Finding Miracles in the Midst of Crisis: A Journey of Faith, Resilience, and Unexpected Blessings

The sterile hum of the doctor’s office enveloped me, a familiar soundtrack to my ongoing battle with a debilitating illness. I had become an expert at holding perfectly still, a necessary skill when the slightest movement could send my already fragile world into a dizzying spin. To lie back felt like an admission of defeat I wasn’t ready to make; so, I sat, a testament to sheer endurance.

Waiting. Breathing. Existing. Each tick of the clock was a heavy reminder of my precarious state. My body, gaunt and weary, yearned for release from the relentless struggle, yet deep within, a quiet resolve flickered – a conviction that transcended my physical pain. I held onto it like a lifeline, a whisper of a promise.

A Battle of Will and Faith: Resisting the Feeding Tubes

The looming prospect of feeding tubes the next day filled me with an unexpected, visceral dread. This time, my resistance was profound. I couldn’t articulate why I felt so strongly against them, but it felt less like a medical necessity and more like an unbearable torture, a surrender that went against the very core of my being. It was an internal battle, a quiet but fierce refusal to concede.

Just a few days prior, Cade, my ever-present anchor, had gently carried me to our bed. The simple act had triggered a violent spell of vomiting, ending in a frightening nosebleed. Yet, no words were exchanged between us. There was nothing to say. This was beyond everyday sickness; this was raw, primal survival, a reality we faced together, silently, day after agonizing day.

That evening, as Cade knelt beside me for our nightly prayer, a sacred ritual we shared, all I could do was lie there, my only wish for the day to simply be over. Another day survived, another crossed off the calendar. It was in that moment of profound exhaustion and spiritual communion that the phone rang. The voice on the other end delivered an astonishing message: “Hey, we’ve sat on things for the last two months and wondered if you’d still be interested in buying the house.”

THE house. Our dream home. The one we had poured our hearts into, envisioned our future within, and then agonizingly let go of when circumstances seemed impossible. Cade, ever practical, said we’d talk, but the news, instead of bringing immediate joy, seemed to intensify my nausea. It was the absolute worst possible moment to consider such a life-altering decision, yet an undeniable truth resonated deep within us: this was meant to be our home. It was a realization that transcended my debilitating physical condition.

This experience ingrained a profound lesson within me: truly remarkable miracles often unfold in the most inconvenient, challenging circumstances. They don’t await perfect timing; rather, they emerge precisely when you feel weakest, compelling you to lean on a strength far greater than your own.

Days later, I was back on that familiar doctor’s table, my resolve unwavering. I had pleaded with fervent prayer throughout the week: “Please, no tubes this time, please.” The night before, an overwhelming sense of peace had settled over me, a clear, unmistakable answer that I would begin to stabilize without intervention. I clung to this intuitive knowing, this inner promise, with every fiber of my weakened body.

The doctor walked in, and my heart braced itself. He spoke the words I feared, despite my deep conviction: “Time to head to Orem for tubes.” My carefully guarded peace shattered. In that instant, I realized my inner “answer” wasn’t enough; sometimes, a miracle isn’t just a gift bestowed upon you. Sometimes, you must actively fight to bring it into existence, to champion its unfolding. The journey of faith, I learned, often demands active participation, a courageous refusal to yield.

“I don’t want them. I won’t get them. I’ll get better. I’ve been promised,” I asserted, my voice frail but firm. Dr. Haskett, a trusted friend, looked at me with a blend of concern and deep understanding. His words, though direct, were rooted in care: “Carrian, your eyes are bulging out of your head; you’re so dehydrated and starved.” He wasn’t being unkind; he was genuinely trying to protect and save me from the severe health implications.

“Dr. Haskett, I trust what I’ve felt. Please, give me a few days.” A tense silence stretched between us. Then, he nodded. He, too, could trust – not just in medical protocol, but in the unseen. In that critical moment, he chose to extend that trust to me, allowing space for a different path. In that pivotal instant, it felt as if the world paused, making way for our miracles to manifest.

On the drive home from the clinic, the much-anticipated call came: our offer for the house had been accepted. That significant day marked the end of any further discussion about feeding tubes. The medical crisis had reached a critical turning point, aligning perfectly with the realization of a long-held dream. Yet, as one challenging chapter closed, another, entirely unforeseen, was about to begin, preparing to test our resilience in ways we couldn’t yet imagine.

Hindsight’s Clarity: Unveiling Divine Timing and Unseen Blessings

The ability to look back on our lives is an extraordinary gift, allowing us to trace the intricate tapestry of events that have shaped us. While constant backward glances can hinder progress, more often than not, retrospection offers invaluable clarity. It’s a chance to finally perceive the grander design that remained obscured during the throes of immediate struggle.

