A few days after my heart stopped (February 1996), I was taken by ambulance to St. Francis Hospital in Tulsa, Oklahoma. They were still trying to figure out what was wrong. One of the tests required them to open the big artery in my leg and send wires up into my heart. After the procedure, which didn't help, I had to lie perfectly still for five hours with sandbags holding my legs in place. If that artery was to open up, I would bleed out in seconds. So there I was glued in my bed with lots of sandbags. It was about two in the afternoon and I was starving (no food since the night before) so when they brought me lunch, I wolfed it down. The body is funny though, if you put stuff in, stuff wants to come out. Unfortunately, I couldn't move, so six big orderlies had to lift me, sandbags and all, so they could stick a bedpan under me. It was not a success. I have never been more embarrassed in my life. When I go to the bathroom, I run water so no one can hear. Now, the six guys had to lift me again while another orderly had to clean up the mess--me and the bed. I apologized over and over to the poor guy doing the cleaning, but he just smiled and said he'd had to do worse. They finally removed the sandbags several hours later, but I was still embarrassed and apologizing to anyone who had been there. About eleven that night, a guy stuck his head in the door and asked if he could come in. I said sure--it was the orderly who had had to clean up the mess. He wanted to know if I was all right and if I minded him praying for me.
Sometimes, God sends us messages in the strangest form. We prayed together and my embarrassment disappeared. What a kind young man. I don't know his name, but I will never forget him. Has God spoken to you through strangers? Listen when He does.