Sittin on the front porch….  

When you visit south Louisiana , the French culture overwhelms you.  The hot spicy etouffees and the gumbos  are as pleasing to the taste as the Cajun architecture is to the eye.  A traditional Cajun home is a simple two story dwelling with a second story under a steep pitched tin roof.  It customarily has a porch along the total length of the front of the house, with an outside stairs ascending from the porch up into the second floor.  The practicality of such a dwelling was impressed upon me not long after I moved to Louisiana .

          I followed my wife Jeanette home from Iowa in 1974, and over the next few years we had 4 children.  Because the average rainfall in Louisiana is around 60 inches, many days our kids were “stuck inside” with their noses pressed against the window wishing they could play outside.   Some days, their mother would give in and let them get wet and muddy, but not very often.   I can still see the three boys sloshing through the saturated St. Augustine grass in their rubber boots looking for crawfish or eels, with little Cassie tagging behind them in her rubber boots…and with a big bow in her hair!   She wouldn’t go play outside without that bow!  Living with woods all around us with all the wonder of Mother Nature makes it difficult to keep inquisitive kids in the house.   Which is why I decided the Cajun’s had designed the perfect house.   We remodeled our old house, and designed it to look like the Cajun home.   We added a 9’ x 38’ porch with a stairs to a room in the attic, and hung a cypress porch swing from the porch ceiling.  On stormy, rainy days the kids would spend the whole day on that porch, swinging, climbing the stairs, and hiding in the attic.   The storm prevented normal outdoor activities, but the porch activities were a good alternative.   Our old hound dog Red would shiver with excitement knowing that he would get lots of attention from the kids on the porch for the major portion of the day, but towards evening, the children paid him no mind, and they became tired of the whole porch thing.  The sun would soon start slipping below the woods to the west of our house, and about that time, Jeanette would come to the door announcing that it was time for supper.

          While recovering from a major heart attack, many days are spent just sitting in a Lazy-Boy chair, reading books or watching TV.   During a crisis like a heart attack, life is in limbo.   You are still alive, but you live with your “nose pressed against the window” of life and wish that you were outside doing normal activities. Even your dreams are haunted by hours and hours of work that you wish you could do. I know God the Father sees his children’s misery, and many times He has provided a front porch in life on which to survive.   His children understand that it is a much better alternative than being at the mercy of the storm raging around them and appreciate the chance to celebrate life even if it is limited by the boundaries of the front porch.   They also understand that it is a temporary arrangement, and that eventually the Father will call them into His house for a heavenly supper and ultimate rest.   If you survive a massive heart attack, you know that the storms of life can do a lot of damage.  You no longer take life for granted.   Staying alive becomes difficult.  Because you can’t fight the storm, you are forced to retreat to the front porch.  You appreciate a different life there, savoring every moment, knowing that suppertime is coming and God the Father will soon call us in.

The Storm

          I remember the first time I took Jeanette home to meet my parents in Minnesota .   I was living in a school dormitory in Ottumwa Iowa at the time, and since we were mutually attracted to one another, I wanted her to come home with me.   Knowing that you always check the weather before traveling during the winter, we listened to the radio and found out a major blizzard was approaching from the west.   I called dad in Minnesota and he said if we left immediately, we would probably beat the storm.  We piled into the 63-ford galaxy along with luggage, and blankets and headed up highway 63 which went straight up to Spring Valley Minnesota where they lived.  It was a beautiful winter night without a cloud in the sky for most of the trip.  It was so cold and clear the stars seemed to be close enough to reach out and touch.   After we crossed the Minnesota border everything changed.  I remember commenting, “Look at that town up ahead.”  It looks like a white wall.”  One minute the winter night was perfectly normal, the next we were in a Minnesota blizzard.  We drove only a few miles until we came to the lights of a truck stop.  A highway patrolman was forcing all traffic off of the road, and told us to spend the night there.   We pulled into the truck stop and waited for an hour or so.  We began to realize how it would sound if our friends heard that we spent the night at a truck stop and I also was afraid of what her parents would think.   We were only about 15 miles away from home, so when a nervous trucker, blurted out, “I have to be in Minneapolis by morning….I’m going to make a run for it.”  We decided to follow his 18 wheeler knowing that he would break the drifts.  When he pulled out onto the road, 3 or 4 cars were trailing behind him.  The blizzard was so intense, rotary snow blowers had cut single lanes through drifts higher than our car.  Going through those cuts we experienced a whiteout, and during that time we let go of the wheel and allowed the car to follow the ruts of the truck ahead.   Much later, we turned off the highway onto a gravel road, nosed the car into the driveway, and got stuck only a few feet from mom and dad’s house.

