A Night of Miracles

Our middle son, Luke, had just spoken with an Army recruiter when he developed a severe case of mononucleosis. It was complicated by “kissing tonsils” that almost met at the back of his throat and threatened to impair his breathing. After a lengthy convalescence, Luke’s ENT, Dr. David Parks, recommended their removal.

Surgery went well, and Luke returned home to recover. As a former dental hygienist, I knew that adult tonsillectomies are not only extremely painful, but they are also prone to secondary bleeding. So, I followed every post-op instruction to the letter and watched him closely for any signs of trouble.

A week after the procedure, someone invited me to a concert. They scoffed at me for declining, but Luke was now in the window for delayed complications. Though he seemed to be doing well, I couldn’t explain the uneasy feeling I had. I just knew I couldn’t leave him alone.

Later that night, I awoke suddenly and sensed someone standing by the bed. “Mom…” Luke hoarsely called out in the dark. I turned on the light to see him holding a basin. Then he coughed, and a stream of bright red blood poured from his mouth.

He was hemorrhaging.

I helped Luke to the couch, then ran to the kitchen. Instinctively, I grabbed a glass, filled it with crushed ice and water and brought it to him.

“Luke, ice water may help stop the bleeding. Hold some in the back of your throat for as long as you can and then let it run out of your mouth,” I instructed him. “Don’t gargle or swish.”

Then I turned to our oldest daughter and said, “Hannah, call 911.”

The ambulance team soon arrived and walked into what must have looked like a crime scene. Blood had pooled on the hardwood floor, and Luke’s clothes were soaked.

I gave them Luke’s history and explained what I’d done. They marveled that the ice water had slowed the bleeding and immediately loaded him into the ambulance. “Lady, it’s not like we could have put pressure on the wound back there,” one of them said as he carried his jump bag out the front door. “It’s a good thing you were here, because we wouldn’t have known to do that.”

Later that day, after Luke was out of surgery and resting, Dr. Parks entered his room and pulled up a chair beside me.

“The strangest thing happened to me last night,” he said. “Something woke me from a sound sleep. At first, I thought that someone had spoken. I sat up and listened, thinking it was one of my children. But the house was quiet.”

Wide awake now, Dr. Parks rose, dressed, and then went down to the kitchen. He was drinking coffee a few minutes later when his pager went off. He read the message, grabbed his keys, and immediately left for the hospital.

Dr. Parks was in the operating room cauterizing Luke’s wounds in under an hour. “I could not have been more prepared for surgery," he reflected in amazement. “It was if someone knew.”

I believe Someone did.

The entire night was nothing short of a miracle.

“Many, LORD my God, are the wonders you have done,
the things you planned for us.
None can compare with you;
were I to speak and tell of your deeds,
they would be too many to declare.”
—Psalm 40:5

Kay O’Hara
September 8, 2025

The Joy of Abundant Living

It's two in the morning, and my pain meds have worn off. As I reach over to the nightstand where two Lance crackers and a Halo are waiting to buffer my next dose, I find myself reflecting on my blessings. 

I am one of the richest people you will ever meet but perhaps not in the traditional sense. God used some special circumstances in my youth to help me arrive at this place. 

While my parents both came from middle-class backgrounds and were well-educated, our family lived in relative poverty after we moved across North Carolina to rural Appalachia in the mid-60's. I didn't realize it at the time, though. When we relocated from the bustle of Goldsboro to a small farm in a mountain cove of Waynesville, I was thrilled. The property came with an old three-story tobacco barn, perfect for all-day play on a rainy day, and an old swayback plow horse named Ned. What better stage could an imaginative nine-year-old girl have?  

I didn't feel the pinch of humble living until ninth grade.

I couldn't join band because there wasn't any money for instrument rental. I had to decline my National Honor Society invitation because we didn't have the membership fee. I never attended a ball game, dance, or prom. I couldn't afford make-up, because I worked on the family farm without wages. The only reason I got to wear braces like the cool kids was because the local orthodontist took pity on me and allowed me to work off the expense one summer.

