As much as I love to rant and rave about how awful contemporary Christian music is, there is at least one contemporary Christian song that just resonates with my soul, especially now, after I almost lost my grandpa Lyle (whom I am extremely close with) to a widow-maker heart attack that he didn’t know was happening until three days after it began. 

It is simply miraculous that he lived, and his story has “Divine Intervention” scribbled all over it in huge, bold letters. It is impossible for me to ignore the obvious; even the most atheist, skeptical parts of me recognize that my grandpa was in God’s hands during this whole fiasco. 

The night my grandpa was hospitalized in the ICU at the Adventist Hospital in Parker, Colorado, I had to spend a night alone all the way across town in Ken Caryl. It was blizzarding outside, and the roads were blanketed in black ice everywhere. My mom got stuck at her parents’ house, my little brother had to stay at his best friend’s house, my grandma Connie had to stay at a hotel within walking distance of the hospital, and my aunt Jessie just barely made it home. Being home alone with two sick dogs, unable to leave due to the frozen storm, I fell into a pretty dangerous state of mind. 

I am not ashamed to admit that I got very outwardly emotional that night. I prowled the house in perpetual prayer, begging, pleading, sobbing, and arguing with God. At first, I desperately wanted to brave the weather and drive across town. I got really close to doing so too. I had the dogs in their coats, their food and water by the door, a backpack full of a few days’ worth in supplies, my wallet and keys in hand. But, as I reached for the front door, I very clearly felt deep, deep conviction. I have never felt such a feeling before. I heard no words or voice, but I was very clearly being told, “No! Absolutely not! You stay here!” Honestly, I was frightened by it, but heeded the command to stay home, as badly as I wanted to be close to my grandpa who may have been teetering on the precipice of life and death. 

Angry and scared, I vocalized my frustration to God, pacing the house like a caged tiger as I did so. I have no idea how long I did this. Hell, I barely remember it. But, I was God-damn pissed. I was already dealing with two dogs who were struggling to adjust to their new surroundings. I was struggling to do so myself. My mom was swamped with work, and she called me later that night to let me know that her car’s dashboard had lit up with almost every warning light possible. And outside, a blizzard was raging. The road shimmered in the light of a streetlamp, clearly frozen over and too dangerous for even my Xterra. I was stuck, powerless, terrified, and in the dark (quite literally a couple times). I had no way of knowing how my grandpa was doing. No way of contacting him. I tried calling the hospital but they wouldn’t transfer me to his room. I was deep in the valley of the shadow of death; completely cut off from anyone who could give me any updates on his condition. 

Soon, my anger turned into pure fear. Then, my pure fear turned to grief and despair. I lashed out at God, wrestled with the “problem” of evil and suffering, and even called God names. Yet, God listened. Soon, I seemed to run out of tears and rage rather abruptly, and a wave of inexplicable peace washed over me. It was just a sudden sense of calm. I just suddenly knew that everything was okay, and everything would be okay. I don’t know how, but I managed to fall asleep. I didn’t sleep long or well. But, I got just enough sleep to take on the day ahead. 

At around 6:30 in the morning, I got a call from my grandma Connie. She was at the hospital, and she said grandpa Lyle was doing great. Not only was he awake and aware, but he was sitting up and able to use the restroom by himself. His stats throughout the night and into the morning were perfectly normal. Exceptional even. And, the doctors were baffled.

I smiled and choked down tears. I didn’t want my grandma to hear my voice crack. She had enough to worry about. I didn’t want to worry her any more. But, as soon as she hung up, I burst into tears again, my heart pouring out praises to God. Perhaps, my grandpa would be okay after all. Perhaps, I won’t suffer such a tremendous loss. Perhaps, my grandpa still had a lot of time left on this Earth. Perhaps, God had everything under His control, and I could trust in Him. After all, what could I do except pray and lean into my faith like never before? 

That morning, I took my time, spending most of my morning in silence to speak to God in a much calmer and more refreshed manner. Was I still terrified? Of course. Was I still pissed? Of course. Was I still expecting the worse? Unfortunately, of course. But, did I still trust God? Of course! Did I still praise God for the things that were going well? Of course. But, in those moments of praise, did I pretend nothing terrible was happening, or hide my true feelings if they were deeply negative? Of course not. 

As I was taking a shower, mentally, physically, and spiritually preparing myself for the day ahead, music unexpectedly began to play through my bluetooth speaker, when I’d been listening to a more humorous podcast staring comedian Joey Diaz. I was about to exit the shower and get my podcast back on, when I stopped in my tracks as I recognized the song. 

Remember how I started this recollection with a seemingly completely disconnected and unrelated topic: my disappointment in contemporary Christian music? Well, there’s one contemporary Christian song I absolutely love. Oceans by Hillsong. A song specifically about clinging to God in the midst of the storm. And, it’s a God damn beautiful song too; I seriously think it came straight from heaven. 

“Spirit lead me where my trust is without borders

Let me walk upon the waters

Wherever You would call me

Take me deeper than my feet could ever wander

And my faith be made stronger

In the presence of my Savior.”

Honestly, I can’t even begin to describe what I felt at that moment. I just felt weak, yet empowered at the same time. I felt alone, yet embraced at the same time. I was petrified yet comforted at the same time. I was literally Naked and Afraid, yet also fearless in a way, knowing that I could come to God (or He would come to me) just as I was, spiritually, physically, and mentally, and love me; contrary to what many conservative churches often preach. 

Now, I can’t even listen to the first three seconds of Oceans without bawling my eyes out. But, damn it. It’s my favorite song now, and I am not ashamed to ugly cry my eyes out whenever I recall the tune or the lyrics, especially since these aren’t exactly tears of grief and sadness. Instead, they are tears of victory and joy. And, best of all, tears of deep faith and trust in God. 

I wish there was another person in the house to hear the sudden change in sound; from Joey Diaz sharing disgusting (though unfortunately relatable) shart stories, to God literally flipping my world upside down and strengthening my faith in Him ten-fold. I cannot explain how my phone switched from Youtube to my music app, selecting a song I haven’t listened to in months, at a time I needed it most. Especially when I was literally at my most vulnerable ever; home alone, ass naked in the shower, worried sick and desperate to reach the hospital to confirm that my grandpa was, in fact, alive and well. At least, I cannot explain that naturally or technologically. 

Matthew 11: 25-30 now comes to mind. I more or less experienced in a drastic way the promise Jesus made in that paragraph in Scripture. Intense chills run all through my body whenever I recall this. And yes, I’ll probably ugly cry every time I think about this. I’m not ashamed to do so. I am beautifully and wonderfully made, even if my eyes are bloodshot and my face becomes stained with salt and snot. 

But, perhaps the best thing I experienced all that day, was walking into my grandpa’s ICU room a couple hours later, and seeing him standing up without any need for a cane, or oxygen, or a bathroom catheter. I was a little nervous to hug him, because he was hooked up to an IV and EKG monitors, but he assured me it was okay, and we embraced for several minutes. He felt just as strong as I remembered him. I was the weak one in that room. 

We spent almost an hour simply chatting, first about his medical fiasco, then our conversation drifted to more spiritual matters. For the first time in a long time, my faith in God connected with his, unconstrained by non-essential matters, such as evolution or what angels look like or what Jesus meant when He cursed the fig tree. We’d both grown in our faith tremendously within the last eighteen hours or so, and we were both overflowing with overt praise and joy; blessed beyond comprehension. