The Rock + a Hard Place

By Amanda Miller PC: Unsplash God and I were still working through a lot of things together in my soul, while God and Brian worked through a lot of things in his body. The doctors were able to localize and contain the sepsis, and the coma gave Brian’s lungs the rest they needed and the energy to try and work again. I had to explain several times to Brian what had happened, but slowly there started to be more clarity behind his silent eyes. Then they started to reduce the ventilator settings, testing to see if the lungs could handle it, and they could. Suddenly, Brian was going to live. His forward progress was almost overwhelming, especially after weeks of only creeping changes and then that steady string of horrible news. It was Friday when we could say the ARDS and sepsis had resolved enough and the intestinal issues were stabilized enough that Brian wasn’t going to die. Saturday, they pulled out the ventilator and he was breathing on his own, able to carefully talk

By Amanda Miller PC: Unsplash Alone I stumbled back to IMU to frantically pack up our things; alone I crumpled, sobbing, into a corner in the much-too-familiar ICU waiting room; alone I pleaded for updates while they still wouldn’t let me see Brian. This was one of the only days I was alone. It feels a little cruel that this of all times was when no one was there with me, but (especially after the fact) I can see the grace in it. In all reality, I was only by myself for a couple hours — the hours of crisis when I had no idea what was happening with Brian or if it was all over. There was no one to distract me, comfort me, strengthen me—no one to lean on but my God. The other crises I always had people to bolster me, but this time I only had God...and he was enough. Brian made it through the day, and over the next day or two showed small signs of progress — before he started tanking again. His lungs started shutting down, and in a horrible progression he went from room ai

By Amanda Miller PC: Unsplash One of my husband’s characteristic sayings is, “What’s the worst that can happen?” It’s meant to dissuade anxiety or unrealistic worries, and it used to help a little. Until one day, the worst did happen.  Brian was ran over by a tractor.  Actually, he was run over by the farming implement the tractor was pulling — a 20-thousand-pound no-till drill, a heavy beast fitted with rows of sharp discs meant to plow through hard-packed Kansas soil.  The tractor kept going, until it lodged itself in a grove of trees in the middle of the section, a quarter mile from the dirt road. So by the time anyone started to be concerned at Brian’s absence, it was already getting dark.  I was at work, and normally I would have tried to be in contact with Brian several times throughout the afternoon and evening, but I was in the throes of prepping for and teaching a cooking class and didn’t notice that there was no response to my single text. I had

By Debbi Hyde White Twenty-seven years ago on November 22nd, God asked me to do one of the most difficult things of my life. He asked me to call my Dad the next day for his birthday. You see, my father and I had been estranged for most of my adult life. It’s a long, unpleasant story, but he’d not spoken to me at all for the five years prior to this date. In his last letter to me, he had disowned me. I knew if I were to call him that he’d curse me. My then-husband was the pastor of a small church. That evening I stood before the congregation and sought their support in prayer as I would endeavor to be obedient to God’s request the following day. Monday, November 23, 1992, I put it off as long as I could. Finally, that evening, I made the call. It turned out similar to what I’d expected. “What are you calling me for?” he demanded. “I wanted to wish you a happy birthday, and tell you that I love you.” He replied with cursing. Only this time—it must’ve been God—I didn’t feel def