          This particular blizzard illustrates many lives that I know besides my own.  One minute you are healthy, happy, and on top of the world.  In seconds, you are fighting to survive.   Most people don’t even think of anything out of the ordinary happening. …Especially to them or their family.  But the storms will come you can be sure of it.  With Uncle Woody Odle, it was the turn of a key and the subsequent explosion that burned him and sent him to months of recovery and operations.  With Brenda Murphy it was a joy ride on a motorcycle, a collision with a tractor, and the rest of her life sitting in a wheel chair paralyzed.  With Don Hunt Junior, it was a quick dive in the motel pool, a stroke, and partial paralysis.

          When the storms come, you or your family makes a choice.  You decide to give up, sit out the storm in the cold fear that sweeps over your heart, or you fight to survive.  You move by faith, letting go of the wheel, allowing God to lead the way.  And He will! I absolutely know in my heart that he was with me leading me when I was in the valley of the shadow of death.  This is a comforting thought when you are in the valley…”The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want…he leadeth me beside the still waters, he restoreth my soul.”  That, my friend, is when you know that you’ve pulled into the driveway …when you feel spiritually restored.

Heart Attack

          The storm that sent me to the front porch began on Monday, September 30, 2002.  It was a normal “preacher’s Monday.”  Preachers tend to think about the services the previous Sunday (Who was there?  Who failed to show? What were the victories, and what was discouraging?).  I was feeling the stress of leadership.  There were a few families in the church that were upset about the use of contemporary music for worship.  I suspected that they would eventually leave the church over it, and there was nothing I could do to fix it.  I was still stewing about that when Jeanette called around 11:00 a.m.   We wanted to get together for lunch, but it didn’t work out.  We traded “I love you’s” and I remarked that I was “down.”  I had decided to do physical work to get my mind off of the church and started cleaning out my attic.  Our son Joey came home from college and he started helping me.  Later that afternoon Jeanette came home from school with supper from Taco Bell.  We ate supper and went back up in the attic.  Our oldest son Jeremy and Joey recall that I was sweating profusely, but I was enjoying the work and the time with my family.

          I had a terrible heartburn.  That was not normal, as I had been on Nexium for over a year.  My sons recall that I complained of my heart racing, but I don’t remember that.  I do remember a strange feeling coming over me, and I commented to Jeanette that maybe I needed to go get checked out at the hospital.  (I did not have the typical symptoms that heart attack victims usually have.  Looking back, I had been short of breath for some time, but put that off on “being out of shape.”  The numbness I had had for some time in my left arm was passed off as “poor circulation like Dad had…”    I almost didn’t go to the hospital.  I normally wouldn’t have.  But I am convinced that God intervened and compelled me to go.  I remember telling Jeanette, “But I feel stupid going.  It’s probably nothing.”  If I had stayed home I would have died.  (My doctor later told me that if we had been delayed even ten minutes, it would have been over.}  Jeanette encouraged me to at least go clean up in case it was something, and still feeling strange, we left for Lafayette General Hospital 25 miles away.  I was feeling worse.  Nausea was added to the strange symptoms I was experiencing.  By the time we got to Duson (10 miles away), I had my head out the window and was vomiting.  When Jeanette asked if she should stop, I said, “NO! Keep driving, and go as fast as you can!”  I knew what was wrong by then.  I was having a heart attack.  I was feeling progressively worse by the time we reached the Ambassador Caffery exit, and I knew I might not make it the last few miles, and that I could be dying.  I was praying like I might wake up in eternity in the next 10 minutes.  It wasn’t my appointed time for God was still directing. We passed 11 intersections with stoplights, and all of them were green!  We drove up in front of the emergency room door, and I told Jeanette to let me out, and that she should go and park the car.  I walked in and told the receptionist I was having a heart attack, sat in a chair, and passed out.

          When Jeanette got in the hospital, I was already in the back.  Soon the nurse came out and told her it wasn’t very good---my heart had stopped, and they had to shock it back.  It happened a second time.   They shocked it back again while administering CPR.  Altogether my heart stopped 4 minutes.   I saw no bright lights as some claim when they are dying.  I remember nothing.  Later I read the doctor’s report in which he wrote that he found the proximal LAD 100% blocked and he deplored a stint immediately.    Jeremy soon arrived and my mother-in-law Gertie.  Jeanette had called someone to please start the prayer chain.  I am totally convinced it was the prayers of the Christians that delayed my appointment with the death angel.  (Darryl Guidry, a nurse that has worked in ER said I was fortunate.  He said 9 out of 10 who “go down” like I did don’t make it.  But again, maybe they didn’t have the prayer support I had!}  Thank God for Christian people!  Soon the waiting room was filled with a large number of church members, who unashamedly held hands and prayed for us.  Within a few hours, prayers were being uplifted from Oregon to California , to Colorado , South Dakota , Minnesota , Nebraska , Oklahoma , Iowa , Missouri , Ohio , Indiana, Georgia , all over the U.S.   During the next few weeks, Jeanette would log numerous phone calls, and hundreds of friends came to encourage her while she waited during the ordeal, reminding her that everyone was praying.

