Grace. I've loved that word for so long. It says so much, doesn't it? A few years ago, I found some old rope and spelled out the word on the beach. The occasion was even more special because I was with my best friend, Tina, one of the most grace-filled people I know. We took a picture of it and I look at it often. Grace. If I had given birth to a daughter, I might have named her Grace.
Here's a part of my grace journey. I'm still learning what the word fully means. This past week, I've had a crash course.
My husband, Ken, had a major heart attack last Wednesday. He is fifty years old. If you want to feel young, may I suggest you spend a few days as a patient at the Oklahoma Heart Hospital?
Or maybe - don't. Anyway, we felt young. Really young. Being fifty years old and in the heart hospital makes one a favorite with the nurses. They fuss at you more. Even the fussing about the diet and lifestyle, I knew was grace. Someone else was telling Ken the things he wouldn't really hear from me. We both knew it was God's grace.
It all really seemed surreal for awhile. It probably took me two or three days before I was able to grasp the seriousness of what I was being told.
I remember the room where the cardiologist spoke with me. There were just a few chairs, a box of tissues, and a Gideon's Bible. I love the Gideon's ministry. Some of the most precious people I know have been a part of that ministry for years. Just seeing that familiar Gideon's imprinting on the Bible felt like a dose of comfort and grace.
Without getting too medical on you, I heard his cardiologist say words to me like..."I'm so sorry." You never want to hear a cardiologist tell you how sorry he is. He referred to the term "widow maker" as he pointed to a picture of Ken's heart. He said words like "major damage," "left anterior descending," and "long recovery." The medical television shows had not prepared me well for this experience. I didn't feel knowledgeable, but I knew we were covered by grace.
There Ken was, sitting up in his bed, hooked to a few monitors, but looking otherwise fine. Cracking jokes. Talking about his favorite hobby with anyone who would listen. Sharing stories of hunting bears, elk, and deer.
It didn't connect. He had "coded" as they say in the medical world. They had used the defibrillator and had done CPR for 30 seconds. I was definitely familiar with this from television.
I was driving to the hospital when the "coding stuff" happened. Ken had been in the emergency room of the Oklahoma Heart Hospital between five and ten minutes when he coded. Ten minutes earlier he had been driving on the Kilpatrick Turnpike. Talk about protection and grace!
I am so grateful I had was not there to see the scary stuff. That might have been an image difficult to shake. More grace.
Our primary care doctor had called me on my way to the hospital. She told me where to park so I could get to Ken in the most expedient way. She didn't panic me, but I could sense the urgency in her voice. She was explaining some lab numbers to me. More medical terminology I didn't know. "Triponin." She told me it is a heart enzyme that should be a 0. Ken's was at 11. I knew not to stop at Sonic. Without her call, I might have...well...stopped at Sonic. It's what I do in both stressful and non-stressful situations. Thank you, Lord, for that perfect timing and for grace.
I was able to see Ken for less than one minute before they whisked him off for surgery. Forms were given to me to sign, his belongings given to me to hold, and I was not allowed in the room. It was crowded with medical staff. They told me I could kiss him as they wheeled him by. I realized I had barely made it in time to see him before surgery. A stop at Sonic would have been a difference-maker. All grace.
As Ken was wheeled by, he made a joke and referred to something earlier that day. I went into "Dr. Leadford" mode again, referring back to my extensive medical television training. I determined he must have had little to no loss of oxygen to his brain because his mind was sharp. I walked to the waiting room feeling an amazing peace. More and more grace.
There was little time for anyone to be with me in the waiting room, so I waited alone. But - I knew I wasn't alone. I felt God's arms wrapped around me like never before. I was not afraid. Remarkable calm - even without a Sonic tea. Hugs of grace wrapped tightly around my shoulders.
One of our daughters joined me soon. Ken was taken into a "regular room" after a few hours and we got to see him. I couldn't believe how alert he was. How much he was talking. In fact, he wouldn't shut up. Good old Ken. That's him. Talking and joking. Grace.
My daughter-in-law called. She wanted to bring me a Sonic drink. Oh, sweet, sweet grace! Sonic grace!
Waves of thankfulness.
And waves and waves of visitors. Our church became the body of Christ in action. A pastor, a deacon, many from our small group. At times, it seemed like a party. The hospital receptionists asked if we were paying people to come and see us. We are blessed with friends and covered in grace.
We left the hospital on Saturday. I drove my little Honda up and put my husband in the car - to take him home. Definite grace.
Sometimes I forget to be grateful for my little Honda. On that day, I was grateful I could fill it up with gasoline without giving too much thought to the price per gallon. I was grateful for duel air controls. Ken could have cold air blowing on him while I could use my seat warmer. Never had that little Honda Accord looked so good. Thankfulness and grace.
We stopped at the pharmacy to pick up a bunch of new medicines with unfamiliar names. I swiped the debit card without holding my breath. In that moment, I felt God's grace.
Grace has always been everywhere. It's all grace. Suddenly, I was just more aware.
Then life outside the hospital started.
Ken was bored at home. Even that seemed like grace. He felt well enough to be bored.
