A Story of Hope for the New Year
My cell phone rang at four a.m. “Mom can’t breathe,” my sister cried. “An ambulance is taking her to the emergency room.”
Clutching the phone, I sat up. “What?”
“It’s bad. You need to come home— now.”
During the seven-hour drive to the hospital, I prayed, please, Lord, remember my mom, meet her needs. Allow me just one more time to tell her how much I love her. When I arrived at the hospital, I sprinted to the elevator and pushed the button to the intensive care unit. I gasped at the sight of Mom lying on the bed with monitors behind her and tubes draped across her body. She nodded at me, nudged her oxygen mask aside, and said, “You’re here.”
Mom closed her eyes and fell asleep as family members filled me in with the details about her heart attack earlier.
My sister insisted I get some rest. She volunteered to spend the night in the hospital. I slumped into my bed, asking God to guard my mom’s heart. Through the night, I tossed and turned worrying about her critical condition. However, she seemed at peace. I’m sure her faith played a huge part in carrying her through this difficult time.
Fear is a human reaction, a feeling that comes unbidden. Faith, however, is not a feeling; it is a choice. The Bible tells us, “Faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen” (Hebrews 11:1, NKJV).
The next morning, I found Mom propped on pillows and eating breakfast. I couldn’t believe how much her color and appetite improved overnight. The nurses removed several monitors and helped Mom walk a few steps. Later, the doctor ordered a test to determine the damage to her heart. He explained she might need stents. My muscles tensed while my mind churned, No, not stents. That meant surgery, and she might not wake from the anesthesia.
After the doctor left, I asked Mom if she was scared. Patting my hand, she said, “No, the Lord is with me. I will trust the promises of peace found in His Word.” I couldn’t believe how calm she was. My mom doesn’t like the unknown. I was a nervous wreck, yet she remained unnerved.
Mom’s pastor, friends, and family held hands to pray before the staff wheeled her from the room for the test to determine the damage done to her heart. An agonizing hour later, the doctor called to say he found no permanent damage. Her vital signs proved normal, and the nurse moved her to a private room.
After Mom woke, we gave her the latest test results. She smiled and said, “Nothing less than God’s provision.”
On the day the doctor released her, as we waited for her discharge papers, she verbalized the day of her heart attack. “I felt extreme pain shoot through my chest, and breathing became difficult. I cried out, ‘Help me, Jesus,’ and somehow, He gave me the strength to stagger to the telephone. Jesus is our Promise Keeper. He keeps His promises even during pain. He was my present help in trouble.”
I stepped out of the hospital room and turned to look at my mom. Tears threatened as I gave thanks to the Promise Keeper.