The Best Present I Ever Got

Psalm 127:3 Lo, children are an heritage of the LORD: and the fruit of the womb is his reward.

The best present I ever got was on my birthday, November 30, 1985. It was the only gift I received that year; and it was only by Divine intervention that I got it.

That year my birthday was on Saturday. Thanksgiving was on the 28th, and my younger brother was getting married on the 29th. In all of the hustle and bustle and excitement of Thanksgiving and the wedding, my entire family forgot my birthday. None of them gave me a present, not even my husband. (Although, he did take me out to eat that evening.)

My brother and the rest of my family, and his fiance and her family lived in Alabama. So, of course, that is where the wedding was. We lived about 700 miles away; so, we spent Thanksgiving Day driving to Alabama. We were coming up on our 15th anniversary and on the drive over my husband said, “I’ve been thinking that I’d like for us to look into the possibility of adopting.” I said, “That’s funny. I’ve been thinking the same thing.” I had just purchased an accounting practice in September, so we agreed to wait until after I got through my first tax season and we’d look into it in June.

After the wedding we drove part way home and spent the night in a motel; then we finished the trip the next morning – my birthday. When we walked in the door the phone was ringing. It was my OB-GYN.

He said, “Alice, I’m so glad to finally reach you! On Thanksgiving Day, I was the doctor on call for the hospital and I delivered a beautiful, healthy baby boy that needs a home. He’s 3 months premature but I promise you he is perfectly healthy; there is nothing wrong with him. He’s yours if you want him.” Of course, we wanted him!

He said that the mother came into the ER with complications and she told them when she came in that she was giving the baby up for adoption, and they told him that before he examined her. She had developed eclampsia and he had to do an emergency c-section. He explained that, by law, if the he knows at the time of delivery that the baby is being put up for adoption, before leaving the delivery room, he has to fill out a form indicating who has legal custody. If it’s a prearranged adoption the he has to specify who the adopting parents are. Otherwise, he has to check a box indicating that the child is a ward of the state and Social Services has custody.

He said, “Alice, I always have a list of patients that want to adopt. Right now, I can name everyone that’s on that list. But at the time of that delivery I couldn’t remember a single one. So, I prayed, “Lord, who do I know that wants this child?” and your name was the only one that came to my mind. So, I prayed again and said, “Lord, I can’t remember a single name on my list, but I know Alice Abernathy is not one of them. We have never had that conversation. Please, help me remember who I know that wants this child.” And, again, I was the only one that came to his mind. He said, “I kept wracking my brain trying to remember anyone on my list, but I never did.” He said finally, as he was nearing the end of the procedure he prayed again and said, “Lord, if I put Alice and her husband on that paper and they don’t want this baby it will be out of my hands; Social Services will automatically get custody. I know I have patients that want to adopt. Please tell me, who do I know that definitely wants this baby?” And, again, my name was the only name that came to his mind. He couldn’t remember my husband’s name, so he just put Mr. & Mrs. Abernathy.

As far as the State was concerned, our adoption proceeding began the day we casually discussed it on our way to Alabama.

They kept him in the neonatal nursery because he was so small (he weighed 3 lbs 3 oz). They put him in a regular baby bed; he didn’t even need to be on oxygen. At first, they told us we could take him home when he weighed 5 lbs. By the end of the third week he had lost down to 2 lbs 7 oz and gained back up to 3 lbs 9 oz. At that point the Dr. said that he was so dog-gone healthy it was ridiculous to keep him there any longer; so, they sent him home!

For whatever reason, sometimes God’s reward is the fruit of another womb.

The Outpatient Surgery That Almost Killed Me – Twice, Part 1

Hebrews 13:5b for he hath said, I will never leave thee, nor foresake thee

The surgery was a hiatal hernia repair on the morning of Thursday, November 9, 2006. The plan was for me to stay at the hospital overnight for observation and go home the next morning. By 4:00 A.M Friday morning I was in CCU on life support. 

After emergency surgery by a cardiothoracic surgeon later that morning, my husband and son were told that I was in very bad shape. Ninety percent of people in my condition don’t make it, and they should call the rest of the family and begin making arrangements.

