Storms will come…..

It was a January day, exactly eleven years ago today. My night was short because the evening before I had spent several hours waiting for ER physicians to determine what was wrong with my first husband, Bill. They told us it was a TIA, or mini stroke, sending us home, for there was nothing to be done. It was the continuation of frightening times and the beginning of my life to change forever.

I got up to go to my job as an elementary music teacher and librarian. Today would be an easy one—I had an in-service day and didn’t have students, just a day for planning and preparation. Bill would meet me for lunch and then we planned to visit my 88-year-old mother, who was in a rehabilitation center gaining strength after breaking her hip. She wasn’t doing well, and I wanted Bill to come see her so he could say his last good-byes to her—I wasn’t sure she’d survive this.

We briefly visited her and kissed her goodbye. As we walked down the long hallway, Bill seemed to be leaning heavily on me, depending on me to keep him upright and moving forward. I realized there was something very wrong with him and I hoped we’d make it to the car before he collapsed. The rehab center was only two blocks away from the hospital, so we immediately drove to the same emergency room we’d been to less than eight hours earlier.

The medical personnel took care of Bill, administering tests, asking me questions about his medical history. This scenario was beginning to be commonplace for us. The past five months were filled with more than a dozen ER visits, often ending with his admission to the hospital. This time, it was different. At least my feelings told me this….I felt so alone. I just wanted to run away from that noisy, busy place. I wanted my husband to be whole and healthy again and not need me so much. I wanted normalcy.

I didn’t have a cell phone then, so I had to wait out in the open nursing station area and wait for a public telephone to be available so I could call the family to tell them what was going on. As I stood there, a woman came up to me. “Are you a Quiring?” she asked.

Surprised someone would address me by my maiden name, I turned to her and answered that I was. She knew my family and recognized me, though I didn’t remember her. I briefly told her why I was there, my voice, breaking. “Let me pray for you,” she said, and took my hand, and said softly, “Lord Jesus, please be with Bill and Shirley. Help the doctors find out what’s wrong with him and give Shirley peace.”

Instantly, I felt peace overwhelm me like a warm blanket. She was a real person, but I know God sent her to me when I really needed a human being to touch me and tell me things would be OK. She was an angel—just when I needed it. I thanked her, we hugged and I went back into Bill’s room, feeling more peaceful.

I can still remember those fearful, helpless feelings when I think back to that time. I waited for some kind of diagnosis and Bill’s admission into the hospital; there was nothing I could do for him except helplessly fold his clothing and tell the medical personnel his history—the TIA the evening before, the horrible Shingles of the Eye he’d had for five months, his Leukemia. My stomach wrenched inside as I fearfully watched the tech administer an ultrasound of Bill’s heart. There was nothing for me to do but wait. And pray. And hope.

That day turned into a week of going back and forth to the hospital. There was delicate emergency surgery performed; the neurosurgeon talked about rehab for Bill in another institution. We were hopeful Bill would finally get better. He did get better, but not the way we expected. Exactly one week later, he went to heaven.

That dreadful, fear-filled day was full of uncertainty. If I’d known what was ahead of me, I don’t know what I would have done. God wisely tells us to not worry about tomorrow, for each day has troubles of its own.

I’ve experienced much sorrow since that day—but also much joy. I think back to that woman whose name I don’t even remember, who obeyed the Holy Spirit and spoke to me when she had her own troubles going on. She was waiting for a diagnosis about her own aging father. She stepped out of her comfort zone, and prayed for me and made a very difficult day just a little bit easier. God is and was so good, using angels of mercy. I’ve had other visits of “angels” in the form of human beings since then, but this little miracle was just what I needed that day.

I’m reading a book about the attributes of God and this week, it’s about the goodness of God. How His very nature is Good. I experienced that goodness on  that Friday, January 27, 2006. And many times before and since then.

 As a child growing up, I recall a plaque my mother had hanging on a prominent wall.

Taste and see…..

A good reminder then, more than fifty years ago, and this day. Taste and see, He is good–and especially in the storms.

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