Seven Miracles

These are not all the blessings God has given me, nor all the difficult times He has brought me through. They are simply seven moments in which, looking back across nearly nine decades of life, I can clearly see His hand.

Jerry Walker

Miracle 1-Ten Year Old Finds Christ

Like, perhaps, many of you, I was brought up in a church family.  Not that my mother and father were constant church goers and whet you might call “devout Christians”, but they encouraged their children to go to church and they occasionally also went.  But it was a “sometimes” thing until the family returned home to Missouri from Portsmouth Va just after WWII.

After returning to Missouri, the family started going much more frequently. We went to Copeland Baptist Church because that is the family church my mother had gone to since a child and because their most favorite member was Ma Miller.  Everyone, not just the kids, called her Ma Miller and that made me mad because she really was MY Ma Miller.  Ma Miller was my mother’s grandmother and the love of Christ truly showed through her.  She had, by this time, been a widow for many years and the pastor of Copeland Church, Brother Williamson, had promised her husband on his death bed that he would look after her, and he had and still did.

I became close friends with several of the other children of my age group and remained close friends for years thereafter.  Children brought up in this environment just assume they are Christians because everyone around them are Christians.  It’s not always easy to look back to a specific day and time and say, “I saw the light and gave my heart to Christ!”  But I think that time of awareness came about soon after if not because of the RA[\[1\]](#_ftn1) leader I had when I was about ten years old.  He was not a pushy Christian, but he loved working with his boys, teaching them things not just about the bible but also about the world around us.  I remember him showing us how to cook a steak in an open

bon-fire.  I remember him teaching about gasoline engines and actually being able to demonstrate an operating engine incased in glass.  And I remember, always at the close of our meetings, he would teach us a bit of something from the bible.

It finally soaked in and I knew that I was indeed a child of Christ and I remember going down the aisle one Sunday morning and standing beside Brother Williamson.  I remember too, that Ma Miller came up and stood beside me.  I knew then that Christ had died for me and it remained a moving experience.  My devoutness diminished and I went astray in later years but the heart had been implanted and the Spirit never went away.

Miracle 2-The Firecracker

I was ten years old, almost eleven when I was having the time of my life, going from being a city boy to being part of my cousin’s farmer’s life in southwestern Missouri. Work hard during the week, play on Saturday. I could not care less, probably even enjoyed, living without electricity or running water.  Boil water on the tea kettle on the wood-buring stove, pour it into the cold well water in the galvanized tub outdoors and hop in for your once a week bath.  Then, off to town, to the little town of Liberal Missouri to a fun late afternoon and evening with the other country boys of the region. That was June 11, 1948.

Normally, that meant 25 cents in our pockets for the night. Fifteen cents to get into the movie theatre and a dime for popcorn. But this night was different.  The town drugstore had gotten in their fourth of July firecrackers; ten cents for a pack of ten little firecrackers.

Pop! Pop! All over town. The men, the fathers sitting on benches along main street as they swapped stories had enough. “Hey, you kids take those dang noisy firecrackers away from here. Go down to the city park or at least somewhere away from here.”

So we did. But “pop”, “pop” was no longer enough excitement. “Hey,” one of the boys yelled, “here’s a coke bottle, I’ll fill it with gravel; stick a firecracker in the middle and pack it in tight except for the fuse.”

And they did.

Someone lit the fuse.

Nothing happened.

I stepped over in front of the bottle to see what was going on. Cousin Charles yelled, “Jerry, get back, it’s still lit.”

But it was too late. The coke firecracker bomb went off and the cut glass and gravel caught me in both eyes like a shot-gun blast.

"Charles!" I yelled. "I can't see!"

“Aw, come on Jerry, quit teasing.”  But when he saw the blood streaming down my face he knew I wasn’t teasing. We were on a gravel road at the end of main street just across the street from the farmer’s market store. Aunt Maybelle was in there, having gone in to sell her weekly supply of eggs, but just as the men gathered on the main street benches, the women gathered at the farmer’s market store.

Aunt Maybelle gathered me in her arms like a loving mother; put a warm towel on my eyes, sent Charles running for Uncle Clyde. From there, a twenty minute ride to the nearest hospital; Pittsburgh Kansas. Too late for them to do anything other than give me a pain shot until the ophthalmologist could be brought in the next day.

He looked at my eyes. “I can’t handle this,” he said, “put him in an ambulance and send him to Kansas City.”

Menorah Hospital. Dr. Black. Later, ophthalmologists say Dr. Black performed a miracle in saving my sight. Both my eyes remained in bandages for a couple months.