The week before, I met with the general surgeon to discuss the surgery and what I should expect. He told me, in part, that he was going to do a minimal-invasive, laparoscopic procedure. The incision would be about an inch, which would result in quicker and less painful healing than opening me up. What he did not tell me was that this was a new procedure for this type of surgery, he had never performed it before, and his “training” for it was a 30-minute video. The week before that the hospital where he practices offered the training for that procedure, but he declined to take it, feeling confident that he had learned all he needed to know from the video.

During the surgery some tears occurred in my esophagus and stomach which, due to the small incision, he was unaware of. The tear in my esophagus was next to a membrane that began inflating like a balloon, taking in oxygen when I inhaled.  Also, everything I swallowed went into that ‘balloon’.  By the early morning hours of the next day it had enlarged to the point it was filling my chest cavity.  It collapsed my left lung and pushed my heart to the side, which caused a fold in the main artery shutting off the circulation. All of my major organs shut down.

I was in the hospital 84 days. I was given anesthesia 13 times for surgeries – 5 total, and various procedures. And, I developed a viral infection in my blood stream because someone drew blood with a dirty needle.

Between the time I was discharged on January 31, 2007 and August 14, 2008 I required four additional surgeries due to issues resulting from the initial out-patient surgery. On August 29, 2008 my new general surgeon released me for normal activities.

On November 9, 2006, following the surgery, I was in and out of sleep, and oblivious to time. I knew by the nurses’ shift change that It was night when I realized that I was getting worse instead of better; and I knew I had reached a serious condition. Breathing had become a desperate struggle when I asked the nurse to call my pulmonologist, who was also the hospital Chief of Staff at the time.

“Do you know him?” she asked. “Yes”, I replied. “How do you know him?” she asked. “My husband’s pulmonologist,” I replied. She just stood there. “My pulmonologist,” I stated. She just stood there. “His wife and I are very good friends through Homemade Gourmet,” I stated. She turned toward the door and someone asked, “Where are you going?” “To call the Dr.,” she stated. She would not have called him if I had not been able to say that I knew him on some personal level.

As I was being wheeled down the hall to CCU and a ventilator I prayed, “Father, hold me,” and I felt God swoop me up in His arms, and He and I were alone. I did not die. I did not move toward a bright light. There was no pearly gate. There were no streets of gold. There were no angels. There was no music. There were no loved ones who have gone before me there to greet me. It was just me and God in a place with a pale greenish light, and it was very quiet and peaceful.

I did not see His face. My back was to Him. The closest thing that I can think of to describe what it was like is when I was a little girl sitting on my Dad’s lap. I could feel him holding me, but I was facing away from Him.

The closest thing I can think of to describe what I saw would be sort of like a series of video clips. I was watching people going about their everyday lives. One person would say or do something that caused someone else to say or do something, and so on. At first, I didn’t know the people and I didn’t know what to make of it. Then I saw the pulmonologist’s wife persuading my friend to have a Homemade Gourmet party. My friend really didn’t want to, but she finally agreed.

Then I saw my friend writing out the invitations to her party, sealing them, stamping them, and putting them in the mail. Next, I saw myself bringing in the mail and glancing at each piece on my way in from the mailbox until I came to my invitation. I remembered that moment and I remembered thinking, “I’ll just call her and explain that I don’t do home parties.” And I saw myself lay the invitation on the table in the entry to deal with later.

In the next scene I saw myself dusting the furniture. I picked up a stack of papers from the table in the entry and began sorting through it, throwing some away and putting some on my desk, until I came to the invitation. I remembered that moment, too. It was the day of the party and I hadn’t called my friend to tell her I wouldn’t be coming. I started towards the phone to call her but then I thought, “She’s been such a good friend to me, and home parties are often not well attended. I know she went to a lot of effort to get her home extra clean and nice for the event. It’s early enough I’ve got time to get ready; I really should go.” Then I understood what I had been seeing.

That party was in May 2005, 18 months before my surgery. That’s where I first met the doctor’s wife. I signed up to sell Homemade Gourmet products as a result of my friend’s party, which is how his wife and I became such good friends. God had begun a long time, even before that, arranging for the right people to be in the right places in preparation for what He knew was going to happen to me on November 9, 2006. I knew that He had everything under control and I had nothing to worry about.

Then I thought, “What time is it? It seems like I’ve been here a very long time.” God said, “Don’t worry about the time. You need to rest.” Then I went to sleep. When I woke up I was still there, but I knew it was time for me to leave. Then I woke up in ICU on Monday, November 13. At that point, I was told that 80% of people in my condition don’t make it.