Our family didn't take vacations, except to visit my Kentucky grandparents for a week every summer. There I experienced the delights of a fresh banana or a small can of Donald Duck orange juice at breakfast. In place of watching TV or going to the movies, my grandfather took me on long walks down to the campus of Western Kentucky University, where he had once taught. In the evenings, he would sit on the deep porch reciting poetry and retelling stories passed down from his forefathers. 

Once a year, we would drive twenty-six miles to Asheville so Mom could trade in her S&W green stamp books. Afterward, we sat beneath the golden arches in our old Buick and enjoyed a McDonald's hamburger, French fries, and milkshake. I savored every bite!

Highlights of the holiday season included avidly listening to the kitchen radio for word of the first snow day and then endlessly sledding down the hill behind the farmhouse.  As Christmas approached, we would decorate a scrub pine with tinsel and pull faded paper decorations from a shoe box. In the evenings, my brother and I would optimistically dog-ear the Sears Wish Book catalog. We never lost hope that there might be something more under the Christmas tree than hard candies, tangerines, and a handful of nuts.

Music was free, however, and we had that in abundance. Mother often played carols on the upright piano in my brother's bedroom or complex arrangements on the full-console organ that crowded the other furniture in our living room. In addition to this, I could always count on school and area churches to provide a full program of new music to sing.

It seemed normal to me that college would be a continuation of that lifestyle. When I went off to school in the fall, I carried my belongings in a cardboard box and clutched the five-dollar bill my brother handed me as he let me out on the curb. Fortunately, the college's work-study program granted me ten hours a week at sixty-five cents an hour. That, along with the spare change I found between the couch cushions in the dorm lounge, covered my personal items.

This is not a sad story, however. It was a blessing to live humbly back then. Economic limitations not only prompted me to draw closer to God, but they also provided me with a deep appreciation for life's simplest pleasures. Even now, I take nothing for granted and am grateful for all I have. Each day is an opportunity for childlike joy and wonder.

So, in the wee morning hours, as I take my meds with a bit of food (my new knee is healing nicely, thank you), I find myself praising God for two peanut butter crackers and a tangy mandarin orange that was ripening on a tree in some exotic location two weeks ago.

Life doesn't get much better than this.

By the grace of God, I have learned how to abound in a little as well as much. I am very fortunate indeed!

Kay O'Hara

March 6, 2024

Divine Appointments

When I worked in the NICU, I often referred to the two nurses' desks across from mine as "the hot seat." Soon after I arrived, God began sending different nurses there for my good and His glory. I usually got to talk with one of them during a twelve-hour shift.

Breaking the ice was easy. I would begin by saying, “Tell me three interesting things about yourself," and off we would go! Some were Believers, and we would delight in encouraging one another. Others were Seekers, and the opportunity to talk about the faithfulness of God would gently unfold.

Time would often stop, and we’d find ourselves in a bubble. Their babies were stable. My phone fell silent. Floor chaos died down, and we were free to fellowship for a few minutes without interruption. Afterward, we'd connect deeper with an exchange of phone numbers, or I would print off a “God story” from my collection for them to read later that week. What a privilege!

When I left CHOA, I was concerned that my opportunities to share Jesus might decrease.

Not so!

Today, a delightful young man serviced our air conditioner. We sat down at the conclusion of his inspection to discuss his recommendations.

Afterward, he looked up and earnestly asked, "What is the source of your joy?”

And off we went.

I am overwhelmed that the LORD loves me so much that He sent this young man to my door to talk about Jesus. I’ve never encountered anyone so hungry to draw nearer to God. "I’d like to have dinner with you and your husband. I have brothers in Christ far away that I pray with over the phone, but I’ve come to realize that I need a church family closer to home," said as he hugged me.

To God be the Glory, great things He has done!

KaySei Heinz

May 21, 2026