You know how a movie will show you an accident in show motion? What is about to happen is really bad and you know that in reality it only took a spit second, but the film is slowed down so it takes 10 to 20 seconds to show you the entire event. That's how I felt as I was preparing supper that evening.

Matthew's tiny fingers s-l-o-w-l-y reached out and touched the boiling water as it dripped through the holes in the colander. I froze. Next I saw his entire hand under the colander. I was stunned and it seemed like it took f-o-r-e-v-e-r for me to set aside the pan of fresh cooked green beans.

"Oh, my God!" I screamed, as I grabbed his tiny wrist.

Erick, the eldest of our five kids heard the commotion and came running to see what had happened. I sent him across the street to see if any doctors were attending a church function at that moment.

"Cold water!" the command came from somewhere deep inside me. As quickly as I could, I turned on the cold water tap and held his tiny hand in it.

"Please God," I prayed, "Let there be a doctor there who can tell me what to do."

Poor Matthew! Born with Down's syndrome and, as I suspected, autism, his sense of self was so undeveloped he never cried as a baby. At nine months of age he underwent heart surgery and the only sound he made during his recovery was quiet grunting. I had to plead with the nurses to give him an analgesic—they did not believe he was in pain: "Because he isn't crying," they said. The nurses could not understand that he had never cried, even as a newborn—he never cried when he was hungry or in wet diapers. I did every thing for him according to a schedule. Matthew received only one dose of Tylenol while in the hospital for heart surgery. Can you imagine?

Today he did not cry. He was oblivious to the heat of scalding water upon his tender skin.

My thoughts raced ahead to possible treatment for a burn and how he might react to having his hand bandaged. I knew he would not understand how important it would be to keep bandages in place! What will we do? Oh, hurry, Erick, bring help!

"There are no doctors at the church," Erick reported.

My heart was pounding so hard! What could I do for him now? As I continued to pray and ask God for help, I caught sight of a canister sitting on top of the refrigerator. The label said, "Liquid bandage." I gently dried Matthew's hand and sprayed the liquid bandage all over his hand.

Closing my eyes, I prayed once again, "Please God, show me what to do!" When I opened my eyes, I held one of Matthew's hands in each of mine. I held them next to eachother—wondering if I was just imagining things: Both hands were the same normal color. There was no way to tell for sure which hand he had placed in scalding water. They were both normal. There were no blisters, not even redness—not at that moment and not later.

I don't know how to explain what happened that day—other than by praying for help and guidance Matthew was granted a miracle.

What this event did for me is also difficult to put into words. It felt like someone was orchestrating events beyond my control—events designed to prove that miracles can and do happen—to ordinary people—today!

Copyright (c) 2008 Rebecca Hanson