For Nothing Will be Impossible with God

Written by Derek Boggs

From the Archives: The Journey Summer 2015

It’s the phone call every parent dreads. At 4 am my phone rang and on other the other end was a surgeon from North Dakota who said, “Your son has been in an accident. He has fallen from a roof and we’re doing everything we can to save him. You need to get here as soon as possible.”

My wife and I threw some clothes in a bag and headed down 321 for Charlotte. On the way, my wife called the airline and booked our tickets for the first flight out. When we arrived at the counter, the clerk said we had just purchased a one-way ticket to Fargo. We explained what had happened and that we have no idea when we’d be able to return to NC. While I was telling her our story, I would suddenly break down in tears. Saying out loud that you’re trying to go somewhere to see your son before he dies is extremely emotional and gut-wrenching. So this very nice lady told us she would change our ticket to one in which we could return whenever we are able.

We then headed to security. As I was coming out of the scanning machine, a large and burly TSA official met me on the other side. I’m sure I looked like a mess. I had been crying since early that morning. My face was puffy, red, and my eyes were bloodshot. He looked at me and said, “Sir, are you OK?” I paused for a moment and then said, “No, I’m not OK. My son in North Dakota has been in an accident and we’re hoping we can get there before it’s too late.” With that, this very large man walked up to me and said, “Sir, hold out your arms.” He then walked closer to me with his scanning baton in hand. But then he stretched out his arms, gave me a huge hug, and said, “Go, we’ll be praying for you.”

When we arrived at the hospital we found our son in a coma with a severe traumatic brain injury. My son just laid there with no movement. The doctors told us they had done all they could; now it was wait and see. For the first three nights, my wife and I took turns sitting with our son while the other tried to sleep. For me, it was strange that as I tried to sleep, I woke up at the same time each night – always at 1:37. It was kind of weird, but I didn’t think too much of it at the time.

After days and days of sitting with our son, the reality of never talking with him again became more and more possible. It was such a blessing to have First Lutheran of Fargo right next door. They brought us prayer shawls and the pastors came and prayed with us. Our home congregation, Grace Lutheran in Boone, was very supportive and sent us countless cards of encouragement. Friends from across the country sent us words of hope.

We even received cards from congregations we had never heard of before in places like Illinois, Kentucky, and Iowa. Complete strangers were compassionate. One I remember in particular was from a 7-year-old saying he was praying for healing for my son and strength for this mom and dad. We were overwhelmed with the outpouring of love, support and prayer from the wider church. The people of God really were the people of God in a very powerful way.

Finally the time arrived to remove my son from the ventilator. The night before, my wife and I prepared ourselves for what might be the end. I was at peace. I knew that whether my son lived or died, God had him. God would not let him go. Still, that morning walking down the hall to my son’s room was filled with very heavy steps. My legs felt like lead. We were told that when the ventilator was removed, our son may simply stop breathing. How does a parent even begin to prepare for such a moment? You don’t. Your whole being is numb.

Three hands came together as the mask was removed. I prayed with every breath. I was ready to tell my son goodbye.

And then, my son’s eyes began to flutter. Those hazel eyes opened and glanced at us, then slowly closed again. Then my son spoke. THAT’S RIGHT, then my son spoke, “I love you guys.” Tears of joy streamed from our faces, we held our hands tight, and joyfully embraced each other. Our son was alive! After much therapy and wonderful care, our son has made a miraculous recovery. There isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t give thanks to God for my son’s smile, laugh, and life.

Throughout this journey, I learned a great deal about life, death, hope, faith, and the church. I truly was at peace knowing that my son may not live, but I knew God would forever hold him. I saw the church at its best - lifting up those at their breaking point.

The Sunday before we were to fly back to NC, we worshipped with the good folks at First Lutheran in Fargo. It so happens that they were going through a series called “The Story” and we showed up on the day they were celebrating Christmas during Lent. The reading that day came from Luke 1. I’ve heard this passage many times before, but never like I heard it on that day. When the Lector said, “For nothing will be impossible with God” I glanced down at the reading, and there it was: 1:37. I will never see this piece of Good News the same.

The pastor’s sermon focused on how God continues to come to us today in Word and Sacrament and through the Holy Spirit’s movement among God’s people. I took my wife’s hand and placed it with mine. He ended his sermon by asking the congregation, “How has God come to you?” With that, our grip became tighter, and I couldn’t hold it in any longer. Suddenly those poor folks had a sobbing man sitting in the pew next to them.

For us, we received our miracle, thanks be to God! But for others who have been in those shoes, without the same happy ending, we look to the cross. We look to the cross and know that death is not the end, because God has us. Whatever journey you’re traveling, I invite us all to 1:37.