As I sat in the Intensive Care Waiting room, I recalled how yesterday, Sunday, God had brought to mind His faithful provision through each season of my life. He’d been reminding of these miracles all summer long, one at a time. Then He gave me a rapid-fire recap of His miraculous provisions throughout my life. It was a precious experience, but it kind of reminded me of a review before a final exam. I had said to Him, Lord, I could write a book on the theme of your faithful provision through every season of life, at least a series of articles, except there might be some who would question my assertion of your faithfulness through widowhood, since I have not faced that yet.

When He had finished this grand review, He told me, “Keep your eyes on me. I always have been and always will be your faithful provider.”

I had replied, “Okay, Lord. I can do that.” But why He did He give me this wonderful gift of remembrance?

Now on Monday, I spoke to God, So is this why you brought to my remembrance your faithful provision?  Okay. My husband is not my provider. You are my Provider Lord. I will keep my eyes on you.

I anchored my thoughts on this and God’s wisdom and love.  God you are in control.  You know what’s best.  I want my husband to live.  But God, what will give you most glory?  Let your will be done.

My pastor, Jerry Sloan, arrived at the ICU waiting room.  We prayed and asked for God’s grace, peace and strength.

“Lindy Swanson?” a man asked, as he entered the room.  I nodded to him. He looked like a pleasant man, but was somber-faced.  He pulled up a chair.  “I’m the hospital Chaplin. Your husband is in very serious condition.” He paused.

“Yes,” I acknowledged.

“He has the best cardiac surgeon in the state.  They’re racing to figure out what’s wrong and how to help him.”

“Okay.”

“Did you hear them call CODE over the speaker system?  That was for your husband.”

This is the warm-up act for more bad news.  They sent him ahead to soften the blow. This has become something more than a simple stent surgery. I looked at him, not answering, while trying to recall if I’d heard that.  I hadn’t heard anything. But then I’d not been in the waiting room the whole time. I shook my head, no.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“Yes, I’m fine.”

He looked at me quizzically, then at my Pastor, as though for reassurance that I was fine.

Pastor Sloan nodded yes.

I don’t think he expected me to be fine.  I don’t think he knows how to read my calmness. But God, I trust you’re in control.

“Okay.  Call me if you need me.  Here’s my card.  My office is downstairs.”

He left cordially, but as soberly as he had walked in.

A doctor walked in.  He looked like a cupie doll.  His eye glasses looked odd.  The wire rim dipped under the lens, not above it. The lens was flat on the bottom, but curved over the top of his eyelids.  If it weren’t for the nose-rim shaped to fit the bridge of his nose in this position, I would have been sure he had put them on upside down in his haste.  I managed not to laugh but thought, Okay God. He’s the comic relief, before the punch line.

The doctor repeated the Chaplin’s message, “Your husband’s in very serious condition. We’re preparing to take him into surgery.  The surgical doctors will be coming to answer any questions you have in just a moment.”

The surgical doctors walked into the room, without smiles, and introduced themselves.  “We’re taking your husband into surgery now. His condition is very serious. Do you have any questions?”

“What am I preparing for, in terms of recovery?  How long will he be in the hospital?  How long will he be off work?”

The doctors just looked at me, shook their heads no, shrugged their shoulders, lifted and rotated their hands slightly to indicate there was no way to know.

“Well, isn’t there a typical timeline?”

“Seven days in the hospital, but ….” The doctor didn’t finish his sentence. The doctors watched me intently, expecting … something.

Did they expect me to break down and cry at this point?  Is that how most people respond. God, how do people go through this without your presence to comfort them?  I’m so grateful for your presence with us now … So this isn’t a typical case. They don’t expect him to survive. God, I trust you with Keith’s life and mine.

After what seemed to be an awkward pause, on their part, one spoke, “We’ll be bringing your husband through those doors in just a few minutes.  You’ll have a moment to speak to him. Then we’ll take him through those doors into surgery.” They excused themselves and left the room.

My mom arrived with my kids, Amy and Sean, after the doctors left. I explained the situation to them.  Pastor shared pieces of information with them that I had not covered. We prayed together that God would give the doctors wisdom to know what to do. Then the double doors opened and out rolled Keith on the gurney with his entourage of attendants.

He looked physically uncomfortable, but managed a smile when he saw us. I squeezed his hand, said, “I love you.  We’re praying for you.”

He squeezed back and nodded, as though to say, “I love you, too.”

The kids said a few quick words to Daddy.  Amy and Granny fought back tears, and then he was gone through the doors.

We waited for an attendant to bring forms to be filled out. When that was done I asked, “Will I be needed for anything more?  Do I need to sign any more consents to treat Keith or use life-saving measures?”

“No. Surgery will start within a half hour. Then they’ll be in surgery for four hours or so. When he comes out, he’ll be under heavy sedation for the whole first day.”

“So even if I come early, he won’t know whether or not I’m there?”

“No, he’ll be pretty much out the entire first day.”

So, there was nothing more to do here, I looked around at Mom, Sean, Amy, Pastor, looked at the clock, 11:30 p.m. They won’t be out of surgery ‘til 4 a.m. I reasoned God is everywhere.  Distance makes no difference in God’s ability to answer prayer.  He is intimately close and able to care for Keith with or without my immediate presence at the hospital. “I think the best thing to do now, is to go home and get some sleep.  We’re going to need our strength in the days ahead.”

Pastor and the kids agreed.  Even though my mom had brought enough small blankets for everyone, we went home to wait for the news.