Gideon's Miracle
I still remember the exact moment everything shifted, the moment the air left the room, the moment time split into “before” and “after.” Gideon was only sixteen months old, full of giggles and sunshine, when a doctor looked at us with steady eyes and said the words that would reroute the entire trajectory of our lives.“Your son’s MRI shows a rare and aggressive brain tumor.”
I do not remember what I said or did not say. I do not remember how long I sat there in silence. What I do remember is the feeling. It was like my body had turned to stone, like the world was closing in around me, like I was suffocating inside my own chest. This cannot be happening to my baby, my sweet, tiny boy who still fit on my hip and reached for me with sticky fingers. I remember pleading silently, “Lord, please. Please, God, no. This must be a mistake.”
No parent imagines this road, the scans, the medical terms, the worry that swallows you whole in an instant. You know children get sick. You know tragedy exists. But you never expect the mountain to land right on your doorstep.
Yet even in that moment, buried under the shock and overwhelming feelings, we felt the Lord whisper, “I am here.” And somehow, in ways that made no sense, we fully trusted Him.
Right then and there, I prayed the prayer that would carry me through. I prayed He would give me peace that passes all understanding, faith that would not waver in the most difficult of times, and understanding of His will for my child’s life. I believe no matter what happens, the Lord is, and always will be, good. So we placed our shaking hands, our racing thoughts, and our fear of the unknown in Him—the One who is steady, comforting, and faithful. We did not have the strength. But He did.
“Be strong and courageous. Do not fear or be terrified, for it is the Lord your God who goes with you. He will never leave you nor forsake you.” Deuteronomy 31:6
The neurosurgeon spoke with honesty and compassion. Gideon’s tumor, a choroid plexus papilloma, was rare, extremely vascular, and risky to remove. Surgery was necessary, he said, because these tumors could grow quickly. But the surgery itself carried danger for a child as small as Gideon. Blood loss alone could be catastrophic.
A pediatric vascular surgeon was brought in. Together, they recommended an embolization, a procedure to cut off the largest blood vessel feeding the tumor. They warned us it might not work. They warned us of risks. They told us to prepare for a stroke to occur during the procedure and that our son might not be the same when he woke up. They warned us of everything except the thing God had already planned. We agreed.
The embolization was a success. We could finally breathe, until Gideon began reacting poorly to anesthesia. Then came a viral infection. His surgery was postponed four full weeks. Four weeks of fear. Four weeks of asking God why. Four weeks of fighting to trust that He was still working, even when everything looked like a setback.
“Fear not, for I am with you. Do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you, I will help you, I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.” Isaiah 41:10
At the time, we felt defeated and, if I am being vulnerable, beyond frustrated. However, we never once lost our faith, even when we could not see the purpose, because purpose does not disappear just because we cannot see it yet. God was doing what only God can do, arranging what felt like chaos into something miraculous.
Before surgery could be rescheduled, Gideon needed another MRI. So after four long weeks, we walked back into the hospital bracing ourselves for another wave of uncertainty. After the MRI was completed, we headed back to the Ronald McDonald House to wait on the results and to prepare for surgery in the morning.
A few hours later we received a call from the neurosurgeon himself. It was a phone call I will remember until my dying day, a phone call that is forever etched into my soul as a mother.
What the doctors found on the scan was beyond anything they expected. Our prayers had been answered. The tumor had shrunk, not a little, not incidentally, but by 22%.
Shrinkage can happen after embolization, he said, but not this drastically. Especially not in a child so small and not in four weeks.
The doctor exclaimed, “We have just witnessed a Christmas miracle. Surgery is no longer needed. Everyone here is beyond shocked. Y’all go home. Merry Christmas.”
I collapsed forward and sobbed, the first true sobs I had allowed myself since hearing the word tumor. It was as if God peeled back a curtain and gave me a glimpse of the masterpiece He had been painting all along. Every delay, every complication, every terrifying moment had been part of the miracle.
If we had rushed into surgery, we would not have seen what God was about to do. The tumor needed time to shrink. Gideon needed time to heal. And we needed time to witness the sovereignty of a God whose timing is never off, not by even a second.
I will never forget that moment. I saw the faithfulness of God written all over my son’s life. The miracle was not just in the MRI. It was in the way God held us through every step that led up to it. A miracle did not end the journey. It transformed it.
The tumor did not disappear entirely that day, and it has not completely vanished yet. But from that moment on, God has continued to write a story that leaves even the specialists speechless.
Today, we travel to Dallas Children’s Hospital every three months for MRI scans and neurology appointments. Each visit feels like its own mountain—the waiting rooms, the familiar hallways, the quiet hum of machines. Yet every single scan since that day has shown continued shrinkage.
Gideon’s neurosurgeon recently said, “It is barely there,” as he reviewed our latest MRI results. A tumor that once threatened his life has been reduced to a faint shadow, an echo of what once was.
The vascular surgeon, who performed the embolization, has been discussing Gideon’s case in Brazil, and the neurosurgeon has presented it to the Dallas Children’s tumor board. They both use it as an example of extraordinary, unexpected healing. The medical team remains stunned. They talk about it with awe in their voices, using words like “unprecedented” and “incredible.”
And then there is Gideon himself—the boy who once struggled to roll over and battled developmental delays, who worked with physical therapists for months. Today, he has officially graduated from physical therapy and is completely caught up developmentally.
He is determined, joyful, and wild in the best way. He is hilarious and intentional and has never met a stranger. He shines with a light that could only come from the Lord. I pray every day that he continues to be a light on a hill, and as he grows, he will share his personal testimony and the Lord’s sovereignty wherever he goes.
Everyone who meets him loves him, and I believe with all my heart he is living out the beautiful plan God placed over his life long before he was formed. He is our miracle in motion.
People sometimes ask if we are “out of the woods.” The truth is, we still walk this journey one scan, one appointment, one prayer at a time. The tumor is still there, tiny and faint, but present. A chapter has ended, but our story is still being written. We do not walk in fear. We walk in remembrance.
We remember the God who shrunk a tumor when surgery was too dangerous. We remember the God who orchestrated every step, including the delays we begged Him to take away. We remember the God who carried our son through every unknown with mercy, precision, and immeasurable love.
Our faith is not rooted in the size of a tumor. Our faith is rooted in the goodness of God, the same goodness that has held us from the beginning, the same goodness that will carry us through whatever lies ahead.
“Now to Him who is able to do exceedingly abundantly above all that we ask or think…” Ephesians 3:20
Gideon’s story is far from over. But when I look back on how far we have come, on how faithfully the Lord has provided, protected, healed, strengthened, and sustained, I am overwhelmed with gratitude. We have witnessed a miracle with our own eyes. We have watched God turn heartbreak into a testimony, turmoil into trust, and uncertainty into unwavering hope.
This earth is not our home, but while we are here, we will continue to walk forward in faith, not because the road is easy, but because God is faithful and so good.
And as for Gideon, he will keep shining. He will keep running into battles with his whole heart. He will keep living out the story God so beautifully, mercifully, and miraculously wrote for him. And we will keep trusting the One who has written every chapter.
