Starting Saturday, a great number of us here in Mississippi, and more than a few elsewhere, began praying, asking God for a miracle. We begged and pleaded for Hal White's recovery. For another chance to drink a beer with him, play a round of golf with him, eat his soups, hear that gruff voice of his, or just hug his neck. We begged and pleaded for that miracle. We did not get it.
In the grips of the sadness that fills our hearts now in the absence of that miracle, it is easy to forget that we do not get to define the miracles God performs. In truth, there is little doubt that God had already answered our prayers for a miracle.
The miracle we got was 64 years of Hal White. And my, oh my, what gift to all of us that was.