    And wait she did.  She never left me, sleeping in the hospital waiting room every night while I recovered in ICU for 11 days, and in my hospital room for 11 more days.  She missed three weeks of teaching her first grade class.  She and the rest of the family rode out Hurricane Lilli in the hospital waiting room.  (The whole family, including     the grandkids, slept in the halls the first three nights.)  I thank God for an awesome family.  It made me want to get better while enduring the ICU.

          I wasn’t awake for most of it.  I found out later that my heart had major damage from the blockage.  What discomforted me most was a lack of oxygen.  I couldn’t breathe.  .  I was discomfited by all of the tubes and my jaw being out of joint.  (The defibulator had dislocated my jaw.)  The second night a huge doctor came in and had them set me on the floor with my back against the wall.  He then proceeded to place his huge hands in my mouth on both sides of the jaw, and he jerked it into place.  The third day was lost to me.  I have no remembrance of the events of that day.  I found out later that this was when the stint blocked.    Any time your heart stops for over three seconds it is serious.  My heart stopped for 20 seconds several times.  They hurried me down to the Cath lab.  They hooked up an intra-aortic balloon pump while they maneuvered three more stints to replace the clogged one in the same artery.  The news my family was receiving from the doctors was not good  since I had also contracted pneumonia and early ARDS.  The next day the pneumonia was worse.  Most did not expect me to make it with all the complications.  I was unaware I was in such bad shape.  I woke up in ICU still fighting for air.  The more I fought, the less air I seemed to have.  Thinking of  Jesus suffering on the Cross would have a calming effect.  “If Jesus could suffer, then I can make it with this suffering.”  I would calm down then, and my breathing would become slower and deeper with the CPAP machine.  In a day or two I was getting better…prayers were being answered.  I knew my visitors and looked forward to their coming each day.

          Several things about ICU are embarrassing, and none are more embarrassing than having to use the bedpan.  On the 4^th night it was O.K.  …it was a male nurse on duty.  But the next night it was a young girl only eight months on the job.  She was a very pleasant person with a smile on her face, and I hated to ruin her night by telling her I needed the bedpan.  I was able to sit in a chair and use the pan if she pulled all the IV tubes, catheter, and oxygen tubes out far enough.  However, I was too weak and unable to clean myself.  She had to do that.  I apologized over and over.  She said that was part of the job.   I asked, “How can anyone like a job like this?  This is horrible!”  She said something that I will never forget: “The other night when you were dying, all the nurses not directly involved were waiting together in the hall just hoping you would make it.  We were so excited when you did.  That is why I nurse…for that feeling…to help save people like you.”  I’ve thought of that often since…that is why we serve the Lord.  Dealing with people isn’t always pleasant, but we do it because every now and then someone is saved, and it makes it all worthwhile.  Don’t get discouraged preaching, teaching, playing an instrument, and serving in the church.  Overlook the unpleasant and do your part because when you do, you are helping save those who are lost.

          ICU was soon something of the past, and we had the luxury of a private room.  All the tubes were taken out, including a temporary pacemaker wire that was sticking in my heart.  I still fought for air some nights.  The more I fought, the less air I had.  I would wake up with panic attacks.  I guess my body was wondering what would happen next.  I had another setback.  A doctor who specializes in the heart’s electrical system recommended that I have a permanent pacemaker put in.  To me, that meant I might be an invalid for the rest of my life.  However, m wife said it was insurance to her.  If the heart had problems, I would have some backup.  We waited a whole week for my Coumadin levels to be low enough for surgery to take place.  A day after surgery, I was finally able to go home. 

          I was so weak I couldn’t walk but a few hundred feet.   I had two episodes of congestive heart failure and ended back in the hospital each time.  The cardiologist, Dr. Fazal, would have me come in for a check-up quite often, and when he did, his countenance was so sad.    I had an ejection factor of 15  (normal is 50-80%) and a valve that was not working.  We read his reports later.  On each visit he wrote down, “Prognosis is not good.” 

As time passed, ironically, I was feeling better, and walking two miles a day.  .A new pace maker replaced the old one.  This one had an internal defibulator.  The strong medication, allowed me to live more normally, but eventually it would quit working.  Dr. Fazal suggested a heart transplant.  For a year we went back and forth to Ochsners in New Orleans .  They screened me for every disease under the sun. 

