Twice in my lifetime the doctors have been wrong. Don’t misunderstand me, I believe in doctors and have a great respect for their intelligence, training and sacrifice. I thank God for them every time I have to go under the knife. But it’s just that I also know God is the ultimate Healer and He has the final word.
It was my 37th birthday as I sat in the doctor’s office and heard those words: “You will never be able to run again.” The cartilage in my knee was gone. I sat there in silence. Running has always been a big part of my life; it is where I draw my confidence; it is my time alone with God and my thoughts. And it had always been a lifetime goal of mine to run a marathon. But more than the doctors words, I also knew from where my strength came, from God alone, and I decided I would not give up that easily. After two months of pain-staking physical therapy followed by some very careful training, I ran across the finish line of the Chicago Marathon – before my next birthday.
The other time the doctors were wrong it was a more personal one. I was a few months away from my wedding day when I had an emergency surgery. I heard the doctor’s words once again: “You will probably never be able to have children.” I understood the complications of my situation, resulting from a life-threatening appendectomy years earlier. But I also knew that God, the Creator of all life, could give me a child if he chose to. When that time came later on to start a family, the doctors words seemed to come true. I decided I would try another surgery in hopes of increasing the odds. I began the process of finding a doctor and pleading my case for surgery, but I soon faced another obstacle. The insurance would not pay for the surgery, as it was considered infertility surgery and therefore was “optional”. Again I sat in silence. Looking down at the sheet of paper with the estimated costs for the doctors, surgery and hospital, I wondered how we would be able to pay for it on our own, or if we should even try. We were still newly married and did not have much money saved. This would take all of our savings plus a little more. Even so, I decided it was worth the try and I could not imagine anything more that I would rather spend my money on.
As the day came, the one-hour simple surgical procedure turned into a five-hour operation. The anesthesia alone was more than my body could handle and I threw up all the way home from the hospital. I laid in bed sick for days. The doctor had said my best (and only) chance of getting pregnant would be in the first six months after surgery. Well, six months came and went with no news. But I also noticed during this time that I never received the bill from the hospital for the surgery or the anesthesia. It did not show up as a claim on my insurance either. No co-pay or deductible was ever paid, and I never received a second bill in the mail or a phone call. It seemed to disappear. And, about a year later I delivered a healthy baby boy. He truly was a gift.
God is the giver of all good things. James 1:17