In this, my first week as facilitator for the Independent-Mail’s Faith & Values section, I am doing something a bit unusual. I am writing of an experience of personal importance.

This experience has already touched many people across the country.

We read of miracles that have happened in other places and other times. I have been told our Creator no longer works obvious miracles in this day and age. We watch TV shows and hear of miracles, but are they fairy tales concocted for ratings?

In my own life, small beauties happen that I attribute to heavenly intervention, but I would stop short of calling them miracles.

Until I met Cale.

When his “tough” daddy, a friend of mine, called, ecstatic, barely able to talk, to tell me of the impending birth, I laughed with him in his joy. Because of the miles between us, I first met Cale when he was a life-filled toddler, eager to explore his world. He was adorable.

When Cale was 3, his “tough” daddy called again, his voice cracking, barely able to talk, to tell me of the leukemia diagnosis. I sobbed in terror with him. Because of the miles between us, I could only be the listening ear on the phone when he told me of the midnight terror dreams, a side effect of the vicious treatments. Cale would wake up screaming only to push his daddy away in fear because he didn’t recognize him.

Cale’s blood count was at rock bottom. Those who knew him prayed continuously. His grandmother organized prayer circles. The doctors’ worry was obvious — with the exception of a new, calming woman doctor who spent time soothing Cale and talking to him. Cale told his daddy that she was his angel. But his blood count took a 180 and headed for the stars. Cale’s doctors were baffled; this kind of reversal just didn’t happen so quickly. There was no explanation, they said. But Cale knew: “It was my angel, Daddy,” he said. “She told me.”

Before heading home with their small son, who was now well enough to continue treatments from there, Cale’s parents asked at the desk to talk to that doctor, to thank her. The desk personnel were confused; the nurse there said she didn’t know whom they were talking about.

Several other parents whose children also had been visited by the woman asked how to find her. No one knew. All the children who had been visited by her were improving drastically.

That was seven years ago. Since then Cale’s daddy has heard, through the leukemia parents’ grapevine, of other “angels” visiting other sick children — and sudden improvements.

He believes. So do I.

Angels are real.

But that’s not the end to the story. A few weeks ago, Cale’s now-not-so-tough daddy called again. The cancer was back, crawling out of its hiding place in Cale’s bone marrow. His blood count again was crashing; the prognosis wasn’t good.

His daddy, now a deep believer in God working in our lives, called and e-mailed everyone he knew, asking them to pray for Cale. And in turn, those of us whom he contacted, contacted everyone we knew. In Indiana, a large group of nuns added Cale to their prayer list, praying for him 24 hours a day, seven days a week.

Cale’s only medical chance was that his little sister’s bone marrow be a perfect match for his. But the chances of that happening are less than 25 percent.

Cale had yet another “port” installed in his small body a week ago Thursday. A week ago Friday he started his chemotherapy yet again. His 6-year-old sister’s bone marrow was tested. He was expected to remain in the hospital for 30 days. Last Sunday night, he sighed a huge sigh for such a small body and said, “Daddy, I just want to go home.”

On Monday his blood count was rerun. The lab techs ran it again. They gave the second identical results to Cale’s doctors. The doctors called Cale’s parents and asked them to come in. Cale’s daddy called me, barely able to talk, to tell me that once again, Cale’s blood count had done an impossible 180 and was headed for the stars again. The doctors said he could go home — after only three days in treatment. The word went out to the hundreds of people who were praying for Cale. The word of a miracle went out to awe all of us who know him.

Cale’s daddy called me two days later, barely able to talk, to tell me of bone marrow test results. Cale’s little sister’s bone marrow is a perfect match to his.

We now believe that Cale is meant for something special. We believe God has chosen him to touch people and their faith.

We have been witness to true miracles.