I’m kind of at a loss. Not for words (always plenty of those), but for the right words. What do you say after you’ve already told the story of an event that changed your life and yet you don’t have any clear definition of what that “new” life should look like?

What if you want to be forever changed and pursuing Jesus with everything in you, but apparently, you’re just as human as you ever were? And more tired. With more responsibilities. And more what-ifs.

Once before I got up to speak at a MOPS group (about s-e-x), the leader told the group that the sister of one the MOPS gals had lost her husband in a car accident the night before. Then she turned to me and said, “I’m sorry to share something so heavy right before your talk.”

And I said, “Oh, goodness. If anything, it should put this in perspective for us. I’m getting ready to give you all a pep talk about wanting to make love to your husbands, and this dear wife will never again be able to hold her husband in her arms.”

And from that moment on, I’ve tried to remember that young widow whenever Gabe wants to do something I don’t. Or when he chews food (because even if he does it as quietly as possible, I still can’t stand it. I’m OCD like that.). I say to myself, “Would I rather him be sitting in his recliner eating Doritos or would I rather him be dead?” It’s a sobering question (if not a little funny).

And yet, here I sit, four days after I almost lost him, and I’m cringing at the sound of him eating raw almonds (not even CLOSE to Doritos on the obnoxious noises scale) in his recliner all the way downstairs.

I admit my hideousness not because I want to try to outdo my crappiness confessions with every blog post, but because I’m struggling, and I need you to know that.

This ordeal has made us stronger and more grateful for what we have and more in tuned with God and his mercy and sovereignty, and a whole host of other amazing things.

But it has also exhausted us. And whipped our world out from under us. And opened our eyes to some things that aren’t pretty. And made us question what our future will hold and why we’re here on this earth.

It feels like we’re in a battle, and not one that’s over just because Gabe’s life has been spared. God was responsible for all of that; now we have to keep up the fight. The fight to be healthy, the fight to keep depression at bay, the fight to recover physically, the fight to make the best decisions…

And when I feel this tired after four days, I wonder if we have the strength to keep this up for the rest of forever.

Thankfully, God promises we don’t have to do it on our own. We have him. And we have all of you. Thank you. And we are so, so, so, so blessed.

My prayer (well, one of them) for today is that God will show me how to make this whole heart attack thing all about HIM and not about us. And I’m praying for an extra helping of grace for the times I just don’t get it right.

God, help us to seek nothing but you and your glory.

Not sure what I was thinking when I typed that title. Life after a heart attack? What do I know about life after a heart attack?? Maybe I should type a bunch of ????????? and call it a night. I’m already in bed. Oh, my bed.

We’re home! Gabe is home!

Speaking of Gabe, the general consensus is that he looks amazing, and me? Well, not so much. Awesome. Who had the heart attack anyway?

Tonight has been emotional. And good. I’m holding up well. And also losing my mind a little bit. Lots of tears from the girls. I didn’t mean for them to know about the Cambodia thing, but Livi was on my computer all day reading all the Facebook comments–”I’m praying!” and “Happy Birthday!” And she read my blog post.

We had an amazing conversation in the van on the way to pick up Gabe’s prescriptions. She told me that God tells her things. I’ll share more later with her permission. Powerful, powerful stuff.

I brought Gabe home at around 7pm (Monday). Got him settled, my parents brought the girls back from trick-or-treating, Livi and I ran to get Gabe’s meds (then ran back out later because we forgot the aspirin that he has to take every day for the rest of his life). Had some emotional conversations. Ava rubbed Daddy’s head a bunch, and Livi and Nina took his feet. Gabe’s going to love this.

Finally got them in bed and they conked out immediately. Gabe’s asleep beside me, snoring like usual, and it’s not hard to pretend that everything’s just exactly like it was three days ago.

But then I remember the 6 pills he has to take every day for at least a year. And that one of them cost more than the car payment we were so glad to almost be rid of.

And I remember the circulation socks he has to wear. And that he can’t drive for 2 days. Or have “relations” for 5 (and for those of you who asked–and it was MANY–that is NOT what caused Gabe’s heart attack, you little stinkers). That he has to start his new exercise regimen with 4 minutes of walking per day. FOUR. That he has to cut salt and fat out of his diet. Salt is my love language.

But I’m confident that he’s going to get healthy and in shape and lower his bad cholesterol and raise his good cholesterol and have a stronger heart than ever before.

And God is already doing some jaw-dropping stuff through this. He is just nuts like that.

The doctors still don’t know what caused his heart attack, but they have a great plan in place for making sure (as best they can) that it doesn’t happen again. Speaking of, there was a rainbow in the sky right before Gabe had his heart attack, and tonight when I was gathering our stuff at the hospital and going out to pull our car around for Gabe, there was another one. A double one. It was like God was saying, “Ease your mind, girl. This won’t happen again.”

