Less than a week later, I was brought back to the hospital for another check-up. I was convinced I would be admitted to the hospital that day, and braced for that moment the best I could. My grandparents and my mom weren't so convinced, because they believed that God healed me. I figured that if God really healed me, then my lung function would've drastically improved. However, I couldn't tell just by feeling if my lungs were healed. I could breathe more clearly, but I didn't notice a change in my energy levels or my ability to breathe in deeply. 

I expected my lung function numbers to be in the low to mid 90 percent range, if that. But when I stood up to do my PFT's, the first number that came up after my first attempt was 113%. I was shocked and so was my doctor. Just a month ago, my lung function was barely 90% with Albuterol. But suddenly, for no logical reason (I was not doing any different antibiotics or other treatments over the last month than I did the previous months following my hospitalization), I broke my own best lung function record by a long shot without the help of Albuterol, even though I was still noticeably sick. The doctor asked me to do several more PFTs just to verify that number was correct and it was not a glitch, and my PFTs never went below 108% that day. My doctor, rather dumbfounded, told me I didn't need a PICC line and could go home. I was able to get off my oral antibiotics a week later, and only got better from that day on. 

I decided to start taking Christianity seriously after that. I agreed to attend church every Sunday, and my mom bought me a bible to study on my own time. I got very into the bible, and enjoyed long conversations about theology and spirituality over a game of cards with my grandpa. By then, I had more or less forgotten about the problem of evil, and instead asked questions I knew the bible and/or my grandpa had answers to. My childlike faith in God had been restored thanks to that one miracle, or so it seemed.