God’s extravagant graces

Continued from Prayers that avail much

On Saturday, November 11, 2017, four days after Fenrir’s miracle, Kellie again asked me to pray for her family. My son-in-law, Mike was sick, as was one of the girls. We were expecting them to drive to Maryland to spend Thanksgiving with us the following week. I feared, as often happened, when one in the family of eight gets sick, there is a chain reaction. The next day was Jack’s karate Black Belt ceremony. Kellie was hoping Jack would still be healthy to complete his goal, as well as the rest of the family. On Sunday morning, Kellie reported that the only one still sick was Mike. He would miss Jack’s ceremony that evening. Kellie asked for continued prayers for Mike, who couldn’t keep anything he ate or drank down.

We were hoping Mike would improve quickly, and the children and Kellie would avoid sickness, because Thanksgiving, November 23, was quickly approaching. They were leaving on Thursday to head out on the 800 plus mile journey to Maryland with eight family members trying to recover and stay healthy.

Sunday night, after Jack’s karate program, Kellie texted again, expressing worry and asked that we continue praying for Mike, who was “weak and frail.” By then Kellie was feeling achy and fluish herself.

I was genuinely worried about my hard-working, quiet, and never complaining son-in-law. I texted right back, “You might need to call an ambulance, or take him to the hospital. I’m sure he is dehydrated by now. They might need to do blood work.” I was trying not to sound dramatic, especially to my daughter, who was coming down with something too. I was offering a lot more advice than I should have, more than I usually would. But I was alarmed.

I was trying not to be a nagging mother-in-law, but my last text of the night was “Has Mike checked his sugar?” Mike has type one diabetes.

I went to my War Room to pray, but was soon distracted out and didn’t think much more about Mike, until I awoke in the middle of the night. I had such a heaviness and urgency to pray for him. I was restless and overcome with concern for his welfare. I got up a few times in the night to check my phone, fearing that Kellie had texted or tried to call with bad news.

Bad news? What kind of news was I fearing? It was too troubling to ponder.

The next morning, I texted Kellie. Even though she was sick too, my first question was about Mike.

She said he was “awful” but he didn’t want to go the hospital yet. Poor Kellie was sick herself. Six children required her attention. Her husband was sick. I was over 800 miles away.

I texted, “Call his doctor. He needs some help. How are you felling?”

She admitted that she was feeling pretty bad herself, but was a little better this morning.

“Good. Please call Mike’s doctor. They might say bring him to the hospital.”

An hour and a half later, they dropped the children off with friends, and were heading to the hospital. On the way, Mike told his frightened and sick wife that he couldn’t see. Kellie was blaming herself for not taking better care of his glucose monitoring. I constantly told her it wasn’t her fault. No one could anticipate the flu that took him down so fast.

She texted me after Mike was admitted. “They said he was really bad and will need to stay for a while. His blood sugar just read ‘high.’ Their machine only goes up to 600, so it was higher than that.”

I had no idea what “over 600” meant. A friend asked me to promise her not to go on the internet with my questions. I was willing to oblige.

I was nearly hysterical myself, as there was nothing I could do. But I remembered the ONLY thing I could do was pray.

Off to my closet I went and closed the door behind me. I fell on my knees again like I had done less than a week after I had pleaded with God to save the family pet. Now I was begging Him to save the beloved husband of my daughter and father of my grandchildren. “Lord forgive me for forgetting so quickly Your power. Please save Mike. Lord please restore him to his former health. Restore his eyesight. Lord, please do not take him from us. Lord, please save him.” Over and over, I prayed desperately.

Here, less than a week after I prayed for Fenrir, I was praying for Mike. “Lord, what was this all about? What am I supposed to learn from this?” I wondered if God was showing me that He could answer my prayers. But I was aware that God’s answer to my prayers might not be what I wanted.

A word I felt God had given me this past year was “preparation.” Preparation for what?  Lord, please not this. The ominous feeling I had for three years before Roma’s fatal fall had not really gone away. I was numb at times, and wasn’t paying attention. But “preparation” seemed to be quiet sacred echo for me.

The first day in the hospital, Kellie was encouraged. She was glad to have Mike under expert care and constant monitoring. He was only semi-conscious. She learned that his blood sugar was 1100, and they were trying to bring it down slowly, so his heart wouldn’t be damaged. Kellie sounded calm, so I was calmer.

When we talked to her that night, she was discouraged. His condition had worsened. The nurses would answer Kellie’s questions only with, “he is very, very sick.” They made her feel almost guilty because she had waited so long to bring him to the hospital. Too long?

She was doing her best to present a cheerful face to her children who spent days with friends while Kellie visited the hospital, 45 minutes away. Abigail, her second born, age 9, came to Kellie before bedtime, her blue eyes rimmed in red and tears overflowing. She shared that she was afraid, because the last time she had prayed this hard had been the night her uncle Roma fell from the ladder.

 My own heart plummeted. Bruce and I needed to get to Wisconsin as soon as possible to help any way we could. I suggested to Kellie that we would head out immediately. After checking flights right before Thanksgiving, we decided to drive, not knowing how long we needed to stay.

On Wednesday Kellie suggested we come on Saturday, the 18th. Mike’s parents, who lived only two hours from them, were on their way. We could arrive the day they were leaving so they would have overlapping helpers.

With a plan forming, I could focus more on my prayers. Mike was still not fully conscious, so we didn’t know what his real condition was. Was he going to recover? Just partially? What about his vision? Loss of vision was not uncommon for diabetics. Would he be able to work? I had to stop worrying! God was in control.  “Please Lord, restore Mike to his full health. Restore what he has lost.”

In a moment of quiet meditation, I sensed God speak to my heart, “Remember Fenrir.” I froze. Did that mean God was going to grant another miracle? Or was He saying He was certainly capable of performing miracles, but if He didn’t this time, it didn’t mean He wasn’t in control. My prayers for Roma didn’t bring him back to life. But I know God is still God, and He is always good.

I was cautiously optimistic. The next morning, Kellie sounded more cheerful. When she called his hospital room earlier, instead of a nurse answering in the room when Mike lay semi-conscious, Mike answered. He was improving. His blood sugar was going down. He could see. “Thank you, LORD!,” was my constant chant for the day. We were planning to arrive on Saturday, five days before Thanksgiving, as Kellie’s recommended. We didn’t want to interfere, but we wanted to be helpful. In addition to Mike, and my daughter, there were six children, ages six months to ten years, who needed care.

On Friday, Kellie reported that Mike was well enough to be discharged. I was astounded. In my pile of clothes to be packed was a conservative, dark outfit to wear, in case. I could hardly think that I might need it for a somber occasion. But God had allowed me to go to that dark place. It was an unthinkably tragic possibility for my daughter and my young grandchildren. I had considered their plight, minus Mike. I had pleaded with God to restore him. I knew God had listened to my constant pleas. It appeared that God was restoring Mike.

By the time we arrived on Saturday afternoon following our 13 hour drive, Mike was pale and weak. But he could stand to greet us when we arrived. His parents were there, exhausted, and relieved, and thankful that their son was home and improving. Had they gone to that same dark place I had gone? Less than two years earlier, I had gone to that place, and beyond, through the valley of the shadow of death. I did not  want to go there again. I didn’t want any of these loved ones in this home of our Thanksgiving visit to experience that valley.

I will face the valley of the shadow of death again.  I know I will. That Valley is unavoidable. It must be crossed to get through this world of toils and snares. I have learned that God is always good. He is always present. He always hears and answers our prayers. In His time and in His perfect will.

For now, I praise Him from Whom all blessings flow. Blessed be the Name of the LORD.

Happy Thanksgiving.