A year and a month after my heart attack, I went to New Orleans for a second pulmonary-heart pressure test using a catheter injected into the heart.  Access is obtained from a vein in the neck.  If the pulmonary pressures remain high, transplantation becomes impossible.  These pressures were too high the first time, and were corrected with nitro.   The pressures were higher this time, so they kept me for a week attempting to lower them.  While there, the transplant team officially listed me to receive a heart. 

Being listed for an organ is a unique experience.  You are instructed not to leave the area without informing the hospital, you are also told to carry a cell phone at all times.  One week after being listed we received a call around 2 or 3 in the morning telling us to get ready, we were 3^rd on the list.  We frantically finished packing our bags, and tried to go back to sleep…but that was impossible.  They never called back that night, as someone else matched the donor heart.   After that incident, our bags stayed packed.  We carried our cell-phone faithfully everywhere we went, sweating it out when the phone lost coverage.

Transplant

December 12, 2003 was when the second storm hit our family.   We were trimming our Christmas tree around 8:00 in the evening when the call came.   “This is Shane with the transplant team.   Come as soon as you can to New Orleans.  You are second on the list.”   We panicked.  The kids called the family while we grabbed the bags.   The average wait time for a heart is two years so we were not expecting the call so soon.   We panicked.   I was hyperventilating, wondering if I really wanted it.  I wondered if I even had a chance since I was second on the list. I was afraid.  The trip is sort of a blur when I try to remember it, and we were soon in New Orleans.

We went to the designated place, and they rushed me right down to a prep room.  We had to wait for a pacemaker specialist to shut the defib pace maker off so that it wouldn’t shock the doctors during surgery.  I had my chest shaved and was given a hospital gown.  All through the night I asked if I had a chance at getting the heart.

I didn’t get it.  But miraculously, another heart came in, and I was now first on the list!   Being  of small body size, and having a common blood type helped me to be matched  quickly for transplant.  I had only waited two months.   The last thing I remember was being laid on a narrow, cold, operating table, and the injecting of the anesthesia.                

I woke up in ICU with a horrible breathing tube.  This is one of the nightmares of surgery no one tells you about.   To keep from gagging,  I would push it over with my tongue and clamp it with my   teeth.   Believe it or not, I was not in much pain.

Jesus loves me this I know

          I have been asked by several people if I had an in depth spiritual experience, an epiphany.  Did all of this increase my faith?   My answer is this:    It has simplified my faith.

          When I was recovering from the heart attack, had pneumonia and ARDS, I suffered with the inability to breathe.  I would fight for air.  The more I fought, the less air I had.  I would wake up with panic attacks.   Simple songs of faith would calm me down.  “Jesus loves me…breathe…this I know…breathe….for the bible…breathe….tells me so…breathe….”   Over and over again, night after night, this simple song declared my trust.  Another song, “Jesus…lover of my soul…Jesus…will never let me go…”  Unless one really believes that in their heart, how can they go through the storms of life?

          Trying to figure out the “Whys” of such tragedy causes some to doubt God, to doubt their faith.  It made mine stronger.  I did not feel that Jesus loved me,  I knew that He did.   I felt like a little child in his arms and at his mercy.  I was at peace knowing that he cared.   I really believed that Jesus loved me enough to never let go of me.

          I told someone that I would like to hear the song, “God is Good.”  Because I believed then and do now that God has been good to me during all of my trials.  The church learned of my request, and played the song over the telephone for me.  I lay in bed and listened with tears flowing down my cheeks.  How can God be good when he “allowed” this to happen?   Couldn’t he have prevented the heart attack, the pneumonia, the heart damage, and the bone infection?   He could have but he didn’t.   God is more interested in saving our spiritual body than our physical body.   Suffering prepares us for eternity. 

          I prayed a dangerous prayer one time.  Perhaps that is why all of this happened.   I prayed, “God, do whatever it takes to make me more spiritual, to prepare me and my family for heaven.   I never would have prayed for a heart attack or a transplant, but we have received blessings from going through these. 

          My simple trust in God was strengthened by the fact that God answered prayers on my behalf.   Before I believed I was special to him, now I know personally that I am.  Before I believed that all things work together for good to them that love God, now I know that they do.  This does not mean that trusting God  is always simple.   When I could do nothing at all, and everything was dependant on God, it was simple.  Later on, the confusion came in trying to sort out the thoughts: “What does God expect me to do in this condition?”  “Does He still want me to preach with the stress involved?”  Does He want me to work even though I am in pain if I move too much?”  Do I stay on disability so that my retirement will be larger?”  “Is it a lack of faith to stay on disability?

Why Me?

