Life has a way of throwing us into unforeseen depths, moments when the trajectory of everything we know shifts violently from a thrilling roller coaster to a relentless, terrifying downward spiral. There are experiences so profoundly visceral, so steeped in raw emotion, that words often fall short. How do you articulate the sensation of grasping at thin air, desperately searching for something — anything — to cling to, to slow the terrifying descent? Some moments, truly, you just had to be there to comprehend their magnitude.
You had to stand by my side, shoulder to shoulder, as the crushing realization hit me: he wasn’t coming back after coding, yet again. A chilling finality settled in the air, a breath-stealing conviction that this was it. And then, against all odds, he did. He came back.
You had to hear the ragged, aching sob that tore through me, barely audible, as I instinctively recoiled from his still, blue body. The image of the new nurse, pushing past me with urgent efficiency, asking if he had ever been “this bad before” as she began her life-saving work, is etched permanently in my memory. Then, you would have had to wrap your arms around my trembling shoulders, offering silent comfort, as this terrifying cycle repeated itself, over and over, for the next agonizing twenty-four hours.
There was no longer any room for the hopeful dance of “two steps forward, one, two, or even three steps back.” The ebb and flow of the NICU, with its deceptive moments of progress followed by heartbreaking setbacks, had vanished. All that remained was an stark, undeniable reality.
This was the moment the truth hit me with the force of a physical blow. A profound, searing understanding that loving him, fighting for his very presence, and celebrating his initial strength – his ability to eat well and breathe without assistance – none of it guaranteed he would ever come home with us. We could exhaust every ounce of our will, offer him the finest medical care imaginable, yet his life, ultimately, was bestowed and sustained by a power far greater than our own. It rested, completely, in His hands.
The Apostle Paul’s words resonated deeply: “I have planted, Apollos watered; but God gave the increase” (1 Corinthians 2:6). This scripture became a anchor in my storm. It underscored the fundamental truth that while we are called to do all within our power, to exert every effort and offer our sincerest devotion, all things – all blessings, all life itself – ultimately originate from a divine source. It is a testament to the fact that human effort, no matter how profound, is ultimately a partnership with a higher power.
This understanding brought both solace and a renewed sense of purpose. While the divine hand may give and take away, it does so out of an infinite, perfect love – a love for me, and a love for you. This truth, however, doesn’t diminish our agency or turn us into mere puppets of fate. Instead, it empowered me. I knew I had an inherent right to speak to Him, to lay bare my heart, and to conclude every plea, every desperate prayer, with the profound acceptance of, “Thy will be done.”
Embracing Unwavering Faith in Crisis
In that pivotal moment, a singular focus ignited within me. The crushing despair began to recede, replaced by an urgent, almost defiant need to stand up, to fight with every fiber of faith I possessed. I resolved to believe, with unwavering conviction, that He would indeed “give the increase” – that He would intervene and bring about a miraculous change.
My fight began, perhaps surprisingly, with a simple act: getting dressed. Well, to be precise, it started with a shower and changing into fresh pajamas. My husband, Cade, was summoned to bring real clothes from home. This wasn’t merely about personal hygiene; it was a symbolic act of preparation. As I marched back into the NICU, I wasn’t just walking into a hospital room; I was stepping onto a battlefield, ready to call out for divine intervention, dressed not just for comfort, but for spiritual readiness.
Finding Inspiration: The Timeless Story of Hannah
My mind immediately turned to a powerful narrative from the scriptures: the story of Hannah. Her unwavering faith and fervent prayers have always resonated deeply with me. Hannah, barren and longing for a son, faced immense societal and personal pressure. Her husband, Elkanah, loved her dearly but struggled to fully grasp the profound depth of her yearning for a child. Yet, Hannah, with laser-like focus on her righteous desire, demonstrating clear obedience and wisdom, humbly presented herself at the temple. There, she poured out her soul, calling down her miracle with every ounce of faith, hope, and desire she could possibly muster. Her story is a testament to the power of persistent, faithful prayer, and a beacon of hope for those facing seemingly insurmountable challenges.
And so, like Hannah, I prepared myself. Dressing that day, even if it was just in clean pajamas, was my way of signaling to the Lord my earnestness, my profound awareness that I was about to engage in a sacred dialogue with Him. It was a physical manifestation of my spiritual readiness, a declaration that I had survived the initial shock and was now prepared to fight for my son.
Confronting Doubt and Visualizing Hope in the NICU
I walked across the sterile hall, my footsteps echoing in the silence, and pushed past the curtains into his room in the NICU. As if on cue, a cruel twist of fate, he coded again. A momentary flicker of doubt, cold and insidious, tried to worm its way into my heart. It crept in like ivy seeking purchase on old brick, threatening to envelop my resolve in darkness. But immediately, instinctively, I mentally slammed my foot down.
With every ounce of mental strength I could summon, I pictured it. I wrapped my entire being around the unwavering decision that our baby would heal, that he would come home. I envisioned us leaving the hospital, the feeling of his tiny body in my arms, safe and sound in our home. This wasn’t wishful thinking; it was an act of faith. The power of consistent visualization, coupled with fervent belief, is a potent force. It is a fundamental step in bringing our deepest desires into reality, a tangible expression of faith in action.