Please keep praying about Cambodia. I was reading through the Psalms this morning while Gabe was getting his echo done. I just read every verse that I had already underlined. Out loud. One of those verses was Psalm 119:32–”I will run in the way of your commandments when you enlarge my heart!” I didn’t add the exclamation point. It was already there. And guess what I had written in purple ink right beside the verse (and don’t remember writing).

Cambodia.

Believing big for God’s glory to be manifest in ways we can’t even conjure up in our puny little brains.

Speaking of puny little brains, mine is fried. Thanks so much, friends, for everything. We’ll have to reschedule the big birthday blog bash I had planned for today. Going to go sleep away the last 20 minutes of my 36th birthday.

36?!? What in the what?!?

I know what I want for my birthday every year now. Another year with my husband. I’m soooooooo thankful to God for sparing his life and can’t bless his name enough. I don’t take for granted that I get to cry happy tears tonight instead of grieving, anguished ones. Thank you, Jesus.

I have some time (Gabe’s resting and watching football, and my mama is with our girlies at home) so I’ll try to share a bit more of Gabe’s story.

We were at a Fall Festival that our church hosted for the community Saturday night. We had a chili cook-off, lots of goodies, games in the gym, a real-life firetruck w/firemen, and ended the night with trunk-or-treat.

I needed our van keys to open our trunk, so I walked over to the end of the gym where Gabe and 5 buddies were deep in a game of 3-on-3 basketball. I asked Gabe for the keys, took one look at him and said, “Did you get hit??” He said no. I knew something was wrong. He had an awful look on his face like, “I’m in pain, and I’m not happy about it, and don’t talk to me. “Are you okay?” He said no, but shooed me away. I tried not to be offended and went to pass out candy.

As I was throwing candy at little munchkins, he came outside and leaned his head up against the van. He looked awful. Pale, sweaty, and not just-played-basketball sweaty, but cold, clammy sweaty. “Are you okay?” Another no, and “I don’t want to talk.”

I suggested he get in the van and lay the seat back. He did. A minute later he was back. “I can’t catch my breath.” The kiddos were winding down the trunk-or-treat. “Do you need me to do something?” No. Then a minute later he said, “I need to go to the hospital.”

I freaked a little. How? Where? What do I do? Scanned the crowd for Pastor Rich, found him immediately. “Gabe can’t breathe very well. He says he needs to go to the hospital.”

“Let’s try to find a physician,” he said. He runs up to a couple people. I see him talking to our friend Chad. “I’m calling 9-1-1,” Chad says.

Well, that’s a little dramatic, don’t you think? (I don’t say this out loud.)

Gabe sits down beside me in the “trunk” of our mini-van. Our girls are there. A bunch of men somehow circle around us. Rich prays. I cry. The girls cry. I’m not sure at what point I start telling Jesus that I can’t do life without him (Gabe), but I told him that a lot over the next half hour.

The squad arrives, followed by the same firetruck the kids had climbed on 20 minutes earlier. They wouldn’t let me in with him. I stood outside and cried. One of my friend’s husbands rubbed my shoulders. Guys prayed. (all of the women were still “manning” the stations at the festival) The EMT told me I could ride up front or follow the ambulance. Our friend Harlan offered to drive me. I picked Harlan over the dude who wouldn’t let me in the ambulance with my husband.

The fire engine escorted us to the hospital. Harlan dropped me off and parked. I walked into the ER waiting room. So surreal. I felt really calm. Gabe wasn’t in the computer yet. I sat down. Twenty seconds later, they called me up. “He’s in room 52. Go left, right, left.”

I start walking. I turn left, right, left and see doctors and nurses running. Running. One of them says, “I need a something-something in 52. Stat! We’ve got a something-something…”

I can’t really describe that moment. It was awful.

I walked in the room. Gabe was on a gurney, shirtless, cords and wires and IV’s everywhere. Pale as a ghost, in obvious pain. People scurrying, shouting, pulling his clothes off.

Doctor: “It’s a probable heart attack. We’re taking him to the cath lab.”

They hand me his clothes and shoes. I dig in his jeans pockets for his phone. Mine is at home. Dumb. A receptionist takes me to a waiting room. Tells me that calling 9-1-1 was the smartest thing I ever did. I didn’t tell her that it wasn’t my idea. At all.

I sit and wait for Harlan. I need to call Gabe’s dad and brother. Gabe’s mom is in Africa. Gabe’s phone is dead. I don’t know their cell #s by heart. Harlan gets me water. He tells me I can call the operator and they’ll put me through. He’s going to find a charger for Gabe’s phone. I call my mom. No answer. Call my dad. Get “Carrie’s” voicemail. Somehow remember my dad’s real number. He answers.

