When God Whispers Loudly
Copyright 2011 Chris Hibbard
He was late, rushing to his daughter’s piano recital from a job that took all his strength to leave while it was still daylight. Driving just a little over should get him to the recital before his daughter finished playing.
Earlier the same day, he found he’d been passed over for a promotion. Worse yet, it had been given to a man ten years his junior. His new boss was the man in his office he least respected, and in his mind, least deserved the job. As if it were related, he felt disappointed his commitment to his family hadn’t affected his children the way he’d hoped. In reality, he was angry it cost him his dream job.
The winding road on his route led him past an empty field before a sharp turn and a sign which read CAUTION.
“Why, God?” he prayed, his brow set firm. He thought of his wife’s email, reminding him to leave work early for yet another of his children’s activities. “Why do I have to sacrifice everything, and she only asks for more?” He knew it was reactionary and selfish, but for the moment he allowed his anger to lead him just the same.
As he sped around the corner, he prayed he wouldn’t have to go to work the next day and see his new boss—the weasel—sitting in the office he deserved. The road was wet and he crept into the opposing lane—and as his did, he faced an oncoming lumber truck which had also crossed the center line.
As he swerved he prayed, “I didn’t mean it—save me.” Fleeting relief came as he narrowly missed the truck, then slid off the road, out of control. Still far over the speed limit, his car struck a gnarled, bent oak and turned over. Once—twice—it rolled, then finally came to rest on its roof, leaving him dangling from his seatbelt.
He woke unable to move and surrounded in chaos. It took him a moment to realize he was in a hospital. He felt his consciousness slipping, and fought in vain to keep it.
He heard voices as his eyelids closed, “…prepped for surgery”, and “Get him to the OR…” He heard his wife crying not far off, and for a moment he thought he would fight his way back to consciousness—but he was wrong.
He next woke in familiar surroundings. He was lying in the guest bed of his own home, only it was somehow different. His wife stood at the foot of the twin bed where he laid, while small group of young adults crowded around him. His wife was smiling, tears rolling down her face. The curious group of strangers stared at him anxiously, some smiling, some crying. Others stood still with their eyes closed peacefully.
“…he’s waking,” one of the strangers in his room whispered.
“God,” he prayed silently, suddenly panic stricken, “please don’t let me be paralyzed.”
His mind reasoned, it’s a group from church, come to pray for me. It would explain the young men and women standing over him in bed—though he strained to recognize them. To his relief, he was able to sit up, though it required more effort than he expected.
His wife dropped to his bedside and threw her arms around him. He cradled her head on his shoulder, but her embrace felt unfamiliar. Her shape didn’t conform to his own as his muscle memory expected. His own body seemed unfamiliar, as if he’d instantly lost weight. His joints were stiff, and they ached when he moved. He looked around the room wondering who the young men and women were, intruding upon such a private moment. He noted how familiar the eldest young lady was; she looked like a younger version of his wife. Only then did his mind register what his wife was saying as she wept on his shoulder.
“You’re back, you’re finally awake—I knew you’d come back to us.”
Confused, he pulled back from her embrace and looked hard into her face. Her hair was grayed, and the lines on her face were deeper, further reaching.
“How long?” he asked, his voice an uncertain grumble. His wife shook her head, not wanting to answer at first.
“Fifteen years,” she whispered tearfully.
Over the next day he didn’t have a single moment alone. He spent every precious minute with his wife, his children and their spouses. He found it bittersweet, coming to know his children again.
His daughter was married to a fine man, unashamed of his commitment to Christ. They had a child of their own, his first grandchild. They had begun the next cycle in the wonderful gift of life God gives so freely. He found his daughter just as strong in her commitment to God, alive and vibrant.
“But you seemed so angry,” the father said at one point. “I was so afraid you wouldn’t listen to God; you might ignore His still, small voice.”
“I did, Daddy—I ignored it for a long time,” she replied. “But He showed me. He used you to show me. All the times you were patient with me…all the times you waited up for me, the times you prayed over me as a little girl…the times I heard you praying under your breath when you thought no one was near. They all pointed me to Him. So many times, Daddy…” and she told him of all the little ways he’d shown her God’s love. He began to feel proud of the example he’d been to her. Proud, that is, until she began to list things he couldn’t remember. Then she listed things he knew he hadn’t done.
Who is she remembering? he wondered. How could she confuse someone else with her own father? His expression grew more concerned until his daughter noticed.
“What’s wrong?” she asked. But it was too perfect a day, too wonderful a time to dispute her.
“It’s nothing. My mind must be tired—not used to being awake, I guess.”
And so it went with his sons. When they each told how they’d lived out their childhood, each pointed to memories of significant choices in their lives; of steps in their spiritual maturity. They each mentioned a talk he’d given or lesson he’d taught they later realized had influenced them. Just as with his daughter, some he’d remembered, and others he didn’t. His youngest son mentioned a private talk he was sure he hadn’t given to him; it was a talk he’d given his older children when they reached an age he’d missed in his youngest child’s life.
Who gave my youngest boy this speech while I was trapped in a coma? he wondered. He must have heard his older brothers tell the story so often, he felt like he’d heard it first hand, the father thought.
Gradually a great wave of accomplishment, a feeling of unashamed success washed over him as he spoke with his children and he saw firsthand how each one of them had begun their adult lives. He shared this thought with his wife the next morning as they sat together in their backyard. His sons had talked with him straight through the night.
“What did you expect?” asked his wife, so familiar to him, yet eerily different in her appearance. “Did you think they would abandon God, they would live out their lives as lost sheep?”
“Of course not,” he answered. “I guess I was only hopeful they would follow Him so closely. After all, it’s a choice each of them must make for themselves.”
She gave him a look of shared knowledge. Without looking for it, he realized the deep wisdom in her eyes. She had matured for 15 years while he slept, and he now felt somehow lesser to her. He wondered at the years of wise choices sparkling in her eyes.
“I love you so much,” she said, and a thought struck him hard in the chest.
Those aren’t idle words. She’d brought him back from the hospital after months of unresponsiveness. She’d moved him back into their home and cared for him fifteen long years. She’d cleaned him; she’d rolled him over and treated his bedsores. She’d fed him for a decade and a half as he lay there, unresponsive as death.
What commitment, he thought, but directly afterward, he knew she could have done nothing less—not from obligation, but from her strong charact
er and devotion he knew so well. Suddenly, he knew she’d been just as committed to him and their children in all the years before his coma. Somehow he’d neglected to recognize her powerful and steadfast love; a love strong enough to carry his family through the long years he laid sleeping.
She was far more committed than I. He saw the love in her eyes, the endurance she’d shown as a single mother raising their family while he’d slept.
“How were you all waiting in my room when I woke?” he asked through watery eyes.
“Your toes,” she laughed. “You started wiggling your toes yesterday morning. When I had the doctor stop by, he found your brainwave patterns were beginning to change. The kids came home to be here just in case. We took turns with you all yesterday, so we could all be with you, if you woke. When you began to stir, we all rushed in. The next thing we knew you were awake.”
After sitting alone with his wife for most of the morning, his children and their spouses took turns spending more time with him. They kept him awake as long as they could, to the point when he could hide his weariness no longer.
“Please, let me sleep. We have the rest of our lives to catch up,” he told his eldest son at one point.
“No, Daddy. Let me spend a little