          After the transplant, complications set in.  I had contracted a polymicrobial  infection in my sternum.  Only drastic measures could save my life.   A young Fellow said, “This is going to hurt…” as he forced a ¼ “ diameter hard plastic tube between my ribs and into my body cavity to drain fluid from around the new heart.   I screamed in intense pain. I grasped  for something to hold on to, clutching the bed with claw like hands as I cried like a baby.    If that didn’t hurt enough, later the doctors said they would have to remove some of my sternum.  Dr Parks ordered immediate emergency surgery.  When I woke up again, I was in the most intense pain that I have ever endured.     They had removed part of the sternum, and had stuffed it with gauze.    They cut me under each arm and relocated the chest muscles to hold me together like rubber bands.  I could not take the agonizing pain, and was thankful for the morphine drip which allowed me to go back to sleep..

          I am not angry with the young Fellow or with Dr. Parks.   I am thankful to them for hurting me; because the ultimate end was that my life was saved.   Why then, should I get angry with God when he allows me to hurt?  If it saves my eternal life, should I not thank him for being so good?   God promises us that everything will turn out for good in Rom. 8:28, and I believe Him even more than I believed my doctors.

          The song, “God is Good,” has a very fast tempo, and could pass for an old-fashioned boogie-woogie song.  Some are offended by it when it is sung in church.  But I want to shout it out when I hear it.  God has been good to me!   He was right there when I was in the shadow of death just like a shepherd.   He led me through it.  I am alive!  God is good!

My God is so Big…

          My storms weren’t only affecting me.   My family was seeking shelter as well.   Jeanette never left my side…literally.   During the heart attack, the hurricane, the 22 days in the hospital, she was there waiting.  She missed 3 weeks of teaching her first grade class.  She slept in the halls the first three nights, and on a cot in the hospital thereafter.  Dr. Fazal  is a wonderful doctor, and can be trusted to be truthful with his patients.  But even before he told her, Jeanette could see it in  his face  that the news of my condition was not good.   She understood that I was dying, and was trying to face it.  Bro. Paul Estes and others in the church family were comforting to her 

          But again a simple song of faith helped her  the most through this time!  She would repeat to herself over and over the words to the song, “My God is so big, so strong and so mighty, there’s nothing my God cannot do…”   Our family learned that if you have this simple faith in God, you turn to him for help and strength as you endure  the storms.  We were not alienated by the storms.   We didn’t blame God, nor get angry at Him for allowing these things to happen.  We did ask many times, “Why???”  When the storms came, we threw out our anchors of trust and hope to a  Big God  who is full of love and mercy.

          The analogy of trials and storms is found in the Bible in  Hebrews 6:19-20.  “We have this hope as an anchor for the soul, firm and secure…”  This text suggests that life is a storm, and these storms endanger the soul, but we are secure in our faith and trust in God.  Romans 5:5 tells us that this “hope does not disappoint.  Peter describes it as a “living hope”  in  I Peter 1:3.  Our anchor of hope is secured in the Rock  of heaven.   

People who are not anchored in the Rock of our Salvation need to be convinced that there is no safe anchorage for our soul anywhere below!   There is no security here, no quiet harbor, no haven of rest.  Hope in anything earthly is useless and disappointing; but the hope which finds its anchorage in heaven is “a living hope.” God help us during the storms of life to always look upward to the  big God  that is there and not so much at the fierce waves  that are beating about our feet.

          If you have never experienced the storms of life yet, you may not relate to this story at all.  But I know that someday you will be in a storm, and I hope your faith remains intact.  Will your anchor hold during suffering?  If you go through major surgery, or are diagnosed with a terminal illness, do you know this Jesus who loved us so much, he died to give us hope?    This Jesus who was there with me in ICU?  Do you know God the giver and sustainer of life?  I can’t tell you how much you are going to need Him!  Read His “love letters” he wrote to us in the Bible.  Read the verses that will give you strength and hope, and keep them in your heart.

Pain and Suffering

My faith in God helped me to face pain.  Doctors try to prevent pain, but are not always able to do so. I never imagined the pain that I would be going through.  I contracted a polymicrobial infection in my sternum.  I underwent a second operation in which they cut my sternum open again.   I laid in bed with an open chest wound for over a week.  They would stuff the wound twice a day with Betadine soaked gauze. When they came to stuff my wound, the doctor instructed me to say something, and as you speak, I will shove the gauze between the cut sternum piece by piece.  I began saying “Out…out…out…”  Each time opening the chest so a little more gauze could be stuffed in.  After a while the doctor stopped shoving and asked, “Why are you saying ouch, …am I hurting you?”  I replied, I’m not saying ouch.  I’m saying out…because I’m going to get out of here!  I never gave up hope…even though the Echo technician bluntly told us that most people who have that infection don’t make it. I never gave up hope because of Rom 8:28        “and we know that all things work together for good to those who love God, to those who are the called according to His purpose.