For me, reflecting on the past is an indispensable tool for profound personal growth. It compels me to ask essential questions: Am I wiser, stronger, or more compassionate than I was a year ago? Have I integrated the lessons learned from past trials? Crucially, were there miracles I missed, blessings that unfolded silently while I was consumed by the fires of adversity? The answers, when viewed through the lens of time and spiritual understanding, often reveal a purpose far more intricate and benevolent than I could have ever conceived.

Recap of Our Journey: A Test of Patience and Faith

Let’s revisit the challenging period that preceded these transformative breakthroughs, illustrating the depths of our struggles and the profound lessons learned:

• Career Uncertainty: Cade had eventually secured a job, which was a welcome relief, but it was merely adequate, not the fulfilling, long-term position we had earnestly hoped for. This lingering uncertainty cast a shadow of worry over our family’s future.
• The Elusive Dream Home: Our heartfelt desire was to find a new home, one that would better suit our growing family and provide much-needed stability. For two agonizing years, our search proved relentlessly fruitless. Each promising lead dissolved into bitter disappointment, leaving us frustrated, doubting our intuition, and utterly bewildered by the persistent lack of progress in what felt like a crucial aspect of our lives.
• Expanding Our Family: There was an undeniable spiritual prompting, a deep-seated feeling that our family was meant to grow by one more. However, my persistent health issues and past struggles made the prospect of natural pregnancy daunting, almost impossible. With heavy hearts, but an unwavering commitment to our family’s vision, we began to explore the challenging, yet beautiful, path of adoption.
• Active Faith in Motion: In an act of profound spiritual obedience, I began the arduous task of packing our current home. I felt an inexplicable inner compulsion, a deep need to demonstrate my active faith, to show that I believed a miracle was indeed on its way. By the time our dream home accepted our offer, nearly 85% of our belongings were meticulously packed. Yet, ironically, the more I packed, the more cluttered and chaotic our existing home became, mirroring the growing sense of hopelessness as our house remained unsold.

The Unveiling of Divine Providence: A Perfect Timing

And then, with deliberate precision, the larger picture began to emerge, revealing the intricate hand of divine providence in every delay and redirection:

• Strategic Timing for Cade’s Career: Had we moved into a new home any earlier, we would have settled an hour north of our current location. Crucially, a year into our persistent home search, Cade secured a new job opportunity that was significantly further south. What an immense blessing it was to have avoided the immense disruption, financial strain, and emotional toll of moving twice within such a short period, particularly with a young family. Our patience, though severely tested, ultimately saved us from considerable logistical and emotional burdens.
• The Gift of Proximity and Community: If we had moved, my closest friends – who proved to be an invaluable, indispensable lifeline during the acute crisis of this specific pregnancy – would not have been living next door, literally. These friends, who became an extension of our family, provided unparalleled support, understanding, and practical assistance during a time when I was utterly incapacitated. Their unwavering presence was a powerful testament to the strength of community, a true, unseen blessing that I could never have orchestrated or predicted.
• Our “Little Boy”: While the path of adoption would undoubtedly have been a wonderful and fulfilling journey, one we were prepared to embrace wholeheartedly, the strategic delays allowed for the unexpected and profound miracle of *this* little boy, our son. Both outcomes would have brought immeasurable joy, but I am profoundly humbled by the unique opportunity to experience motherhood with him in this specific way, a powerful testament to what I believe is God’s specific and personal plan for our family.
• Protection from Undue Stress: I hold a firm conviction that had our house offer been accepted any earlier, the immense stress and physical demands inherent in moving would have been far more detrimental to both the baby and myself, especially given my extremely delicate health condition at the time. The timing, though initially frustrating and agonizing, served as a protective shield, safeguarding our well-being precisely when we needed it most.

Looking back with such profound clarity fills me with a deep sense of reverence and boundless gratitude. I envision His encompassing arms, His compassionate eyes, His boundless love. He must have ached to witness me crying out, begging for miracles, yet constrained to hold perfectly still in my agony. It must have been profoundly difficult for Him to ask me to empty my hands of all my deeply held desires, to trust Him completely, so that He could ultimately fill them with something far greater, something beyond my limited human vision. Yes, He is God, omnipotent and all-knowing, but I am also His cherished little girl; and if He wept in the scriptures for humanity’s plight, surely He must have wept for me, His child in distress. Yet, even in His divine sorrow, He knew with absolute certainty that “Better was coming.”

