Something was wrong. I hadn't felt well ever since I had that heart surgery about three weeks ago. I could only guess it was irritability caused from my new medications or maybe even my body's response to the shock of the heart attack. By the time the ambulance reached the hospital (this was my second visit in a month), my face was a morbid shade of gray. It was no surprise then, that after I had fainted, the doctor told me that something serious was going on in my body. The septicemia had turned out to be more life threatening than the heart attack itself.
The infection that had crept into my body was now taking its toll. Some of my organs were now starting to shut down. The doctors quickly checked my heart for any signs of weakness or potential failure. Interestingly enough, my “ticker” was the one thing that stayed strong. Still, my heart was not the only thing necessary to keep my body alive.
That night, as I lay in bed strapped with multiple bags of antibiotics, I wondered if it was God's time to take me from this world. I had survived so much. Alcoholism, cancer, and the heart attack were only a few of the many instances where the hand of God had delivered me from the jaws of death and Satan. With so much victory, I could not help but be grateful for the 72 years I endured on this earth. Do not get me wrong, reader. While reflecting, I was still praying for yet another deliverance, but maybe this time it was God's will for me to drop out of this earthly life.
The storm of thoughts whirling in my head was interrupted by a doctor's distant whispering voice from the hallway.
"I don't know if he is going to make it through the night. He is in a pretty advanced stage and I am not sure if this is a winning battle."
As I heard these words, sympathy entered my heart for the other person who had been given this scary prognosis from the doctor. This unknown friend needed my prayer and who was I to think that just because I was in a grave condition also that I should not appeal to God for him. After I whispered a silent but heart felt prayer for the suffering stranger, I settled my mind and prepared for a long night.
The next morning my daughter came in to see me.
"Hey Dad, how ya feeling?"
"Not too bad. Maybe I'm better off than some of the other patients residing here. Have you seen how any of my neighbors are doing? After you left, I heard the doctor talking about some guy who he thought probably wouldn't even make it through the night. I made sure I said a prayer for the poor fella."
"Right after I left?" my daughter asked now interested.
"Yep that's right," I said in reverence wondering what had happened to my unknown friend."
"Dad, right after I left your room, I was talking to the doctor about YOU! You're that 'poor fella.' The doctor is still talking about how you surprised him by making it through the night."
Reader, take it from me, never even think of withholding your prayers from others for you might be the one holding God's hand from delivering you!
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