I don’t know if you believe in miracles, but I do.

I consider all of life a miracle.  Life itself is too awesome to be accidental.

I have experienced coincidences so improbable that they demand a better explanation than chance.  Let me tell you one of them, the story of Mel Chang.

I can’t exactly tell you how we met Mel, but he was a friend of Bill Walsh and Eddy Kaufman. They were all in Joy Fellowship, an organization that helps special needs people. My wife Kathy has always helped poor and needy souls; so I joined her in doing this kind of work together.  But strangely, I discovered that we get more energy back from helping people than we ever give to them.

It was during the early 1990’s that we met regularly with Mel, Bill and Eddy, in a motley and hilarious group.  We sang songs out of key, we read from the Bible, prayed for each other, and enjoyed home cooked food.

Bill brought Mel and Eddy to our house from the Downtown Eastside, the worst address in all of Vancouver. Mel lived in a small room provided by the Salvation Army.  His block had the dubious distinction of reporting the highest murder rate in all of Vancouver.

Mel collected newspapers and his room was knee deep in them. Maybe he was once homeless and used newspapers for warmth; I don’t quite know. But we gave him our newspapers anyway, even though we knew he had a compulsion.

Mel often phoned us with inarticulate conversation. He always ended his calls by saying “Pray for me, and kiss the baby”. We had a few babies during that time.

So here is the miracle, as I understand it. We met with Mel one December evening to celebrate Christmas a week or two early.  For some odd reason I could never explain I asked Mel that evening for some personal information about his relatives, who to contact if he ever got sick. Mel was about 54.

Then in late January, Bill called to say Mel was sick in hospital.  We thought of going to visit him, but never found time with a busy career and four young children. Then Bill called us a few weeks later to tell us that Mel had died.  So we waited for news about his funeral.  But no word ever came.

Eventually, we called the Salvation Army to ask if they had information.  They said they were delaying the funeral because they could not find any relatives, despite serious searching. So we were able to provide the contacts that eventually reached his estranged family.

We feared no one would come to Mel’s funeral, but the chapel was packed.  The service was lovely for this nowhere man, who spoke poor English. Stories were told, hymns were sung, and hardly an eye remained dry. We celebrated Mel’s life enthusiastically.

This glorious funeral could never have happened if we had not been prompted by some strange impulse to find out more about Mel Chang on our last meeting ever with him.  We had at least a hundred conversations with Mel Chang before that, but on the night that counted, a voice told me what to do. I still marvel at that.