I can now trust that profound truth with all my heart. The trial, though excruciating in its duration and intensity, was ultimately profoundly worth it for the invaluable lesson of deeper trust in divine providence. But the story doesn’t conclude here; another miracle, another layer of understanding, was still waiting patiently to be revealed, just around the bend.

Navigating the Eye of the Storm: Pregnancy, Purpose, and Unanswered Questions

The very word “tornadoes” sends a distinct shiver down my spine; they conjure images of raw, untamed power that are utterly terrifying to me. Just last night, we gathered with friends to watch Free Solo, engaging in intense discussions about extreme sports like BASE jumping and the claustrophobic dread of exploring deep, confining caves. As I prepared for bed, the powerful image of a tornado unexpectedly popped into my mind.

I’ve never experienced a tornado firsthand, and truthfully, I don’t harbor a deep, pervasive fear of them, but their sheer destructive force and unpredictable nature are indeed profoundly unsettling. Survivors often speak of the eerie stillness, the profound quiet, at the eye of the storm – a deceptive calm that either precedes or follows immense devastation. It’s a silence that vibrates with the ominous knowledge of what has been or what is inevitably coming.

I found myself in a strikingly similar “eye of the storm” when I was approximately six months pregnant. After months of debilitating, life-threatening illness, a sudden, almost disquieting calm descended upon me. The intense, critical symptoms that had plagued me for so long seemed to recede, offering a fragile reprieve. I transitioned from a state where I barely wanted to wake up, where every movement was a Herculean effort, to merely battling persistent, albeit harsh, morning sickness. It was a bizarre, unsettling shift: just occasional vomiting, but a constant, gnawing nausea that permeated every single waking moment. It was a period of delicate stability, a deceptive lull that offered temporary relief but no true, profound peace.

While I was confined to the hospital, grappling with my severe health challenges, I agonizingly missed out on so many precious family moments, and the emotional toll was immense. My dear friend, Holly, stepped in with incredible grace and kindness, getting my girls ready for their very first dance recital – a milestone I desperately longed to share. My friends rallied tirelessly, organizing their last day of school celebrations and whisking them off on countless playdates, ensuring their childhood continued despite my absence. Cade, my unwavering rock, spent countless hours holding little pink-polished hands, reading bedtime stories, and doing all the things a mother normally would. This feeling of absence, of being unable to participate in their formative years, absolutely devastated me.

I am aware of the common, well-intentioned wisdom: “they won’t remember,” “kids are resilient.” And intellectually, I grasp that. But emotionally, I felt like such an utter, profound failure, a mother who couldn’t be physically present for her children during crucial moments. The weight of that guilt was a heavy, suffocating cloak I wore daily.

As soon as I regained enough strength, a fierce, unyielding resolve ignited within me. I vowed to cultivate a deeper, more profound sense of gratitude, to cherish the simplest things I had once taken for granted: the refreshing taste of a cool glass of water, the comforting warmth of holding my children’s hands, the profound simplicity of talking, and breathing in the scents and sounds of my surroundings. Before, the smell of the air, regardless of my location, had been unbearable. Now, I yearned to be outside, to feel the gentle caress of the sun on my face, to openly acknowledge to myself and to others that my life had been miraculously preserved. I was determined, more than ever, to discover and fulfill my true purpose in this renewed existence.

Immediately, our household shifted into “go” mode. We finalized the last bits of packing and meticulously organized everything for our imminent move into our new home. We had known the gender of our little one for months, but finally decided it was time to joyously share our news with our extended loved ones. However, before fully embracing this excitement, a deep-seated anxiety compelled me to know what to expect regarding this baby’s heart. My previous medical experiences, coupled with my recent severe illness, filled me with a profound apprehension about any potential health issues. More than anything, I yearned for peace, not the gnawing guilt I still sometimes grapple with: “Did my illness cause any lasting issues with my babies? Did I inadvertently ruin any part of their perfect bodies or minds?”

These haunting questions weigh heavily on my heart, invariably leading me to reflect on the incredible, superhuman strength of so many parents. How do they take on the overwhelming medical challenges that some children face, day in and day out, with such remarkable grace and unwavering resilience? Cade and I, tragically, have attended more funerals than weddings and baby blessings combined. And heartbreakingly, all but a small handful were for individuals our age or, even more devastatingly, children, snatched away too soon.

How could I possibly prepare myself for the agonizing worst-case scenario, while simultaneously holding onto an unwavering, radiant hope for the best? This profound paradox, this delicate, intricate balance between deep-seated fear and unshakeable faith, continues to be a central, defining theme in my life, a complex and beautiful journey that is still courageously unfolding.

To be continued…