I was in intensive care until just before Christmas. When I was awake and alert enough to understand what happened, where I was, and my condition I considered what I know about God. I know that God is Sovereign. I know that God had a good purpose for creating me. I know that God loves and cares for me. I know that He promised never to forsake me, and He cannot break His promise. I concluded that the circumstances I found myself in must somehow relate to God’s purpose for my life.

I’ve always believed that the single most important thing for anyone to accomplish in their lifetime is to fulfill God’s purpose for their life. In light of what He suffered for me at Calvary, this wasn’t too much for Him to ask of me.

If it didn’t relate to His purpose for my life – since Satan does have a hand in this world’s events; that didn’t really matter because God said, “All things work together for good to them that love God, to them who are the called according to his purpose.” God would use it for good even if Satan intended it for evil. I decided to just go with it. The hospital became my mission field. I witnessed to everyone I could.

I made a full recovery. After I was released from the hospital, I had an appointment with my pulmonologist. During that visit one of his staff commented, “You have no idea how many odds you beat.” She’s right I don’t. But I know that the list starts looking pretty long when you go one-by-one and think about the potential consequences if one of my organs had not resumed functioning, or only partially resumed. Whatever the number of odds there were that I beat, it’s because God intervened at every point.

My doctors told me, “We did everything we could, but the truth is the only reason you are alive and well today is Divine intervention.”

But the ordeal was far from over.

My Salvation Testimony

John 3:15 whosoever believeth in him should not perish but have eternal life.

Whenever the subject of salvation came up, Mama always said, “I first met Jesus when I was 7 years old, in Mrs. Dennis’ Sunday School class at First Baptist Church in Grenada, Mississippi.” My Dad was a teenager when he made a profession of faith at the Methodist church, also in Grenada. He was 20 and she was 15 when they got married and moved to Memphis where he had found a job that would support them. That’s where I grew up. My Dad wasn’t really big on going to church, but Mama was so we went to a Baptist church.

My best childhood friend was Wanda. She lived across the street from us and her family went to the same Church my family went to. So, we were in all of the same classes. I think we were about ten when she went forward during the invitation one Sunday morning and made a profession of faith. The next Sunday she was baptized into the Church.

Not long after that I began to think about it. I thought, “I’ve sat through every class and every sermon that she has. I know as much about it as she does, and I believe, too. So, if she’s saved, then I must be saved.” So, I went forward and made a profession of faith, and was baptized into the Church.

A few years later we moved to Pine Bluff, Arkansas and I joined Immanuel Baptist Church by letter, along with the rest of my family. Dad evidently had been baptized into a Baptist church at some point because he joined by letter, too. When I was 14 the Church decided to have a 5 day “Revival Week” with services every evening, Monday through Friday. My family attended every service. I don’t remember a single word of any service any day that week, except Wednesday. And, I remember very little about that one.

I remember that the title of the Sermon was Is Your Relationship with God All That It Should be? I remember that the preacher punctuated his points throughout the sermon with that question. I don’t remember any of his points – just the question. I don’t remember the name of the hymn we sang for the invitation, but I remember that it had 5 verses and we sang all 5 verses and then started over, and over. That’s all I remember about that entire service.

Immanuel Baptist was a huge church. During the invitation lots of people were going forward to re-dedicate their life to Christ, and a lot of people went down to kneel and pray. We sang, and sang, and sang. Finally, we sang a verse, and no one went forward, and most of the people who were kneeling to pray returned to their seats. Then the preacher said, “We’re going to sing 1 last verse and I’m going to ask you 1 last time, is your relationship with God all that it should be?” I thought, “How could it be? I don’t have a relationship with God.”

Then I thought, “In every relationship each person brings, or contributes something the other person values. It could be love, or friendship. It could be that one contributes a product or service, and the other contributes compensation. But, each one always contributes something of some value to the other person. I have nothing to contribute that would be of any value to God.”

Then something told me, “Ask anyway.” So, I prayed, “God, I don’t know why you would want to have a relationship with me, but I want to have one with you.” In that instant I knew that I was in the presence of the Lord, and His Spirit has never left me since. I went forward that night and made a true profession of faith.

There were actually a number of other people that made professions of faith that night. My Dad was one of them. It seems that when he joined the Methodist church, more than 20 years earlier, he just wanted to get better acquainted with a young lady that went there that he was attracted to before he met Mother.

