Answered

To pick up where I left off, Sunday was a tough day. My Grandpa Don did make some progress in his hospital bed in Green Bay. As my parents reported, he thankfully began to breathe on his own. He would look around, though with no recognition of those who gathered around him. He was able to move his arms and legs around, though mostly in apparent discomfort. And he didn't respond to my dad's persistent encouragement to squeeze his hand.

Despite the improvements, we were frustrated, and we were worried. Hope of a major recovery seemed to be slipping away. I wished really hard that I could be there. All Tracy and I could do was continue to pray and ask more of our friends to add their prayers. Shortly before going to bed last night, we gathered for what was probably the most tearful, upfront prayer I have ever brought to God. And then we went back to waiting for an answer — an answer to the prayers of so many.

And then, God answered ... in my Grandpa Don's own words.

My dad had stopped at the hospital this morning before going to work at our church. He approached my Grandpa and said, "Hi, Pa." And my Grandpa answered. "Hi."

At that moment, you could have knocked my dad over with a feather, he told me. He continued the conversation, the likes of which he thought he might never have again. "How are you doing?" "OK." I didn't witness this little miracle moment between father and son, both named Don (the photo shows them united in baldness after my dad had his head shaved in church in 2002), but the image in my mind will stick with me forever.

Before long, my grandpa asked, "Where's Gladys?" My dad called to inform my Grandma Gladys and told her to tell my Uncle Tim. He called my Uncle Mark, a pastor in Corpus Christi, Texas. He called my mom. And then he called me. "Good news," he said with an unmistakable awe in his voice. "Good news" was an understatement. I shared the news with Tracy. Then I called my dad for more details. And he held the phone to my grandpa's ear. And after much encouragement from my dad, my grandpa answered again: "Hi."

I had never been so happy to hear someone's voice in my life. I told my grandpa how much I loved him and how we would keep praying for him. And then I looked upward, to God. And I cried. Why did it seem that, whenever it mattered most to me, God would answer? I didn't know. My dad, as a pastor who often sees prayers for others' loved ones go seemingly unanswered, says he has similar feelings. But we are indescribably grateful. The awe stuck with me all day. The text I was assigned to read aloud today in Worship class — the particularly mysterious account in Mark's Gospel of the empty tomb's discovery — took on new significance.

My parents have updated me throughout the day. As my dad put it, my grandpa sounds like The Crusher, and the words don't come easily, but he is talking. Finally squeezing my dad's fingers, he proceeded to make all sorts of other physical responses. A highlight came when my dad told my grandpa, "You look good." My grandpa responded, "You look good, too." My dad said, "Well, then your eyes must not be too good." And my grandpa laughed. His reunion with my Grandma Gladys, with whom he will celebrate their 55th wedding anniversary later this week, apparently was also fascinating. My grandma, in her unshakable faith, greeted him almost nonchalantly as if she had no doubt that the moment would come.

My "Bugga Don" is still weak, and there are issues to address. Swallowing food was something of a concern. Physical and speech therapy will be needed. And the doctors are considering how to regulate his heartbeat. (I cannot even express my gratefulness to these caregivers, not to mention his rescuers on Saturday morning or the countless folks who have been praying for him.) There is much recovery ahead. It will be difficult. And the prayers will continue. But I am so thankful for this extension to my grandpa's life, however long it lasts. And I can't wait to see him again.

Thanks be to God.