Heart of the matter
This morning, my 34 year-old husband … love of my life … father of my three beautiful children … healthy, athletic and hardy … interrupted his morning commute and took a detour to the emergency room.
He was having a minor heart attack, caused by slight blockage in his left anterior descending artery. They fixed the problem with a stent, said he suffered minimal damage and that the heart would heal itself. They expect a full recovery.
My husband played basketball and soccer. He loves his job and evening farm chores. He chops firewood. He’s a fit, outdoorsy guy. A healthy eater, loves the basic veggies, eats a fair share of fish, occasional chicken … but I’ll admit, there’s butter in our house. And bacon. And eggs. [Are they evil?] He does not smoke. He does not drink habitually. He is active and happy and rarely ill.
What in the name of all that is good and just and right in the world would cause him to have a heart attack?
No one has an answer. But that’s ok … I needed only one answer this morning as I sat in the cardiac care unit waiting room—the answer to my fervent prayers. I asked that he would be ok. He is. And I thank God.
What a difference 12 hours can make.
Who cares that I had an inconvenient dead battery in my car Friday night? Who cares that we were sick with the flu all weekend. Who cares if there’s dust on the furniture or laundry piled up. None of it matters. Only people.
I beg you to go, right now, to the people you love most in the world and hug them and kiss them and tell them how important they are to you. And thank God that they are with you and that you are so very blessed.
Who knows what the next 12 hours will bring.