Nevertheless, after the bandages were removed, another month of recovery and I was able to commence the sixth grade at Neely Grade School in St. Joseph Missouri.

I did not understand it then, but looking back across all these years, I can clearly see that God was already at work in my life.

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Miracle 3 – One Drop Restores Sight

For eleven years after the firecracker accident, I accepted the fact that I would never again see normally. Then, during what was supposed to be nothing more than my annual eye examination in Omaha, God began another miracle.

I refused to let poor eyesight stop me. After earning an associate degree at St. Joseph Junior College, I transferred to the Missouri School of Mines to study chemical engineering. It wasn't easy. By then my vision had deteriorated so badly that I often crossed streets by listening for traffic rather than watching for it.

By then Dr. Black had passed away, and my parents had found another highly respected ophthalmologist, Dr. Gifford, in Omaha, Nebraska. In August 1959, Dad and I made the annual trip for my examination.

Following that exam, I remarked to Dr. Gifford, “Dr. Gifford, it seems like I can see better for a short while every time after my exam here.”

Dr. Gifford thought for a minute. He then handed me an eye drop bottle and said, “Wait about an hour, then put one of these drops in your eyes and see if that makes a difference.”

He had given me a bottle of homatropine, a dilating medication.

So, on the way home I laid down for a nap in the back seat and woke up about half-way home as we were entering a little town in Kansas.

“Dad,” I said, “if you see a mailbox, stop by it. I have a letter I want to mail.”

In those days it seemed like there was a big mailbox on almost every corner so it did not take Dad long to pull over in front of one.

I got out on the passenger side, not more than three or four feet from the big old mailbox.

“Where’s the mailbox Dad?”

With Dad’s guidance, I was able to find it and drop in my letter. Returning to the car I once more climbed into the back seat.

I leaned back against the seat and put one drop into each eye. Then I waited.

A few minutes passed.

Nothing.

Then...

About ten minutes later I sat up and looked around.

A car came up from behind and passed us.

I patted Dad on the shoulder.

“Dad,” is the license number on that car ‘NOW2399’?”

I don’t really remember what the number was, but I thought Dad was going to drive the old Buick right into the ditch as, in amazement, he exclaimed “it certainly is!”

For the rest of the trip home I could hardly stop looking out the windows. Road signs, license plates, buildings, trees—things I had not seen clearly for years suddenly came back into focus. Dad and I could hardly believe what was happening.

Those tiny drops did not permanently heal my eyes, but they restored enough sight for me to finish engineering school, begin my career, and drive for the next ten years. Looking back, I cannot help but see God's hand in that simple moment. He used the wisdom of Dr. Gifford and one tiny drop of medicine to open a door that I had believed was forever closed.

I have never doubted that God placed Dr. Gifford in my life at exactly the right moment. He used one thoughtful physician—and one tiny drop—to give me back a decade of sight.

God’s miracles continued in my life.

Miracle 4 – The Left-Handed Surgeon

For ten wonderful years, the little bottle of homatropine gave me back a life I had thought was gone forever. I finished engineering school, launched my career with Calgon, married Alice, and began raising a family. Then, almost as quietly as my sight had returned, it began slipping away again.

By 1969 my vision had deteriorated to the point that I could no longer drive. In those days, companies took care of loyal employees. Rather than lose me, Calgon transferred me from field work as a Hall Cadet to industrial research at its Pittsburgh headquarters, where I could continue contributing despite my failing eyesight.

My vision continued to decline until, by 1978, I needed a powerful magnifying glass just to read. Yet despite my failing eyesight, I had steadily advanced through Industrial R&D to become a Senior Group Leader.

After my tranfer to Pittsburgh I had found, in Sewickley PA, a top ophthalmologist, Dr. Irwin Terner,  for my annual check-ups.

During my 1978 visit to Dr. Terner, he said there was a relatively new surgical procedure which might improve my vision.  Of course, with any such surgery on an eye as delicate as mine, there existed the risk of failure; of blindness.

The decision wasn't easy. Doing nothing meant continuing blindness. Having the surgery carried the real possibility of losing what little sight remained. Alice and I prayed earnestly for wisdom before deciding to proceed.

Dr. Terner referred us to Dr. Sorr in downtown Pittsburgh. Dr. Sorr was a fairly young surgeion who was the local expert on this procedure.  The surgical procedure followed had been only recently developed using specialized micro-tools designed, as were most surgical tools, for right handed people. After weeks of testing and preparation, the day of surgery finally arrived.

There was one detail that always stayed with me. Dr. Sorr was left-handed.

