Sometimes things happen that seem to come from so far out of left field that I stand in shock, unprepared, and appalled. That seems to have been my typical reaction in every crisis I’ve experienced. I never see it coming, I always feel unprepared, and I’m almost always appalled.

It’s a human response. But I could be wrong. You may be a person who is always prepared and ready for these blasts from left field. And maybe I should try harder to gain that stance.

The hospital

Anyway, this last 2 weeks’ episode of my journey involved a trip to the ER for my Hunny, along with a 2 day stint in ICU. The first 6 hours were traumatic for us both and I could regale you with every horrific detail so you could stand in shock alongside me. But I won’t. I don’t find much help in that for you or me.

Or I could rebuke myself for feeling helpless and repent since it isn’t the religiously correct response when I have the Christ within me. But I’m not doing that either. I’m allowing myself the option to be simply human with the Christ in me.

I felt panic as I watched the digital numbers tick steadily and dangerously downward on the screen over Hunny’s head. And I was perfectly aware that I was filled with fear as a doctor and 3 nurses worked almost frantically to cover his body with tubes, needles, and machines. As they addressed one crisis after another, another would present itself. It felt like a full-on barrage of assaults.

At that moment, I heard my inner voice try to connect with Father as it asked, “Father, is this it? Are you taking him now?!” And I could barely hear his response over my emotional turmoil, “Is that what you want? Is that what you think he wants?”

The change

Slowly, like the seeping of water in a rainstorm, my inner atmosphere began to change and something I call righteous indignation began to rise.

All the attendants had moved away from him and I was clear to go quickly to his head. Holding his cheeks between both hands, I said, “Hunny, look at me.” Which he did groggily. “This isn’t what you’re going to do. You’re going to go home with me.” To which he answered, “I want to.” And I said, “Then you have to fight.”

At that moment he closed his eyes and I realized attendants had quietly left the room. I took my cue and said, “Satan, get your hands off this man. I’m not letting him go. Get out and get away from him.”

Speaking to Satan surprised me. Why did I say it like that? Those were phrases from our past. We used to speak that way to an external entity. But I don’t see Satan as external anymore. Rather, as a part of us, an area that coincides somewhat with the left side of the brain. The analytical side, our carnal side, which doesn’t relate or comfortably acquiesce to the spiritual side, which is the Christ side. But there it was. I had said it, and it seemed appropriate.

The dream

The next morning I woke from a dream strongly immersed in native American symbolism of feathery capes and community. After getting my coffee, I sat with Father to glean the meaning. And instantly I recognized it was about spirituality coming from a perspective which isn’t mine. I’m not native American but I feel the spirituality of that culture.

The puzzle fit. I had used phrases with Hunny that aren’t mine anymore. However, they would be quickly understood by him even in a groggy state of mind. They were from our past and his spirit would know exactly what I was saying.

From the dream, Father wanted me to know that my message to Hunny had been clear to his spirit. And that was all that mattered.

The spirit

We, as Christians, have spent far too much time on semantics and not enough on understanding how spirit works within us. Our words are important, yes. So very much so. But each of us have nuances attached to words. And they are so very different from person to person. This causes huge misunderstandings and disagreements.

Only through Spirit is this injustice changed. And I’m so thankful. So very grateful.

It was that moment that seemed to change the atmosphere around Hunny and inside that ER room. Peace began blossoming like a small, pretty flower. And even though the attendants still buzzed back and forth, I crossed my arms on his bed railing and laid my head down. I may have even gotten a little sleep there beside him.

Those digital numbers on that little screen above his head began climbing and after an hour or two he was transferred to ICU. The scariest part was done.

Hunny gradually grew stronger and was released the next afternoon. We now had the practical reasons for the crashes but even more, we had experienced the power of God that lives within us. Once again, Father had taken us through and over another shocking trauma. And once again we would walk away without even the smell of smoke.

In this world there may be shock and trauma, but it doesn’t have to hold any lasting damage within us.

Our redeemer lives. And he loves us.

And you.

Faith

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