Heart2Heart SHARING

In 1976 my dad was rushed to the hospital in Wichita, Kansas with what was diagnosed as a brain aneurysm. My mother called me at the Bible college I was attending a told me what was happening. She was a Registered Nurse, and she knew the prognosis was poor. She begged me to come home for the surgery, if not for my dad, then for her. My initial response was borderline apathetic. My dad had been in and out of hospitals for years. Why was this time any different?

The school had a crazy rule forbidding any trips to visit family under any circumstances. I was not given approval to leave. I shall never forget the call I had to make to my mom to tell her this bad news. Very unlike her, she became very silent and whispered into the phone that if I didn’t come home, she knew my dad would die in surgery.

From the time I hung up the phone until I finally fell asleep many hours later I did something I had not done in 7 years; I cried. I cried and cried and couldn’t stop crying. People tried to console me, but I couldn’t stop crying, and I didn’t know why. It was as if my brilliant façade that I had erected around my heart had collapsed in a pile of rubble. Suddenly, instead of being a “know it all” 23 year old superstar, I was a vulnerable kid wanting to be with my parents.

For the first time since I was 16 years old, I cried myself to sleep. I had never experienced this kind of emotion even during times of extreme heartbreak or elation. I honestly did not understand what was happening to me, and no one else did either. All I knew was that when I was confronted with the idea of not only losing my dad, but being responsible for his death; the whole situation crushed me under the weight of instantly growing up.

For many years my dad and mom had contributed all their tithes and offerings to the group I was heavily involved in. What they were able to give was modest, but they were faithful in their giving . The next morning, my mom’s brother (who was a lawyer) called the school and informed them that if they didn’t allow me to fly to Wichita that morning, they would never see another dime in donations from my parents.

Around 9:00 a.m., I was given an urgent message to report to the director’s office. I ran there expecting to hear my dad had passed away. Instead, I was told to pack a suitcase and be ready to leave in 15 minutes for the airport. Not only was I allowed to fly home, the group paid for the ticket. Never in my life have I ever moved so fast. I could not believe I was going to be there for his surgery after all.

By the time I reached the hospital; my mom, brother and sister, along with my mom’s brother and sister were in my dad’s room trying to stay calm. The Neuro-surgeon had just been in to tell everyone that the surgery the next morning had only a 10% chance of success. He had basically told everyone to start getting the funeral plans in order. I was thrust into this incredibly negative situation by the hand of God Almighty to counter the fear and doom with the light of His love and faith.

Upon hearing the news I did what I knew to do; I prayed and informed everyone that God did not bring me to Wichita to attend a funeral. There were no outward snide chuckles, but I knew the only ones who believed me were my mom and dad.

The next day was one of those long tedious days you hope to only live through once in your life. Before the surgery, the Doctor again stressed that the odds of survival were only 10%, and the odds of complete success were so small he didn’t want to put a % on it. Not what you want to hear before sitting in a waiting room for 6 hours. Shortly after my mom returned from saying her good-byes to my dad; she and I ended up at one end of the waiting room while all the other relatives ended up at the other. This arrangement pretty much lasted the whole time we were there.

For the better part of 6 hours I either prayed with my mom or we took turns reading almost the entire book of Psalms. We were oblivious to what the others were doing. We were locked into a spiritual mode and we were determined to stay in it. The more hours passed, both my mom and I knew that meant things were going well. This was definitely a situation of “no news is good news”. With each passing hour, our faith grew stronger.

After what seemed like days, the surgeon slowly walked into the room and headed straight toward me and my mom. He still had his surgical mask on, so all we could see were his eyes. But that was all we needed to see; his eyes told the news before his mouth could even open. The operation was 100% successful. Not only did my dad survive, they fixed the aneurysm and the Doctor expected a complete and full recovery.

After he had told the whole gang this glorious news, he asked if he could speak to my mom and me privately. We went into a separate room and in there he “broke down”. He said he had no medical explanation for what took place in that operating room. My dad had no business surviving that operation in the condition he was in. Yet, every time the surgical team thought they were going to lose him, he kept fighting and they were able to move on to the next step in the surgery. Before leaving, he looked at us and said that he knew we were people of faith and in his estimation that was the only reason the surgery succeeded.

That day in January of 1976 forged a relationship between my mom and I that endured and grew stronger for 30 more years. That day, and the miraculous results it brought, created a bond between my dad’s heart and mine that stayed strong for the remaining 22 years he lived. That one day changed not only our individual lives, but the bonds between us ,for the rest of our lives. We stood together in faith, and God graciously granted us victory.

It is very easy now to see why I wept so long and so hard that night before I went to Wichita. God used the burden of the situation to help me become broken before Him. I had to allow my pride and my ego and my strength to be crushed. I had to get a crash course in humility so that I would allow the “Great Physician” to heal my dad.

Our God is so good and full of mercy and grace. My stubbornness and pride should have been the deathblow to my dad, but God had other ideas. So many times we are thrust into situations where the only way out is God’s grace, or there is no way out. To accept His grace and find victory, we must first get rid of the pride standing in the way of humility. The Bible says that “God resists the proud, but gives grace to the humble”. Brokenness breaks the back of pride. When we lay ourselves before God as a living sacrifice, then He is well pleased and His grace allows us to live.