That may seem insignificant, but the tiny instruments used in this newly developed surgery had been designed primarily for right-handed surgeons. Knowing that gave me even greater appreciation for the remarkable skill God had given Dr. Sorr.

My vision had slowly declined because of clouding of the vitreous humor, the development of a cataract, and a tear in the nasal retina.

God guided the hand of that left-handed surgeon.

The surgery was a complete success.

Although it took several weeks for the eye to fully recover, vision was restored to 20/35, and once again I was able to live a normal life, including driving.

Before the surgery, I usually recognized people only after I heard them speak. I'll never forget my first day back at work. A close friend and fellow researcher, Chuck, was walking toward me down the hallway. While he was still twenty feet away, I called out, "Hey Chuck! How's it going?"

Later Alice told me that Chuck's wife, Beth, said Chuck couldn't believe it when I recognized him from down the hall.

Years earlier, God had used one tiny drop of medicine to give me back a decade of sight. Now He had used the gifted hands of a young, left-handed surgeon to open another chapter of my life. Whenever I think of Dr. Sorr, I don't first think of a left-handed surgeon. I think of another servant through whom God chose to perform one more miracle.

Miracle 5-Seeing Again

I think, in the back of the mind of the almost eleven-year-old boy who blew up his eyes, there lingered the thought that God was punishing him for stealing a dime package of firecrackers. But God is a forgiving God, and had three times returned the sight that had been lost.

I no longer believe that God was punishing a little boy for a trivial matter, but I do believe God has a plan for each of us, and that plan for me included my lifelong battle to see clearly.  Not to see clearly in a literal sense, but more importantly, to clearly see God’s will for me.

And I believe that plan is still at work.

For more than forty years, the surgery performed by Dr. Sorr allowed me to live a full and productive life. During those years I finished my career, Alice and I raised our family, retired, and eventually returned to our beloved Missouri. Those are stories for another time. But as the years passed, the vision God had restored slowly began to fade once again.

By 2019, the vision that had once been restored was nearly gone again.

But let’s backtrack now; back to the year 2000.

Alice had finally retired from her teaching in Moon Township PA and we had moved back to Missouri.  I still needed the annual eye check-up and continued to hope for another miracle of improved vision. Washington University in St. Louis stood out as a leading eye institute and Dr. Lubniewski, Director of the Corneal Department, was indicated as among the best. So, Dr. Lubniewski it was.

What vision I had was with the left eye and, although vision in the right eye was essentially down to being able to discern only light and movement, Dr. Lubniewski recommended a corneal transplant in that eye. His reasoning was that, since at one time there existed some vision in that eye, if vision could be restored in the right eye, he could risk a corneal transplant in the left eye.

“This,” he said, would be the more prudent approach.

Now, a quarter of a century later, I still remember that operation. The eye was numbed and a twilight anesthesia administered.  I must have been mostly unaware during the early phase of the transplant but I remember, toward the end, a conversation in the room.

“Hold up Dr. Lubniewski, I see a blip in the eye,” were the words I heard from what must have been an assistant.

“He needs the IOL to have a fighting chance,” replied Dr. Lubniewski.

“But he could lose the eye completely by inserting the IOL,” replied the assistant.

The IOL was not inserted and the corneal transplant did not result in improved vision. The retina was damaged beyond repair.

I continued to see Dr. Lubniewski once a year for the next eighteen years and during each visit his sage advice was “I wouldn’t do anything to touch that left eye. It’s the only vision you have and it’s too delicate to take a risk.”

My vision had greatly declined once again by 2019. However, in spite of that, we were leading an idyllic retirement life.  Spring, summer and fall in our Missouri home alongside the beautiful Lake of the Ozarks. Winter in our comfortable permanent trailer home in Sunseeker RV Park in North Fort Myers Florida.

Wonderful wife Alice provided the additional eyes I needed for us to enjoy the life we now had.  She warned me of steps up, or down, or of other hazards ahead when we walked together. She was the captain, the eyes on the road, of the tandem bicycle we loved to ride.

Although my vision had continued to decline, with the help of Alice we were able to enjoy a relatively normal retirement life.

But hope for better vision never went away. My search for “the best” was back on again.

“The Best” was easy to find and, as it turned out, not that far away. “Health US News” ranked Bascom Palmer Eye Institute at the University of Miami Health System as number one in the nation for 17 years in a row; and they had a sub-facility in Naples; less than an hour’s drive away from our Florida home.  Under the direction of Dr. Gibbons, I underwent a series of tests to determine the feasibility of a corneal transplant.

