What I've Got To Tell

Some of you have been reading my newsletters for almost two years. Others have been on board for a few months. I’ve shared blessings in my life, funny moments, or heart-wrenching events (such as my grandma’s dying months or my son’s horrific car accident last year). Despite the remnants of the crash scene, he has recovered and is wearing God’s tattoo on his arm to prove he survived.

A while back, I remember saying, “Lord, I want to see a miracle.” When I reflected on my request, I thought uh oh. Basically, I asked God for a testimony that is the result of a test or a miracle: a healing, a blessing, or saving our lives. Since we are big mouthed people by nature, we’ve got to tell somebody about something that happened. Hint. Here’s what I’ve got to tell:

In the September newsletter, I shared a story about how God could spared me from harm. This month, God intervened on Jared, my son’s behalf, again.
Simi, who lives on campus fifteen minutes from the house (yeah, I know it’s not far enough), decided to spend the weekend at home. Jared is an asthmatic and has suffered from bronchitis since he was diagnosed at the age of two. We lugged a portable nebulizer machine everywhere Jared went. His treatment plan called for him to inhale a solution mixed with albuterol two to four times a day. Recently, I told him, "Unless the Lord has healed you, you need to be under a doctor's care." This was my advice since he wasn’t taking any medicine. Since I'm mom and don't know what I’m medically talking about, he paid me no mind.

O-k-a-y. Fast forward some weeks. I’m away on a book tour when Jared comes home after work and goes to bed. He kept waking up every half hour because he couldn't breathe. The interruptions stretched until 2 am. He finally told Simi he needed to go to Walgreen’s, but he ended in the emergency room. Thank God she happened to be "spending the night," otherwise he would have had to dial 911.
By the time Simi got him to the hospital, his breathing was labored. The intake nurse knew he was in trouble when he could barely talk. They rushed him into a room and began treatment. The physician told him his heart was pumping much too fast and diagnosed him with asthma with acute exacerbation.
The testimony is Jared is still alive. Can you imagine returning home and finding your child (I don’t care if he is 24 years old) dead?

Am I over-reacting? I don't think so. According to the Mayo Clinic, more than 4,000 people die from asthma each year. Twenty four percent are African Americans. In conclusion, testimonies are always followed by the ‘what ifs.’ What if my daughter wasn’t at home? What if Jared had already moved into his apartment? What if I had been home, would I have known something was wrong? What if? Need I say more? I’ll take a testimony over a tragedy any day.