Before I continue this next chapter, I have a confession to make. I am feeling a bit squeamish about the title of my story "The Gift of Pain". When I began writing this, most of my pain was in the past. It had settled to a dull roar and I felt that I had really learned some lessons that I could share. Unfortunately, the pain has returned and is increasing. Once you read the chapters dealing with my chronic pain (I promise, I will get there eventually), you will understand better why I do not want to return to those days of misery.
I have discovered that pain is a cruel master. Just when you think you have beat him back, he rears his ugly head trying to wrest control of your life once again. I guess, in some weird way, this is where the gift aspect comes in. I don’t know if I would have learned how desperately and completely I need the Lord’s presence in my life, were it not for the pain. I’m that stubborn and hard headed. I just really wish I could learn this another way.
Right now, I have to admit, I am praying for a reprieve. If you are looking to read a story that wraps up nicely, like the final five minutes of some mindless TV show, where everything is resolved and they all ride off into the sunset, then quit reading now.
If you are a 'name it and claim it' Christian, this will not fit your theology. I offer this alone, a firm and deep conviction that whether or not I am ever free of pain, God is who he says he is, he is worthy of my praise, and my life is in his hands.
"Since Jesus went through everything you're going through and more, learn to think like him. Think of your sufferings as a weaning from that old sinful habit of always expecting to get your own way. Then you'll be able to live out your days free to pursue what God wants instead of being tyrannized by what you want." 1 Peter 4:1-2(MSG)
Are you ready?….read on.
I will never forget the sight of my dear husband, lying in our bed while a dozen firemen and paramedics crowded into our room . It was surreal. I stood motionless at the end of the bed, until the phone rang. “Mommy, are you going to pick us up from school?” asked our daughter. “You’re late!” I put on my cheery mommy voice and said, “Oh, I'm sorry. I guess I got busy and forgot. Someone will be there to pick you up in a minute.”
I asked my brother to get the kids from school and he left. The paramedics loaded Steve into the ambulance and told me I would need to follow in my car. I was alone and scared. I immediately called my parents but got their voice mail instead. I finally called my sister, living in Vancouver at the time, and burst into tears when she answered the phone. She prayed with me and reassured me that everything would be all right. God was in control.
I hung up the phone and sat in my car, unable to move. All at once, I felt a deep sense of peace settle over me like a warm blanket wrapped around my shoulders. I had never experienced anything so supernatural yet so very real. I dried my tears and headed to the hospital calmly. When I got there, I was directed to the emergency room where a dozen people were hooking up Steve to wires and monitors, asking a constant stream of questions. Their cheery demeanor and professionalism calmed me further. One of the doctors announced, “Congratulations Mr. Rutledge, you are having a heart attack.”
Before long, my parents arrived and rushed to my side. We were told that Steve would be going to the cath lab for further testing and I kissed his cheek as they whisked him away.
Over the next several hours the waiting room filled with family and friends as they came to support our daughter Ashley and me. Our youngest two spent the night at my brother’s house, oblivious to the drama at the hospital. I sat calmly in the waiting room, still sensing that “peace that passes understanding”.
After a while, the doctor came and gave us the news. While undergoing testing, Steve had gone into cardiogenic shock. They almost lost him, but were able to start his heart again. They implanted an external heart pump to stabilize him so he could survive emergency coronary artery bypass surgery. The doctor stated, matter-of-fact, that if I hadn’t called 9-1-1 when I did, he would have died. I heard the doctor, but it was days later before the reality of the situation sank in. I signed the approval forms and we continued waiting.
As Steve tells it, one minute he was lying on the table looking at the heart monitor. All of a sudden… he saw it flat-line.
He looked from the monitor to the doctor and then passed out. The next thing he knew he was waking up from surgery. “I thought I died,” he says. When I woke up, everyone looked grim, telling me I had to have a double by-pass. All I could think was, I’m glad to be alive!”
He certainly wasn’t the only one that felt that way. We called friends and family with the good news, praising God for sparing Steve and for the quick actions of the paramedics and doctors. We braced ourselves for the days of recovery ahead, as his parents booked their flights to come from Canada to be with us.
Let me ask you something, at this point? What is your greatest fear? What is that thing that keeps you awake at night or that you are certain you could never survive? For me, it had always been the possibility of my husband being hurt or injured. From the time we were married, I was certain that I would be widowed at a young age (that time has certainly passed!) I could not imagine how I would manage if I was left to cope with our lives alone. Maybe because we had been married very young and I had never really handled life on my own. Whatever the reason, it was a very real deep-seated fear of mine that I had never shared with anyone.
Now my fear had become a reality. He had survived the heart attack and the surgery, but he was incapacitated and would be so for some time. Being self-employed, we didn’t have sick days or disability insurance to fall back on. How long could we survive, I wondered?
I had a meager income selling my purses and a few things on ebay, but I knew it wouldn’t be enough. Here is the amazing part. From that moment in the car, when I felt that peace come over me like a blanket, through Steve’s recovery, I never worried. This is not normal behavior for me. I know it was God’s presence reassuring me that he would care for me when Steve could not.
Many days I would look at our circumstances and say to myself, “Today, the bills are paid, the children are healthy and Steve is alive. That is enough. Tomorrow is another day and it’s in God’s hands.” I took it one day at a time, some days, one hour at a time.
So many dear friends and family held us up through that time, with their prayers, encouragement, presence and financial support. We could never repay them all for being there for us at such a critical time.
Steve recovered quickly and was soon feeling better than he had in years. We had survived another major crisis. Certainly now we would get a break. We enjoyed a period of relative health and prosperity where we breathed a little easier, but for me personally, the worst was yet to come...
" There is no room in love for fear. Well-formed love banishes fear. Since fear is crippling, a fearful life—fear of death, fear of judgment—is one not yet fully formed in love." 1 John 4:18 (MSG)
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