As I clicked into the Zoom meeting, I wasn’t expecting to be moved to tears. But one of our business partners began sharing a story that hit incredibly close to home. I knew all too well the heartache of watching a child struggle with addiction—my own daughter had battled alcoholism.
This man’s story began with a phone call from his estranged son, whom he hadn’t seen in over a decade. The son was in the Philippines and desperate: “Dad, you’ve got to come get me.”
Without hesitation, this missionary father booked the next flight. When he arrived, his son—shaking from alcohol withdrawals—was barely hanging on. “I watched him shake for two weeks,” the father recalled. “And then, by God's grace, it stopped.”
Due to visa complications, the father ended up staying in the Philippines for two full months, trying to get his son home. Trapped by the heavy humidity and red tape, he spent his days in an air-conditioned room outlining a book on addiction. Each night, he would share what he’d learned with his son. Meanwhile, his son immersed himself in the Word of God during the long days.
Eventually, they both made it back home. Their relationship, once broken, was restored. Now, thirteen months later, the son is sober, thriving, and prayerfully considering a call to ministry. What seemed impossible became a living testimony to God’s power to heal, redeem, and restore.
Mark 10:27 declares, “Jesus looked at them and said, ‘With man this is impossible, but not with God; all things are possible with God.’”
The power of God knows no limits. His specialty is doing what we cannot. Stories like this remind us that no one is too far gone and no situation too broken for His mercy to reach.
Christian artist Zach Williams captures this beautifully in his song By His Wounds: "When I couldn’t find redemption or revival... There was mercy waiting for me in the shadows... He said leave behind that man of constant sorrow. Then He wrote my name in the greatest story told."
It’s easy to miss miracles when we’re overwhelmed by pain. But they’re still happening—often in the shadows, in the quiet, and in the waiting.
One suggestion I treasure is this: take five minutes a day to simply sit in awe. Step outside. Breathe. Notice. Give thanks. The world is filled with reminders that God is near, still working, still healing—by His wounds, we are made whole.