They had one device I had never seen or heard of.  A spot of light was flashed in your eyes and you simply replied when and if you saw the light. First, the right eye was tested.

“Do you see the light?”

“No,” was always the answer no matter what they did.

Then, they tested the left eye.

“Do you see the light?”

“yes” and “yes” and “yes” was almost always my answer.

The technician could hardly believe the result.

“That’s remarkable,” he exclaimed.

The device indicated potential vision at 20/35. Dr. Gibbons was also pleased and surprised.  After the warning of a potentially catastrophic failure, he gave us the option of proceeding with a corneal transplant.

The warning from Dr. Lubniewski of "...don't do anything to that eye," resounded in my ears. Alice and I prayed about the decision every day for a week. Then, almost in unison, we both had a feeling of confidence and comfort. God was in charge. It was time for another miracle.

And another miracle it was.

After healing, and with the proper contact lens, my best corrected vision measured 20/50. It didn't achieve the projected potential of 20/35, but it was a truly miraculous improvement over the 20/200 to 20/400 vision I had lived with before.

Thank You, God, for yet another miracle of sight.

Miracle 6-Miracles Can Be Little Too

Saturday, July 4, 2026. Nationwide big plans. Celebration of Independence Day. But not just any Independence Day, celebration of our nation’s 250th birthday.  World’s largest fireworks display ever planned as part of celebration of the birthday of the United States of America. But it rained, it stormed in Washington D.C. so the fireworks display did not come off on schedule.

Here at the Lake of the Ozarks, traditional Fourth of July fireworks celebrations were also wiped out. Rain. Storms. Wind, lots of wind.

I was in the living room watching what I had hoped to be the celebration from our capital  when I heard Alice say, “Jerry, it’s really windy out, look at our flag.”

I looked. The flag was standing straight out in the air as though stationary. Windy wasn’t the word for it. But it didn’t last long.

The television blinked, blinked again, and then went dead. Overhead fan and light died. I was not concerned. I knew the power would return momentarily.

I was wrong. Strong winds had knocked down trees and tree limbs for miles around and the power would not be restored any time soon. That was bad news since our home is all electric and our water supply comes from our well.  No power. No water.

Sunday moring. Still no power. We elected to skip church this Sunday since I was badly in need of a shower and shave.

“let’s just go to McDonald’s for breakfast,” I suggested to Alice. She agreed that McDonald’s was a good idea. Unfortunately, for us, other people without power had the same idea. McDonald’s was standing room only. It was a mad-house and we did not stay.

Sunday afternoon: It was hot. No air conditioning, no internet, no TV.  We were hot and bored so decided to go to the movies to solve both those problems. So that’s what we did and I enjoyed the nap while the movie, whatever was on, was playing.

And now it was near supper time and Buffalo Wild Wings was near the theatre.  Wings to go would be our supper.

Alice pulled our SUV into our upper driveway off Claire Road and I grabbed the bag of wings as we both got out of the car.  I usually have the key in my pocket which allows me to lock the car just by pushing the button.

It wouldn’t lock.

I walk around the front, planning to get in the driver’s seat to find out why it will not lock…as I do so, the car starts to move…before I realize what is happening, the car is already almost to the middle of the steep hill of Claire Road.

Bad leg or not, I run to the car and rip open the driver’s door about the time the backward momentum has stopped and forward movement commences.

I could visualize the car continuing down Claire, crossing Susan Road, flying over a little bank and right into Buddy’s Resort building.

But the forward motion caused my right foot to miss the front of the drivers’ seat and get caught on the floor side of the seat.

This all happened within a few seconds. But at the time it seemed like an eternity. My left leg was being dragged on the wet pavement, my right foot was wedged tightly in the car.

My mind pictured the car dragging me all the way down the hill. Across Susan Road. Into Buddy's Resort. I was certain both the car and I would be destroyed.

I think that vision and the adrenaline, not to mention God’s plans gave me the strength to lift up enough to grab the wheel with my left hand.

The car swung to the left and came to a gentle stop on the gravel shoulder.

If you had asked me at that time, “was this a miracle?”, my answer most certainly would have been “Yes!”

When I think of all the terrible things that could have happened—all only seconds away—I have only one thought:

Thank you, God, for miracles big and small.

Miracle 7-The Greatest of Them All

I knew something was wrong. Bad wrong.

By Spring of 2025 we had made the decision to sell our unit at Sunseekers and cease being the snowbirds we had been for the last twenty years. We were both in our 80’s and, with encouragement from our children, realized that Alice driving that 1100 miles each year was asking too much.

