Snuggled next to my husband in bed late one evening, I heard him mumble, “How much overtime do you have?”
“Huh?” I asked, jolting him awake in the process.
“Sorry, I was talking in my sleep. I do that.”
“Yes, I know,” I answered back, trying to settle back to sleep. However, he got me thinking about how much ‘overtime’ we really do have?
Exactly sixteen years ago today, I l was lying in a hospital bed at Harborview Medical Center, on a respirator, with machines monitoring my vitals. I was literary knocking at death’s door. A nurse held my hand, and spoke to me. “Hello, Anne, you’re in the hospital. Your family is worried about you.” Or so I had been told, I have no memory of my stay at the hospital. The night before, I had stopped breathing and went into sudden cardiac arrest. The doctor’s never determined what caused my heart to stop beating, all I know is God was not ready for me, and gave me some ‘overtime.’ How much, I can’t say? It’s God’s timepiece, not mine.
Jan, I want you to know you are continually in my thoughts and prayers, and hoping our Heavenly Father continues to give you lots and lots of overtime.