I went to the grocery store - just down the street. I was in a market with more sodium-free items than I knew existed - in a country of plenty. It was an expensive trip to the grocery store. Sort of Thanksgiving or Christmas shopping expensive. Out with the old - in with the new. But, again...the debit card swiped and I didn't have to feel sick at my stomach. I've known that feeling before - holding my breath as the debit card is swiped. On this day - at this particular time - our bank account could handle the additional unexpected expenses. Grace upon grace.
On Sunday, we ran a short errand to Sam's Club. Ken wanted to go inside. We were there for less than 10 minutes. He did fine, but it tired him out.
Ken wasn't to be left alone for five or six days, but Target was just RIGHT there. Right down the road from Sam's. I needed just FIVE things. He said he felt fine - sitting in the car alone. I told him I would hurry.
I tried. Sunday at noon when churches have just been dismissed would not be the time to hurry at Target. I couldn't find the Italian breadcrumbs. I went up and down the aisles. Too much time was passing. I started to panic. A sweet young mom with two little kids led me to the Italian breadcrumbs. She could sense I was about to lose it. All because of Italian breadcrumbs. Or, maybe it was because my husband had a heart attack. I really wasn't sure which it was. All I knew was that this sweet young mom had taken her two little kids, gone out of her way, and shown me grace.
The check-out lines were FOREVER long. In my mind, at least. At least when your husband has been in the car alone for twenty minutes. I vaguely remember swiping my debit card and running out the door. Running. I was running back to my little Honda and my husband.
Normally, I mean almost 100% of the time, I am a good citizen. I return my shopping cart to the proper area. On this day, I just left it outside the front door.
A man walking in made a comment...Something in a sarcastic voice, "Don't worry...I'll take your cart AND mine."
I wanted to scream at him. I wanted to say..."Buddy...don't mess with me right now. I couldn't find the Italian breadcrumbs! Do you know I couldn't find the Italian breadcrumbs? My husband almost died this week and then the Italian breadcrumb incident. My husband has been left alone too long!"
But, I showed the man some grace. He didn't know.
He didn't know my story. All I could think of was how many times I had been judgmental and not known people's stories.
I got in the car and started sobbing. Ken was fine. Just fine, but he looked at me like I was crazy. I told him I couldn't find the Italian breadcrumbs and that a man had been sarcastic about my shopping cart.
Then I told him I never even got Cascade. In two trips to the grocery store, it had been the first thing on my list. In my search for Italian breadcrumbs, I forgot Cascade...AGAIN! Bless his little healing heart, he didn't know what to say. But, he showed me some grace.
As I drove the car away, I told Ken..."We never know the whole story, do we?" Let's start practicing - showing others more grace.
Ken was bored at home. Even that seemed like grace. He felt well enough to be bored.
I went to the grocery store - just down the street. I was in a market with more sodium-free items than I knew existed - in a country of plenty. It was an expensive trip to the grocery store. Sort of Thanksgiving or Christmas shopping expensive. Out with the old - in with the new. But, again...the debit card swiped and I didn't have to feel sick at my stomach. I've known that feeling before - holding my breath as the debit card is swiped. On this day - at this particular time - our bank account could handle the additional unexpected expenses. Grace upon grace.
On Sunday, we ran a short errand to Sam's Club. Ken wanted to go inside. We were there for less than 10 minutes. He did fine, but it tired him out.
Ken wasn't to be left alone for five or six days, but Target was just RIGHT there. Right down the road from Sam's. I needed just FIVE things. He said he felt fine - sitting in the car alone. I told him I would hurry.
I tried. Sunday at noon when churches have just been dismissed would not be the time to hurry at Target. I couldn't find the Italian breadcrumbs. I went up and down the aisles. Too much time was passing. I started to panic. A sweet young mom with two little kids led me to the Italian breadcrumbs. She could sense I was about to lose it. All because of Italian breadcrumbs. Or, maybe it was because my husband had a heart attack. I really wasn't sure which it was. All I knew was that this sweet young mom had taken her two little kids, gone out of her way, and shown me grace.
The check-out lines were FOREVER long. In my mind, at least. At least when your husband has been in the car alone for twenty minutes. I vaguely remember swiping my debit card and running out the door. Running. I was running back to my little Honda and my husband.
Normally, I mean almost 100% of the time, I am a good citizen. I return my shopping cart to the proper area. On this day, I just left it outside the front door.
A man walking in made a comment...Something in a sarcastic voice, "Don't worry...I'll take your cart AND mine."
I wanted to scream at him. I wanted to say..."Buddy...don't mess with me right now. I couldn't find the Italian breadcrumbs! Do you know I couldn't find the Italian breadcrumbs? My husband almost died this week and then the Italian breadcrumb incident. My husband has been left alone too long!"
But, I showed the man some grace. He didn't know.
He didn't know my story. All I could think of was how many times I had been judgmental and not known people's stories.
I got in the car and started sobbing. Ken was fine. Just fine, but he looked at me like I was crazy. I told him I couldn't find the Italian breadcrumbs and that a man had been sarcastic about my shopping cart.
Then I told him I never even got Cascade. In two trips to the grocery store, it had been the first thing on my list. In my search for Italian breadcrumbs, I forgot Cascade...AGAIN! Bless his little healing heart, he didn't know what to say. But, he showed me some grace.
As I drove the car away, I told Ken..."We never know the whole story, do we?" Let's start practicing - showing others more grace.
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