After you suffer for a while, you begin to ask, God…why me?   Why am I in so much pain….why did I have to have a heart attack?   Others ask, “Why am I terminally ill?  And the Devil is glad to provide the answers.  All the sins of your life from your youth up are again flashed before your mind’s eye.  Sins you forgot about years ago.  Sins you left at the foot of the cross are now in your face.  And the devil would have you believe that this or that sin is the reason why.  Where do we go to find comfort from guilt?  I was comforted by Rom 8:1,    “There is therefore now no condemnation to those who are in Christ Jesus, who do not walk according to the flesh, but according to the Spirit.  And Ps 103:12 “       As far as the east is from the west, so far has He removed our transgressions from us.”

Depression

Depression is another problem that comes with illness.   To realize that you cannot work anymore, to be handicapped in any way, or to hear the doctor say,  “the prognosis is not good”, or “I’m afraid that your disease is terminal.”  This is depressing.   You cry silently in your bed at night.  You do a lot of sleeping so you don’t think about it.  Will you have hope then??

          Two of my favorite verses during recovery were 1 Pet 5:7 “casting all your care upon Him, for He cares for you,”  and  1 Pet 5:10 “But may the God of all grace, who called us to His eternal glory by Christ Jesus, after you have suffered a while, perfect, establish, strengthen, and settle you.    The idea that God cares, and that our suffering will be for just a little while is comforting indeed.

Dying

          Dying is an ultimate storm for both the patient and their family.  I think it is normal to fear the unknown, but even the thought of dying is softened by the trust that we have in God.   Psalms 23 is chanted in High Worship, and read even more often at funerals.  But it’s meaning is not appreciated by those worshippers in the church as it is by those walkers in the valley.  David had passed through the valley of death. “Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil; for You are with me…”

-This awesome event is pictured as a peaceful time, a time when the soul is restored, a time when there is assurance that you will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.  Will your time of death be like that, or will it be a fearful time?

How big is your God?   Will you feel his comfort as you pass from this world into eternity?

I Can only imagine.

          I wrote about my own walk through the valley of the shadow of death in the Voice of Evangelism: “ I knew what was wrong now.  I was having a heart attack.   I was feeling progressively worse.  When we reached the Ambassador Caffery exit, I knew that I might not make it the next few miles, and that I could be dying.  Knowing that I might be in the presence of God in the next few minutes, my thoughts were racing: “I have nothing good to show you that I’ve done, I have no accomplishments, I have nothing, I am nothing…. God, please forgive me of all wrong doing, all I can hope for is your forgiveness and grace.”   There is a song we sing in church, “I can only imagine” in which the query is made, “will I dance for you Jesus???   Facing death and eternity was not a dancing matter to me.  It was only a time of realizing that all was by the grace of God.  Don’t get me wrong.  I wasn’t afraid.  I just felt so small, so insignificant, and so inadequate.”

          Ironically, the day before, I preached a sermon entitled,  “Appointments you need to keep.”  The sermon stated that we must keep the appointment of Conversion, The Lord’s Day, Death, and Judgment. I preached: “all of us need to make specific plans for our departure from this life.  If we don’t, we can be left in a predicament similar to that of a young man who became stranded in an Alaskan wilderness.  His adventure began in the spring of 1981 when he was flown into the desolate North Country to photograph the natural beauty and the mysteries of the tundra.  He had photo equipment, 500 rolls of film, several firearms, and 1,400 lbs of provisions.  As the months passed, the entries in his diary, which at first detailed his wonder and fascination with the wildlife around him, turned into a pathetic record of a nightmare.  In August he wrote, “I think I should have used more foresight about arranging my departure.  I’ll soon find out.”  He waited and waited, but no one came to his rescue.  In November he died in a nameless valley, by a nameless lake, 225 miles northeast of Fairbanks .  An investigation revealed he had carefully mapped out his venture, but he mad no provision to be flown out of the area.  My concluding statement was, will you be ready for your appointment with death and judgment?”  Who would have known that my own life would illustrate the sermon the very next day?

          I believe that we all do have an appointed day to die because it says so in Hebrews 9:24.  I believe in my heart that appointment with the death angel  was September 30, 2002.  But God in His grace, heard  the saints and my dear wife’s prayers, and has extended my life just like He did King Hezekiah’s in the Old Testament.

