afterwards, when I was largely adrift spiritually, this singular event stuck with me as proof that there is a reality beyond what can be scientifically proven and had solely natural causes. And that there was and is an intelligence behind it all and that this intelligence knows who I am, cares about me and even responds to me. This caused me more than my share of consternation.

As I alluded towards the beginning, this whole episode didn’t measure up to the kind of thing that a Supernatural (I’ll call it God) would pay attention to if you know what I mean. Lord knows I prayed for a lot of things after that and didn’t get anything close to that kind of response. More importantly, I constantly heard the cry of the Jews in their European ghettos as they were dragged into cattle cars, sent to the camps, gassed and incinerated. I saw poverty and illness and discord everywhere. I knew that millions suffered, despite prayers. Where was God? What kind of being was God, anyway?

Why would he show up so vividly for something so trite in my life and be absent or seemingly care-less in the midst of so much that was more important? I just couldn’t resolve the dichotomy.

I have said that I fought God for thirty years. It is told that the ancient Hebrew Jacob (son of Isaac, grandson of Abraham) wrestled with God all night, for which he was renamed Israel, which means something like “he who struggles with God.” I can relate.

That the holy man Jesus, great moral teacher, could actually be God just didn’t make complete sense to me. What was with all of the selective healing, yet allowing evil to run rampant? Prayers? Miracles? It just didn’t compute.

But, throughout, I never forgot that December night. Just because I couldn’t resolve that with all of the rest, didn’t mean God was at fault.

Until I finally made sense of it. At least in my simple mind. It became clear as a bell almost exactly thirty years later at (come to think of it) the same time … about a quarter of 7pm.

In another miracle, I heard his voice and he let me know that he had been with me since the very beginning. He was always there, beckoning, but allowing me to choose my own path.

You see, he had given this very rational and skeptical person proof that there was a supernatural reality where I was cared for. Perhaps the absurdity of the whole thing was a major reason it stuck with me so strongly for so long.

It’s now been almost fourteen years and I have seen and experienced a great deal since then. The fact is that I see God’s active hand constantly. I have spoken to extremely trustworthy and intelligent people who have been party to physical miracles that are beyond comprehension. Yes, I believe that God chose to intervene and cure my very dangerous condition three years ago. Why me, yet allow Shannon to die? I can only conjecture but I won’t go there now.

Do I believe in miracles? You bet. Do I believe God knows me and loves me without condition? Without a doubt. Do I believe that God so intervened in his world that he became man, about which we celebrate in a few days? Yes, I do.

Do I believe God answered a young man’s prayer to help get to a review session by commanding a hand to seal the airflow into a carburetor? Yep. Believed it then and believe it today. I’m pretty sure that Jesus still laughs about that one and that the angels still dance with delight.

And, I join them with laughter and delight that God so loved the world (and me) that he was born in the City of David so long ago. Amen.