When I was three years old, I fell down on a rough cement sidewalk, resulting in a big bloody scratch on my knee. The next day my mother and father took me to the lake, where he was working on his boat, and I had a large, thick scab of dried blood on the knee wound from the day before. My Band-Aid had not stayed on (it had probably fallen off while I was taking a bath), so my parents looked at the scab and then told me not to touch it or pick at it. But I couldn't resist! I kept picking at the edge when no one was looking until suddenly all but the bottom edge broke loose, revealing many blood-red and white spots covering the wet yellow skin underneath. I quickly pushed the brown scab back into place to hide my crime and was relieved that because it was sticky, it stayed in place.
Not wanting to be caught or scolded for disobeying, I silently (but quite seriously) asked God to please make the scab and bloody injury underneath disappear.
Then I went on playing. But every few minutes I would look down at that scab on my knee, and each time I looked it was noticeably smaller than before. Clearly, God was answering my prayer and making it disappear. Finally, it was only a brown dot, and the next time I looked, it was totally gone!
Normally, my skin would be pink for a day or two where a bloody cut or scratch like that had recently healed. But this time, there was no discoloration at all—no scab, no scar, and no hint that any injury had ever been there whatsoever. It was now just perfectly healthy baby skin again.
I wanted to know how long God had spent healing my knee, so I asked my mother how long we had been there at the lake. "Oh, about an hour," she answered. So God had healed it—all the way from raw and bloody to baby-skin perfect—in less than an hour. I thanked God a lot for that, and the whole matter remained our little secret. I have never told anyone—until now.