In sickness and in Health

          I had an extra motivation to live.   Jeanette was there for me from the very beginning, when it looked the worst.  Trying to be brave, she would come into ICU at the designated times, and although I was not always able to speak, she would tussle my hair assuring me of her love.  Her touch was like that of an angel when she did that.  I spent 40 days total in ICU in the General Hospital and at Ochsners.  While recovering from the heart attack, she felt that I may be dying, but her visits were always cheerful, always positive.  I felt lucky just to have her as my wife.  As I already mentioned, she slept on hard cots in public waiting rooms, in “solariums” (just a nice word for 6 hard benches all being slept on by various patient’s family members.  The solarium was on the 6^th floor, the showers on the 7^th floor, and her clothes were outside in the car.  Every night at 9:00, she was asked to leave the room for the night.  She trudged out to her car, got her things, went up and took a shower, came back down to one of the six benches she had reserved earlier that day.   The next morning she started all over again arriving in my room as soon as the nurses would allow it.  She bathed me, washed my hair, changed my bedpan if the nurses were not available, and comforted me.  I was finally moved to the 4^th floor, and she was allowed to sleep in my room with me.  We spent several good days together there.

We stayed from Dec. 13, 2003 to Feb. 2004 in a small apartment in New Orleans provided by hospital.  We were closer during that time than any other time in our married history.  I was in severe pain, wearing pain patches and taking oxycodon.  I was so weak I could not get up off of the floor if I sat down, nor could I get in and out of the bath tub.  We found that out the hard way.  Jeanette pushed me to do more and more on my own, and she encouraged me to sit in the bath tub, as I had not been able to have a real soaking bath.  I got in with difficulty and sat down, and when I was finished I could not get up.  I was as helpless as a new born baby!  Jeanette calmed down the rising panic within me, and some how got me out.  (All 137 lbs of me!  Before the heart attack I weighed 185.) Jeanette continued to bathe me and massaged the taunt muscles the plastic surgeon had relocated on my chest.  After removing some of the sternum, the surgeon left a 3/8 “ crack in the sternum banding it together with muscle taken from under my arms. 

We walked together, cooked together., talked into the late hours of the night, and rode around the “Big Easy,”   One of those nights was a cold rainy night.  We drove down to “Big Lots” on Clearview, some 4 miles away.   Coming home, the main belt fell off the car engine.  She said, “What shall I do…I can’t steer…”  I convinced her that we could not stop in traffic, she must keep driving until we could park it in front of the apartment.   She muscled that car down the highway with no power steering, barely getting into our parking space.  The next evening, our sons came over and put the belt back on.  The following evening had more surprises for us.

You could hear people walking  during all hours of the night  outside the apartment building.  After a while, you thought nothing of it.  We heard more than the usual noise one night, but being “veteran” city dwellers now, we didn’t even look outside.  I got up the next morning for my daily walk.  It was raining so the usual walk around the inner court yard was out of the question.  I usually walked there around the swimming pool, down to the gold fish pond, where I paused to watch the fish swim lazily in the cold water, and back again.  So this morning, I chose to walk in front of the apartments underneath a long porch covering  the length of the building.  When I passed our parking place, it was empty.  I went all around the building, and there were no grey Dodge vans.   I walked in and told Jeanette, and we determined that our car had been stolen.  

This would have been a major crisis during any other time of our marriage, but after the initial shock, we began joking about it.   After all we had been through…who cared about a car with 150,000 miles on it?   The car was returned the next day.  The belt had come off again, and the police found it near the French Quarter.  It had been desecrated by 6 teenagers, counting the cups they left behind.

Jeanette was not the only one giving me purpose to live.   I have a wonderful family.  My kids were there for me as well.   They were there when I was having the heart attack.  They spent the night at the hospital with their mother through hurricane Lilly.  They repaired  the rotten flooring in my house, and fixed my broken cars.  They came to see me often in New Orleans .  On one such trip, the boys ran into the back of a parked car on the left lane of the interstate at 70 miles an hour.  Thank God he was with them, and thank God Chevrolet puts workable air bags in their new cars.  We spent several week-ends together in the apartment, cooking and enjoying life.  The grandkids liked the pond of fish, and would walk with grandpa, with scraps of bread to feed them.  We also had fun together putting nuts out for the squirrels to steal and bury beneath the pine needles.

Random thoughts:

It seems that somewhere around the age of two, we decide to take control of our own lives.   This malady progressively gets worse.  Young children allow parental control, and even want it, although they will never admit it!  But somewhere in the early teens, it becomes clear that we are expected to stand alone, to made decisions that will determine and secure our destiny.  Those that do not have the fortitude to make such decisions, still break free from mom and dad’s control, but may lean on their peers until early adulthood.  By then it is set in stone that we are to stand alone.   If we have money, we have to make it.  If we are successful, it is because of decisions that we make.  If  we find a mate, it is because we are attractive, successful, etc.  “ I have a job because I am needed here…they can’t do without me.”   “My church needs me, if I am not there, many things just won’t get done!”   “My family needs me.  I have to support them.  I have to guide them.   I have to help them.”