“Dad, I’m in the hospital. They think Gabe had a heart attack.” I can’t really talk. Dad is in South Carolina with Mom. No one knows Tug or Rock’s number. The phone rings. It’s Tug. Harlan had found a charger and called Tug. Rock and Tug are headed to Columbus.

Harlan and I chat about life. I learn more about him and his amazing, beautiful wife Wendy. I hold back tears. Pastor Rich comes. Then our friends Will and Donna. The doc comes out. Gabe’s left anterior descending artery was 100% blocked. They unblocked it, put a stent in, he’s doing well.

Heart attack. Primary artery. Also known as the Widow Maker.

We go meet him in the hallway and go to his CICU (Cardiac Intensive Care Unit) room. Well, he went to the room, we went to the waiting room. Rock and Tug come. And our friends Pam and Britt. We get to go to his room.

Lots of hugs and tears and some powerful, powerful prayer. God is so good. It was an amazing moment.

I think I’ll stop there. This is all still so surreal. Gabe just said five seconds ago, “Did I really have a heart attack?” He’s doing so well. This is going to change our lives a lot, but we can do all things through Christ.

One of our biggest prayer requests right now is for wisdom about our trip to Cambodia. We’ve gotten some conflicting advice from different nurses. “You can still go.” “You really shouldn’t go.” “You could go, but it would be a huge, huge risk.” Please, God, give us your perfect peace and wisdom. We want to bring you glory, whether that means stay or go.

And friends, I can never thank you enough for all the love and support and encouragement you’ve been showering us with in the past 30 hours. It’s enough to make me bawl. Thank you, thank you, thank you. We love you all so much!

God, you are so, so, so, so, so, so, sooooooooooooooooooo good.

So, yeah, I don’t need anything else for my birthday. Unless you have an extra prayer or two. Thank you!!

Anybody else feeling a little wrecked by James?? Thankfully, God has been wrecking me (in the most amazing way) for quite awhile now, so it hasn’t been toooo terribly much of a shock. But still.

I listened to another David Platt sermon tonight (James 2:14-19). Oh for goodness. I totally recommend it (if you’re ready to get your block knocked off, that is).

I had a delightful opportunity to “count it all joy when you face trials of various kinds” today. I put Nina on the bus at 12:30, and Ava and I went grocery shopping. First to Aldi, where we got milk and ice cream among other perishables (blatant foreshadowing). On to Marc’s. More groceries. Used coupons (hooray, me!), brought my own bags (hooray, me!), CHECK CARD DENIED.

“Um, could you try it again please?”

DENIED.

I have $11 in cash. My groceries cost $58. “Um… okay… can I leave these here and run to the ATM?”

Ava and I dash to the car, drive to the bank, pull up to the ATM, punch in all the right stuff. DENIED.

Pull into the bank parking lot, head inside, wait in line, explain the problem to the teller, he checks my account. “Hmmm… it seems your card was revoked due to suspicious activity on September 9th.”

“Suspicious as in five expensive plane tickets to another country?”

“Why, yes.”

He made a call to a bigwig somewhere who made him ask me twice if it was really me who bought those tickets. All $8000 of them. I had half a notion of telling him how much they SHOULD have been and what a huge blessing from God it was that they were only $8000.

“Sorry about that. It should all be fixed in about 60 seconds.”

“Could I have $60 in cash JUST IN CASE?”

Back to the grocery store, where some poor soul had just been commissioned to restock my goods. Whew. Paid, headed home, Ava and I had a discussion about joy in the midst of trials, ice cream a little soggy but hey.

All good. EDIT (8:48am): There’s an additional mysterious $3500 charge on our check card (on top of the $8000) + overdraft fees and we can’t use our card. Please pray for quick resolution and continuous joy.

Up tomorrow: James chapter 2. Who’s ready??

This’ll be short and sweet. Promise.

One of the things (and there are many) that God has taught me over the past few days is that I am guilty of the same judgmental attitude that I’ve been hurt by. In my zeal for “living radically,” I often jump to conclusions about people’s hearts based on their standard of living, their possessions, and who they look to for financial wisdom.

Please forgive me. I was (am) wrong. That’s between them and God. And like I know firsthand, you can’t ever really know someone’s heart until you take the time to develop a deep relationship with them over time (and of course I can’t do that with everyone).

And while I will never (can never) stop talking about something I’m so passionate about, I’m going to think and pray for a good while about how Jesus would want me to approach the subject and treat his beloved children.

I’ll see you Monday with a completely and totally unrelated post. Thank you, friends.