It was about 1995 and CB kept getting respiratory infections. One particular time he was so bad that he kept getting weaker. I called the doctor and was told it would have to run its course and that he might get worse before he got better. I thought, "If he gets any worse he'll be dead."
That afternoon he was lying on the sofa too weak to hold a glass or sip water through a straw. He was cold and asked if it was getting dark. When I told him that it was warm in the house and the sun was shining brightly through the windows, he told me that I sounded like I was far away in a tunnel. He spoke with effort to be just above a whisper. Our three year old son quietly stood beside me as we both looked at his daddy lying there, barely moving as he breathed. "Is Daddy going to die?" he asked. I assured him that Daddy was going to be okay but he needed to rest. After settling him down to a Thomas the Tank Engine video, I stepped into the next room and nearly fell apart. "Please, Lord," I cried as quietly as I could, "I'm not ready to be a widow!"
"Julie?" came my husband's weak, but stronger voice from the next room. I rushed in and he was wide awake. I helped him sit up and, although he was shaky, he took the glass I had tried to offer him a few minutes before and began to drink. He still had a recovery period of growing stronger over a few weeks, but he was alive!
I know that prayer works. I don't pretend to understand everything about it, but I know that God heard the desperate prayer of a young woman who didn't want to lose her husband. That was sixteen years ago, and my husband is still with me - just older. ;)