Because the invitation lasted so long it was really late when we got home. We had school and work the next day and we were all so tired; we just put our things down and headed for bed. I laid there, and laid there, but as tired as I was I just could not go to sleep. Finally, I got up and went into the living room, and turned on a small lamp at the end of the couch and started reading my Bible. Then here came Dad; he couldn’t sleep either. So, we sat there and read together. The next Sunday we were both baptized into the Church – for real.

Belief unto salvation is more than intellectually accepting the truth that Jesus is the Son of God, born of a virgin; that he died on the cross to pay the sin debt for all of mankind, and overcame the power of death when he arose, bodily, on the third day. It is such a profound belief that one is willing to put one’s life in His hands and follow Him come what may.

Mine was a simple prayer unlike the standard model designed to ensure that the person is both sincere and fully aware of the significance of what they are doing. I clearly understood that I was not worthy of what I was asking, and I was ready to give my life to Christ.

I first met Jesus on May 17, 1967, when I was 14 years old, in a revival service at Immanuel Baptist Church in Pine Bluff, Arkansas.

How I Met My Husband

1 John 5:13a, 14 These things have I written unto you that believe on the name of the Son of God. . .And this is the confidence that we have in him, that if we ask any thing according to His will, we know that we receive the petitions that we desired of Him

When I was 16 years old and not showing any interest in dating my Dad became concerned. He had an aunt, Pauline, who never married. She was a terrific lady and we all loved her dearly, but Dad didn’t want me to live my life alone as she did. My family didn’t have money; so, when he found out that I had turned down a dance invitation from the son of one of the wealthiest families in town he panicked.

Without saying a word to anyone – not even Mother, he began praying every day, “God, please don’t let Alice go through life alone like Aunt Pauline. Please provide her with a good husband. Give her a good man who will love her, and provide for her, and protect her; and give them a good life together.”

After he’d been praying that prayer for about three months a young man started working at the same company where he worked. About two months later Dad, who was still praying, told Mother about his prayers and about the young man. He said, “I can’t explain it, but I know that he is the one for Alice. I just don’t know how to bring them together.” Her advice was to pray about that, and so he did.

I was a “girly girl”. I enjoyed cooking and sewing; I loved all things soft and gentle, lacy and floral, and pink and lavender. There was no tomboy in me. But at the end of that school year I decided that I wanted to do something really different that summer. Something that would surprise everyone at school that fall. As I mentioned, my family didn’t have money so whatever it was it couldn’t cost much. Then one evening at dinner my brothers were all excited because the Boys Club was starting a judo class at no cost, except for your gi. They were begging Daddy to let them join, and I knew it was just what I was looking for, even though it was at the Boys Club – as in boys only.

When I expressed an interest, Dad saw his opportunity. I don’t know how he managed it, but he arranged for me to become the first girl member of the Boys Club – limited to the judo class. Then he asked that young man at the office, “Have you ever considered taking judo lessons?”

The first night that he came to the class, when Dad introduced us, we shook hands. The moment our hands touched the thought that popped into my mind was, “So this is the man I’m going to marry. Oh, my goodness. . . where did that come from!” In retrospect I understand that God was confirming with me what He had already revealed to Dad.

During about the third week we were paired to fight each other, and I flipped him. In that moment when he was flat on his back and I was bent over, looking down at him he asked, “Would you like to go for a cola after class?” We quickly became best friends and were married 18 months later.

We were married a little over a year when Dad shared his part of the story with us and I shared my part. My husband said, “I knew the moment I saw her.”

The story of how God brought us together (our God Story) illustrates the importance of prayer. I don’t believe in coincidence in the life of a child of God.  I don’t think it was coincidental that Dad became burdened by the thought that I might go through life alone, like Aunt Pauline, three months before he met my future husband. I believe that those three months of prayer prepared my Dad to recognize the one God planned for me to marry, and to do his part in bringing God’s plan to pass. Dad’s prayer for me was according to God’s will.

I think it’s important to note that Dad didn’t begin looking for someone for me. He merely prayed about the burden on his heart, and trusted God to bring me the right one, at the right time.

THE REST OF THE STORY – Ours was the marriage everyone expects to have when they say, “I do”. We were both saved before we met, but we grew in the Lord together. We were still best friends when he went home to heaven shortly before our 41st anniversary. God answered all of Dad’s prayer – he loved me, provided for me, protected me, and we had a good life together.