As the nurse began her routine, an extraordinary moment unfolded. He took a breath, the monitors instantly beeped to life, signaling stability. She turned to me, a knowing wink in her eye, exhaling a sigh of profound relief. And then, she left. I was alone, yet profoundly, miraculously, surrounded.
A Sacred Space: Divine Presence in the NICU
Any mother who has spent time in the NICU will tell you: it is a place unlike any other. It is a sacred space where the veil between worlds seems remarkably thin, where the closeness of heaven is palpable. The reality of those on the other side – beloved family members who have passed on, and I guarantee, those yet to come who stand as guardians to ensure their future unfolds – is almost tangible. In that room, I felt an undeniable presence, a host of unseen supporters joining me in my fervent plea.
This was my first “Hannah experience.” In profound humility, I prayed, assuring Father that I would be okay, no matter the outcome. I declared my absolute knowledge that He could do “anything,” and then, with every fiber of my being, I asked that this precious baby be healed. Immediately, a powerful impression came to me: I needed to call Cade.
The Silent Suffering: Trials Amidst Trials
I don’t recall the exact reason Cade wasn’t at the hospital at that moment. There was a time when we had both made the difficult decision to leave, a choice that felt almost unforgivable given the circumstances. But our oldest daughter was singing in church, and she had specifically asked for us to be there. Just months prior, I had missed her piano recital and her very first dance performance. Though being hospitalized offered a perfectly valid excuse, my heart had ached beyond measure to not be present for those milestones. Seeing pictures of our girls holding hands in the car on the way, a tender moment Cade had secretly captured, solidified my resolve. They were nervous, clinging to each other without their mother by their side. I simply couldn’t miss this one too.
So, I had snuck in, snuck out, and then snuck back into a life that very few people outside our immediate circle truly understood. This clandestine existence, this hidden anguish, is almost always the trial amidst the trial – the silent suffering endured by those navigating profound personal crises.
Such suffering, however, grants us eyes that see beyond the surface. It hones an innate sensitivity, allowing us to pass a stranger and discern something in their eyes, a subtle flicker of pain or concern, that sparks an immediate, unspoken prayer on their behalf. Because you know. You know the darkness, the quiet battles people fight. I often wonder how many individuals would be surprised to learn I’ve offered a silent prayer for them as our cars passed at a traffic light or as I stood behind them in a checkout line. This time, however, the direct, vocal praying would fall to Cade.
A Collective Act of Faith: The Priesthood Blessing
I asked Cade to call one of our dearest friends, Adam, and together, with the authority of the priesthood, give our son a blessing of healing.
As members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, we hold a firm belief in the continuation of the same priesthood power that was present on the earth during the time of Christ. It is through this divine authority that men are empowered to act in God’s name, performing sacred ordinances such as blessings of healing. With reverence and solemnity, Cade placed a single drop of consecrated oil upon our baby’s tiny head. Then, he and Adam gently laid their hands upon him, their fingers carefully touching, for there was scarcely enough room for their full hands on his fragile form. The small space around our son was filled not just with our hope and desperation but with the tangible presence of spiritual power.
And then, we all felt it. It was an experience so profoundly sacred, so intensely spiritual, that words are simply inadequate to describe its majesty. The room, though physically small, felt suddenly filled with countless beings, as if we were standing shoulder to shoulder with an innumerable host. My angels were there again, manifest in the two devoted men and the mighty, compassionate nurses, and unseen, in the beloved family members and divine messengers who joined our circle, praying this suffering baby back to health. It was an overwhelming, powerful testament to the reality of the spiritual world.
The intensity of that moment, the palpable presence of the divine, is something my words will never fully capture. But I can promise you, with every fiber of my being, that there is a God. He hears, He answers, and He intervenes.
The Unmistakable Miracle and Lessons of Hope
The answer to our prayers came swiftly and decisively. We were suddenly, incredibly, released the very next afternoon. Our baby was coming home. ❤️ The swiftness of his recovery after the priesthood blessing was nothing short of miraculous, a powerful confirmation of the faith we had collectively exercised.
This harrowing journey through the NICU, marked by moments of profound despair and triumphant faith, taught us invaluable lessons about the resilience of the human spirit, the boundless power of prayer, and the unwavering love of God. It underscored the truth found in 2 Kings 6:16: “Fear not: for they that be with us are more than they that be with them.” In our darkest hours, we were never alone; we were surrounded by an unseen host, fighting alongside us.
This experience cemented our understanding that even in the most desperate of circumstances, hope is not merely a wish but a powerful, active force. When faced with life’s most daunting challenges, remember that you possess an inner strength, a spiritual reservoir, capable of overcoming adversity. Seek solace in faith, embrace the power of prayer, and trust that divine assistance is always closer than you think. Miracles, in their most profound and unexpected forms, are always possible when we believe.