Do you believe in the sweet simplicity of God’s miracles? Or just when the plane doesn’t crash?

I’ve been pondering this question lately, and if you’ll forgive a longer than usual piece, I’d love to explore it with you.

As you probably know, I spent most of December 2022 on the road playing the role of shepherd narrator in Jenny Oaks Baker and Family Four’s “Joy to the World” Christmas show.

Writing and performing with Jenny, her incredible kids, Irish soprano Alex Sharpe, and hundreds of dancers and singers in six states was the experience of a lifetime.

But why?

What made this particular adventure so special? So sweet? So sacred?

From the moment the first show ended on December 1 in St. George, Utah, I was fighting tears offstage. Something was happening. To me. To the entire cast and crew.

A spiritual momentum was gathering around the show and with every additional rehearsal and performance in nine more cities, it became more undeniable.

Was it simply the spirit of Christmas? Maybe a heavenly nudge confirming that what Jenny had envisioned more than two years ago as a musical evening laser-focused on Christ had indeed been divine inspiration?

Yes and yes. It felt like both those things.

But there was something more. Another message we needed to hear, if we were listening.

Expect miracles.

But only if we’re willing to see them.

When a line escaped me on opening night, my son Kason was exactly where I needed him. In the dark wings of the stage with a prayer and whisper.

When we had no time to spare and a long drive from southern Utah to Idaho Falls, a snow storm slowed us down and sent our car sliding more than once. We passed more than a dozen crashes and disabled vehicles.

Somehow we arrived safely, rehearsed with a new choir and dancers for the very first time, and delivered a remarkable show to an audience who’d come hungry for inspiration and an evening of witnessing.

That same night, after the show ended, Jenny found out that because the team’s camera batteries died, she did not have specific footage she wanted from the modern dancers. Their unique performance was deeply moving and she’d hope to use it as a model for future shows.

Determined to not leave the venue without their routine on film, but with the stage already cleared and the dancers in street clothes, Jenny arranged for a simple, impromptu encore.

But before they could begin, Jenny discovered that a stranger had recorded the numbers she needed for a friend who needed to leave early.

I stood by as Jenny and the dancers gathered around a laptop, watched the video, and she passionately identified that tender little miracle. More importantly, she taught those young dancers a lesson they’ll never forget.

A few days later, a communication snafu caused Alex to nearly miss her flight from Arizona to Washington, D.C. Only a bonafide travel miracle put her on the flight with the rest of us.

This was the same day she became quite ill and needed an emergency call with her doctor and a prescription that combined with prayer would allow her to continue with the tour.

Although I was fully prepared to pull double duty as both narrator and world renowned soprano, it’s a miracle that I didn’t have to. For everyone.

Once on the east coast, although Alex was slowly healing, there were a couple of numbers that needed to be swapped on the fly. Jenny and her children adapted beautifully and the show went on without a hitch.

We had two production managers on tap for the tour, but the second who was prepped to run the east coast shows became so ill she couldn’t join us.

So the first agreed to board a redeye flight, run the D.C. show, and train Jenny’s husband Matt to manage the rest of the tour. He did so beautifully and just might have a new career.

Others joined in the bug fun and battled some virus or another.

The night we flew to Atlanta, I awoke at 2 am in the greatest stomach pain I can ever remember. I was minutes from waking Kason and going to urgent care.

Miraculously, though I still could not sleep, I was able to settle enough to remain on a couch until our 5 am trip to the airport.

Once there, while trying to check my bag, I realized my wallet was gone. A frantic search and fervent prayers led me to suspect the wallet had fallen out in the car of the sweet couple who drove us to the airport.

With the rest of our crew already boarding, I called the couple, they tore their car apart, found my wallet, and raced back to the airport. Kason and I made the flight by the tiniest Delta whisker.

The morning after wrapping our last show in Huntsville, Alabama, in bitter and unusual cold for the south, the Baker’s rental van refused to cooperate as they left for the airport. They called us from the side of the road.

We rearranged passengers to accommodate five different departure times, and the Baker bunch got their car running just in time thanks to good Samaritans, hot water, and a space heater.

With the historic storm creating havoc across the country, Jenny’s daughter Laura’s flight was canceled and her heart broke at not being able to reunite with her new husband in Oregon.

Thanks to big-hearted Delta employees, she was able to board her family’s flight at the very last minute and after more headaches and hiccups in Salt Lake City, she was back with her sweetheart as the sun set on Christmas Eve.

Finally, as the rest of us safely made our way home, Alex experienced the kind of miracle that can do more than change a life, it can save it.

Shortly after takeoff from New York to Dublin, her plane experienced multiple engine explosions that required an emergency landing back at JFK. Video from the ground show nine explosions as the plane ascends into the night sky.

Alex described to us the cries and screams and her heartfelt prayer that her son in Ireland would be watched over after her death.

Safe, shaken, but grateful, and without help from her airline, Alex eventually found a hotel in NYC. And while she didn’t make it home to Ireland for Christmas, at least she made it home.

And those are just the miraculous moments we remember!

Friends, I’m hardly a doctrinal or scriptural scholar, but I believe from my heart to my head that miracles are real.

Some are big, often shared many times through many generations.

Others are small, often forgotten moments, days, or years later.

And some are never seen at all.

But that doesn’t mean they didn’t happen.

Perhaps I shouldn’t be surprised that a production which focused on witnesses of Christ, and that invited us all to become modern-day witnesses, would generate so much divine intervention.

Of course we were blessed. In our flawed, imperfect ways, we were simply trying to tell His story and to do His work.

Looking back, I’m certain that the message I heard was heavenly.

It was a message for us.

And now a message for you.

Expect miracles.

But only if you’re willing to see them.

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