While we greatly enjoyed our little home and friends and warm weather at Sunseekers in North Fort Myers, we have been fortunate in that, as long as we were together, we had a happy life.

Whether at Sunseekers in Florida or our Susan Road home at the Lake, our days almost always commenced with the same routine. Alice had spoiled me many years ago by bringing me coffee in bed, and then, still in bed, we listened on my phone to our bible devotional, “The Bible in One Year” by Nicky Gumbel.

We then alternated by saying our morning prayers and, finally, get out of bed.

Following breakfast, we and our little dog Sadie need a walk. When at home in Missouri, that walk has generally been about a mile walk, up the long steep Claire Road hill and then down Carol Road to our turn-around point. But by mid-summer of 2025 I had shortened my walk to just up the hill and back. I lacked the energy to go further.

On September 15, 2025 I had my routine annual check-up with our nurse practioner Britny Rockelman at the Lake Regional Clinic in Lake Ozark. After I told her about my lack of energy, she suggested that, since my white blood cells were slightly out of normal, I might have a low level infection.  She prescribed accordingly.

The following week, I was totally exhausted even before reaching the half-way point on the hill. I knew something more serious was wrong.

I called the Lake Regional Clinic, “I think something is seriously wrong, maybe something like lung cancer.”  When  Britny got that message, her response was, “Go immediatlely to the Lake General emergency room.”

Pulmonologist Dr. Sohol was called in. He performed a “thoracentesis”, a needle insertion technique which removes fluid from the lungs. Two liters were removed and catscan had shown the presence of a tumer.

“It’s cancer, most likely non-small cell lung cancer,” Dr. Sohol reported.

“Do you want the tissue biopsied?”, asked the doctor.

“Yes,” was my reply.

“If cancer is confirmed, do you want treatment?”, was Dr. Sohol’s next question.

“Yes,” was my single response. To me, both questions seemed unnecessary.

The next day, Dr. Sohol reported that the biopsy confirmed the tumer to be non-small cell lung cancer. He was extremely pessimistic.

“Better get your affairs in order,” he advised. “look into hostage, take my word for it, you don’t want to die in the hospital.”

“There is hope,” I replied.  “I read that the five year longevity after diagnosis of this type cancer is one in twenty.”

Dr. Sohol’s only response was, “yes, there is hope.”

Coincidence. Providence. God’s hand. You decide; I think it was God’s hand.

That first night, as Alice and I were leaving the emergency room a young lady approached us and asked, “Are you Jerry Walker?”.

“Yes,” I replied.

“Dad is in the room right across from where you were and he saw you, he wants to see you before you leave.”

It was a dear Christian friend whom I had not seen for several years, although I had followed his battle with lung cancer on Facebook.

Alice and I returned to his room and I took his hand. I told him that I too had just been told I most likely also have lung cancer.

“It’s too late for me,” he said, “but don’t go here for treatment, go to Barnes Hospital in St. Louis.”

My dear friend passed away a few days later. Lake General Hospital is a wonderful regional facility which has grown greatly since our move to the Lake in the year 2000 and they do have a specialty cancer center. But just as I researched for “the best” with my eyes, I planned to follow my friend’s advice and do the same for my cancer treatment.

“The best” and logistics were equally important.

Kansas University Cancer Center** **was one of the few National Cancer Institute Comprehensive Cancer Centers.  And KU Cancer Center had a facility in Lees Summit, where my daughter Laura lived. Laura had been with us since the day after my initial emergency room visit.

So daughter Laura and son-in-law John Turner’s home has been our second home now for over ten months as I undergo treatment every six weeks at the Lees Summit KU Cancer Center.

The cancer center is truly impressive and has an outstanding staff of qualified doctors and technicians.

My oncologist, Dr. L. Chintala, directs my treatment and keeps us informed as to the status of the lung cancer.

I’ve learned from my research that treatment of non-small-cell lung cancer (NSCLC) has advanced greatly in recent years with advancements in targeted therapies and immunotherapies.  However, NSCLC still remains the leading cause of cancer death world wide.

I undergo treatment every three weeks. The last two CT scans have not shown any change in the originally found tumor which has been significantly reduced in size.

How am I feeling?  I feel rather poorly the first few days following treatment but feel pretty good by the time the next treatment rolls around.

All in all, I think I feel about as well as I did a year ago. I know my God is watching over me and will allow me to remain on this earth for as long as is within His plan.

During that time it is my plan, no, I think God’s plan, that I strive to be an effective Christian witness for Christ.

Miracle Seven? The greatest miracle of all will come when Christ calls me home to be with Him—the miracle of life everlasting.