Although my grandfather was a past president of Temple Beth El (Reform Judaism), we weren’t very religious. We only went to services on the High Holidays. My sister and I reluctantly attended Sunday school, jealous of the neighborhood kids who didn’t. I had very few Jewish friends. My family first attended Temple Beth El in Detroit, Michigan, and subsequently Birmingham Temple (suburban Detroit), led by an atheist rabbi and pioneer of the Humanistic Judaism movement. As I grew older, I became increasingly proud of my Jewish heritage, but religion left me empty, especially during my time of need.

Things changed in March 2015. My father was in the hospital, and my pain, worries, and anxiety about him were too much to bear alone. Although I knew my sister Carol had been a born-again Christian for some twenty years, up until that time we hadn’t talked much about it. I found myself, late at night, sitting in my car in the hospital parking lot, texting my sister about Jesus. After a few text exchanges with Carol, I picked up the phone and called her. “I’m ready to accept Jesus as my Lord and Savior.” And I did!

After my father was in the hospital for nearly two weeks, my sister Carol and I were standing in the hallway outside my dad’s room talking with two doctors: a doctor from the hospital and the head of neurology. For those two weeks, Dad couldn’t put together a sentence or complete a thought. He was bedridden, had complications from pneumonia, and there was discussion that he might need a feeding tube. The head of neurology informed us that our father had a rare neurological disease that leads to rapid dementia and decline. “How certain are you?” I asked. “97 percent,” he replied. We were advised to make arrangements with hospice.

Carol told me she had reached out to friends who were prayer warriors. My best friend Jim, who had told me about Jesus 30 years earlier, had done the same. Then something great happened. For some reason, the hospital doctor asked another neurologist to examine Dad. The second neurologist disagreed with the diagnosis of the head of neurology and ran additional tests. A couple of days later, the director of neurology came to me and apologized. “I’ve never been so happy to admit that I’m wrong.” Was he wrong, or had God answered the prayers of those who were praying for my father?

We canceled hospice. Dad got better. Five weeks later he was in good health. To me, this was a miracle. Pain and despair brought me to the Messiah. Prayers were answered, and I was filled with comfort. Since that time, I found Congregation Shema Yisrael, a Messianic synagogue in Metro Detroit, was baptized, and now strive for a mature relationship with my Messiah Yeshua, who is the Lord of my life.

Chip’s story first appeared in the April 2018 edition of the Congregation Shema Yisrael newsletter and is reprinted with permission.