For as long as I can remember I have been scared of something. As a little girl I had bad dreams to the point that I took little green pills to help me fall asleep. Since I was too little to swallow them my Mom would give me a popsicle to help wash the taste away. Still it was common for me to wake up in the night petrified and either my Mom or Dad would come into my room until I was calmed enough to fall asleep.
One day while riding my bike from my friend’s house back home I felt a very evil presence as a car followed behind me. I had never felt anything like this before but I pedaled as quickly as I could to the safety of my home! I was so scared. Another day while walking home I sensed a car pull up beside me and that same foreboding evil presence was all around me. I literally ran through the short it of uncleared property toward the safety of home. Were these instances of discernment I experienced as a child that kept me from harm? All I knew that that I was so scared.
We had all made it through our Covid bout physically. All of us were on the mend except Rachel. Though she was in the hospital sedated, intubated, and ventilated there was no doubt in my mind that she would come home. We were actually looking into rehabilitation facilities that would take patients with respiratory issues. We even began looking into houses that Rachel and her family could live in within closer proximity to us so we would all help in her recovery. Still one evening after showering as I walked through my bedroom and just fell on my knees at the bed began begging God not to take her but to heal her. It was as though my innermost fear was surfacing. I hadn’t realized it but I was so scared.
My husband never and I mean never would cancel Church; however, he did decide to hold three weeks of Sunday night prayer and praise rallies in the hospital parking lot. Our daughter was not the only Church member fighting for her life. Oscar, one of our adult Sunday School teachers, was as well. People made signs showing their support. Word spread and at least eight local Churches were represented during these rallies. Although we were no longer Covid positive, we were still weak physically. It was so very hard to stand during these rallies but I was determined. Nevertheless, I found myself leaving on a light pole or having to sit part of the time.
Since we were in the parking lot during the shift change for nurses, we made a point to let them know how much we appreciated them and were praying for them. Unbeknownst to me, my husband approached one of the nurses and identified himself as the father of Rachel. She began crying. He asked about our Rachel in room #22 and she just shook her head. This was not her first rodeo. She knew what it was like to see families with hope that would not be fulfilled in this lifetime.
Our oldest son Ryan was with us and while standing with him and my wonderful friend who has turned into family, Desirae, I collapsed into his arms exclaiming “I’m so afraid she’s gonna die!” Even little Abbie, Rachel’s three-year-old daughter, was praying for her Mommy. How could God possibly not answer her prayer? Again, my deepest fear, the thing that I was most scared of surfaced. Little did we know that four days, less than 96 hours later, that fear would become a reality.
Rachel's Voice 