I have a large canvas print on the living room wall that reads: “When life gets too hard to stand … kneel.”

I believe in those words. More than you can imagine.

Don’t tell me that God doesn’t exist, for I have seen too much, felt too much and lived too much to believe otherwise.

I have seen miracles, the kind that show up in the middle of a Monday afternoon when you are knee-deep in housework and worry.

The kind that whisper, “I am here,” when the world around you has completely fallen apart.

We live in a world that is quick to explain things away.

Science.

Coincidence.

Luck.

And I believe in science, I do. But I also believe in grace. I believe in timing too perfect to be random. I believe in prayers answered in ways we never expected.

No … not the lightning-bolt, raining-down-from-heaven kind, but the kind that appears on a 12-lane Texas highway in the middle of the night when everything feels lost.

Driving with my oldest two sons and a teenage girl my youngest was dating, we were headed to Lackland Air Force Base for his graduation.

Swallowed by darkness and headlights, six lanes of traffic on either side, no idea where I was going … and this.

All I knew is we had hours to go before arriving at our destination when a sound of panic I had never before heard arose from my oldest child, informing me his brother was having a seizure.

Panic does not begin to describe how I felt in that moment, or the way his brother felt or the way we all felt.

Never having had a seizure before, all I wanted was for this to be a nightmare from which I would awake.

But despite the blackness surrounding me … this was not a nightmare.

And still, it was.

That is when an exit appeared, one that shouldn’t have been there.

This was my miracle.

The car, as if guided by unseen hands, veered off the highway, coming to a rest onto the shoulder.

Instantly, I knew to dial 911, and yet, I couldn’t tell the operator where I was.

I didn’t know myself.

Until that day, I had never felt so hopeless in my life.

I knelt beside my son and prayed.

I didn’t ask for a miracle, I just asked God for help.

Cars were zooming past me going at least 80 mph.

But help came.

People began pulling over to the exit’s entrance, stopping their cars, asking what we needed.

Strangers becoming lifelines.

Coincidence?

No.

That was God.

An ambulance arrived within minutes.

Angels in uniform.

It certainly was not because of any directions I had given them.

To this day I couldn’t tell you the name of that town, but a hospital was only a matter of minutes away.

Coincidence?

No.

That was God.

The on-call physician prescribed exactly what my son needed.

A nearby, all-night pharmacy filled that prescription.

Close by was a hotel that would provide our lodging for the evening while we awaited that everything was going to be all right.

Coincidence?

No.

That, too, was God.

Miracles aren’t always loud.

Sometimes they are a quiet exit ramp in the dark.

Sometimes they are a stranger who stops and asks if you are all right.

Sometimes they are a doctor who simply listens to what you need.

So, don’t tell me God isn’t real, because I have seen him.

I have seen him inside hospital rooms, inside living rooms, and I have seen him in whispered prayers and unexpected kindnesses.

I have seen him in the timing of a phone call, in the warmth of a hug and in the resilience of a heart that refuses to break.

And I have seen the smaller ones, too, the kind we miss if we are not paying attention.

I have seen the stranger who paid for the groceries of the woman in front of him who was short and needed diapers.

I have watched as the nurse who stayed past her shift just so she could hold a patient’s hand still managed to smile.

I have seen a sunrise break through the storm clouds and form a rainbow just when I needed a reminder that light always finds its way.

Faith isn’t about having all of the answers, it’s about knowing where to look when you don’t.

It’s about trusting that even in the silence, even in the waiting, even in the heartbreak … God is still working.

So no, don’t tell me he isn’t real, because I have seen him.

I have seen him in the laughter of my grandson. I have seen him in the love my children have for one another.

I have seen it in the kindness of people I hardly know helping me in ways the people I do know never would, never could.

I have seen God in the mirror on days when I thought I just couldn’t go on — but yet, somehow, I did.

Miracles are not always loud.

Sometimes, they are just a breath, a moment, a flash of hope.

But they are there.

And once you have seen them, you can not unsee them again.

So I will keep watching, and I will keep believing.

Because God is real.

And I know — without a doubt — he is not yet done performing miracles … for all of us.

(Stenger is the community editor for the Herald-Star and The Weirton Daily Times. She can be contacted at jstenger@heraldstaronline.com.)