My journal records the date as December 18th, 2009. I sat before an eager class of fourth graders waiting to be dismissed for lunch. I can't recall which was racing faster, my mind or my heart. It must have been my mind because my chest was tightening and at one point I remember begging my lungs to take in air. The students were staring awaiting instructions. I was numb, frozen in time, unable to communicate my need for an ambulance. Please, please, please, lips form the words, "Get help." Time is of the essence. So this is the day I die. It's actually happening. Dear God, please do not let me fall over in front of the kids. Just a minute more and they will be off to lunch. Just one more minute...
My heart did not stop beating that day. No one had to tell my husband that his wife had suffered a heart attack. The panic that gripped the very depths of my soul did not kill me. I did not succumb to the suffocating walls of anxiety. I sat. I waited. I cried. I pondered the possibility that somehow God had lost track of me. Then with faith the size of a grain of mustard seed, I called out to God with all the determination I could muster. I gathered every broken, disconsolate piece of my world and began a journey. A journey of security and assurance as written in Jeremiah 29:11.
"For I know the plans I have for You, declares The Lord, plans to prosper
you and not to harm you, plans to give you a HOPE and a future."
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