“But he said to him, ‘If they do not listen to Moses and the Prophets, they will not be persuaded even if someone rises from the dead.'” – Luke 16:31

My heart had been softened by seeing the Stairs of Loretto. I think God was preparing me to see something that only my heart could understand.

I come to you, humbly, as someone who has seen miracles. I’ve stood by and watched the unexplainable happen. It began with a name. Riley. His name was written in a journal eleven years before he was born and thirteen years before we met.

And then there was Mary Alice. And then there was Sebastian.

As Kelly and I were preparing to take our annual trip, Brian and I happened to watch a video online by Real Life Catholic. We are huge Chris Stefanick fans and watched his special on Santa Fe. He spoke of Chimayo, a little town north of Santa Fe. He spoke of the dirt and the crutches and the healings that happened.

Kelly had just finished reading Death comes for the Archbishop, about Santa Fe. Little did we know, our heart were both being prepared for an accidental pilgrimage.

We drove to where cell service died and the winding roads narrowed. We quietly searched for this place we had been told was the home of miracles. The gentle hills hid the next turns well, making the drive seem mysterious. As we pulled in to the humble dirt parking lot, I held my breath and wondered if we were really in the right place. What could as special as seeing stairs built by St. Joseph? What destination in New Mexico could be deemed a pilgrimage by many?

We arrived just in time for Mass. It was too hot to sit inside the chapel, so we sat outdoors and the priest welcomed all people, of all faiths to join us on the concrete benches. The homily (sermon) was welcoming and inspiring and exactly what my heart longed to hear.

We walked up the hill to the original chapel.

They asked that no pictures be taken inside the chapel, so I will do my best to describe it to you.

The Story of Chimayo is that a priest, saw a bright light coming from a hillside. As he dug into the hillside to find the source of the light, he found the crucifix (which you can see in this picture). The crucifix was taken to Santa Cruz; however, three times, it disappeared and was found back in the same hole. A chapel was built and shortly thereafter the miracles began.

I walked to the front of the church and turned left through a door. Then, you turn to the right and there is a small room. It is only large enough for about six people at a time and there, in the center of the room, is the hole.

This is the dirt. This is the dirt that people travel for miles just to touch and pray to our Savior for a miracle.

As you leave the room, there is a long hallway. On one side of the hallway are hundreds and hundreds of photos of loved ones. On the other side of the hallway are crutches, no longer needed by faithful that left this place healed.

I sat on a bench in the hallway as my head was spinning. I believe in miracles. But could all of these people actually have been healed? Was it true? If it was true, why isn’t the road to this place a parking lot of people just waiting their turn?

It reminded me of the verse above. Our Heavenly Father sent so many prophets. He gave us so many signs, but we didn’t believe. In the ultimate act of love, He gave us His Son, so that we may live with Him forever. But stil, there are so many that don’t listen.

So, please don’t let me be an anybody that you don’t listen to. Let me be your somebody. Believe me when I tell you that our God is real. He sees you and He loves you.