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The one question I was asked last year, over and over, during the forty-three days my husband was in the hospital was, “How are you so strong?”

My answer, “I’m not.  Jesus is.”

In those days I told God that whether my husband lived or died, He would be glorified through the story of His provision in our lives.  I am writing a book to share this story – the place I found peace in the midst of possibly losing the one thing I always wanted – my husband. 

In my efforts to learn how to be a writer, I have come across amazing writers of God, who also share His story in their lives.  One of those writers is Brooke McGlothlin who is releasing her new e-book Notes to Aspiring Writers this Tuesday, July 19th!  I can’t wait to read it, and I feel blessed as her blog and insights encourage me as an aspiring writer! 

Recently Brooke has challenged aspiring writers to write an elevator pitch for their book. Below is my elevator pitch for the story of my quest for peace.  Seeing God work through me in this way is humbling, and I have an intense desire for everyone to experience His peace in the way I did. 

My desire is to share with other women where I found Jesus’ supernatural peace – between faith and surrender.  As a single woman, peace was something I never felt and only looked for in a future husband. Then God gave me a husband – a husband dying from Cardiomyopathy – and peace was not there either. This is the story of my quest for peace as my husband underwent heart transplantation, and I laid his life down at Jesus’ feet.

Please feel free to leave your honest and truthful thoughts on my elevator pitch. Any spare prayers as I continue this project are also so humbly appreciated!

There is not an event in my life that I have talked about with someone every day for a year.  That is until the day Things Began to Change.

Ever since I have talked about the events, the emotions, the miracles – recounting every image, every thought, every fear, every blessing – on my husband’s journey to a heart transplant over and over and over again.

Sometimes the discussion begins as a question:

“What did I say when I first woke up?”

“When did you first find out I was matched with a heart?”

“How long did my heart stop in the elevator?”

“Why did they tell you I might not wake up?”

“Who called you when I went into Arrhythmia?”

Sometimes the discussion begins as a story:

“You were so determined to get out of the ICU, you refused to eat until they let you out!”

“I asked them to page everyone I knew at the hospital when they told me you had to go on life support – the physician’s assistant, the social worker, and the chaplain.  Then I sat with the chaplain and cried, ‘I didn’t have enough faith.’”

“Some days you were less than cooperative, but I just told the nurses that was your fight to live.”

“Every night before I went to sleep I called your nurse one last time to check on you.”

“I was sitting on the bench outside the elevator when Dr. Simeone walked by and said, ‘I think we have a heart.’”

Sometimes the discussion begins as a memory:

“This is the path I walked from my hotel every day to get to the hospital.”

“As I turned the corner at 1:00 in the morning, there you were with breathing tubes down your throat for the first time.”

“I played for you Mighty to Save as we waited for you to wake up.”

“I was in my hotel room when I got the call.  ‘He nodded for the first time.’”

As I live the same days and months that I lived last year, with the only difference being one more digit at the end of the year, I remember those days with the same clarity as if they were today.  I can hear the beep, beep, beep of the machines in John’s room.  I can smell my hotel room.  I can see John’s sweet face crying out for relief.  I can feel the peace that God gave me.

In those days I prayed, “God whatever happens, may you get the glory.  Whether you take him home or leave him here with me, may people come to know you through this story.”

I never get tired of telling the story. 

I have told it ever since, and I hope to tell in forevermore.