          Sitting on the front porch of life teaches us a lesson we should have learned a long time ago.  We can’t do anything by ourselves.  For years we thought  that we were in control, that we were needed, that people couldn’t do without us.  The truth is, when we were sick, the world continued just fine without us.   The job found a replacement, the church found a replacement, and it seems evident that  our Christian family would have survived our loss should it have happened.   Other people step in to take our place.  The Lettermen used to sing a song, “No man is an island…” echoing the words of Paul in Rom 14:6 “For none of us lives to himself alone and none of us dies to himself alone.” Not only do you realize that you can be replaced, you realize that you cannot live or exist without the help of others.   You become dependent on the knowledge of Doctors and Surgeons.  Nurses have to help you perform daily body functions.  Machines that others have invented help pump your blood or help you breath, or  make your heart pace.  Medicine from hours of someone’s research keeps you alive.  Your family no longer depends on you, you depend on them.  They help bathe you, and dress you.   They bring you the phone, they bring your food tray, they change the bed pan.  You need your family emotionally.   Each visit with your immediate family is so precious.  You need them to be there for support.   My dear grandchildren made this so evident.   They were concerned about Grandpa’s heart.  “Is your heart better yet?”  They showed their compassion in the way children do…the home-made cards and drawings flooded my room.

Before I was listed for a transplant, a social worker was explaining the protocol involved in receiving a heart.  She explained that financial  provisions had to be made before one was listed.   It boiled down to basic facts.   “Medicine will cost anywhere from $5,000 to $1800 a month.   How will you pay for it.?”  “It doesn’t look like you are covered under your health insurance.”   “Will you be able to come live in New Orleans for 3 months along with a family member who will need to help you in recovery?”  Jeanette and I wept unashamedly like little children in front of a lady we didn’t know.   We sadly concluded that we just wouldn’t be able to be listed because we couldn’t afford it.   The social worker tried to be positive.   “Have a raffle (these are popular in South Louisiana for raising money.”  Or ask your church to help you.”  And beyond our imaginations, people came to our aid.   WD Monk organized a jambalaya dinner and raised over $7000 dollars.  David Stuckey and the praise team along with the Gospel Lights (a local singing group) raised another $1500 dollars.  The Voice of Evangelism printed an article about my heart attack and the need and I received money from hundreds of Christians Nation Wide.  Many I do not even know.   Others were old family friends who knew me when I was a small child.  All of this money was set aside in  a special fund at the local bank.  The next time we went to New Orleans , they also said the Insurance would cover most of the medicine expenses, and I was soon listed.   The first year was very expensive.  Staying in New Orleans , going back and forth to the doctor every month for heart biopsies.  We could not have made it without this financial help.

          We live in an old remodeled house.  Part of it is over 50 years old.  Like many homes in Louisiana , it is built on blocks.   The house was unsightly with the air gap around the house, so we had a brick layer come and build a chain wall around it.  Although our house looks better, this improvement cut down on ventilation under the house, and our floor rotted.   Every day after my heart attack, I would walk on the spongy kitchen floor, and ask myself, “how will we ever fix this?”  I can’t do it, we don’t have the money.  I even had a concern about leaving Jeanette in an old broken house.   But the Lord is good!   We had insurance to pay for Jeanette to stay in a hotel room all the days I was in ICU, and we didn’t even know it.   Jeanette received several thousand dollars that covered all the floor repairs, and even replaced the broken lawn mower!    The beam I was so worried about on the day of my heart attack?  The men in the church put that up in less than a half of a day.  Whenever we have needed help, God sent the means and the people we needed to take care of our daily crisis.

          Many men complain about their mother-in-law, making unkind jokes about them.  I have only praise for Gertie Trahan, my mother-in-law.  Jeanette and I needed support from her family, and her mother was there for us.  She was there when I first had the heart attack, consoling Jeanette.  She made the 25 mile drive to Lafayette almost every day to check on us.  While home recovering, she watched my first  halting steps down the road from our house to hers.  She peeked out the window and watched me walk a little further each day as I grew stronger.  If I didn’t pass back when she expected me to, she was out checking on me.   She helped cook food that was healthy for me.   When I had two episodes of congestive heart failure,  she and her husband William were at the house with us.  They followed us to New Orleans the night of the transplant.  William had to go back home to work, but Gertie stayed and slept on the couch with Jeanette.  As my condition improved, she was there pushing me to exercise, to walk, to get stronger.  Every patient needs someone like Gertie to be with them in the hospital.  I am forever indebted to her!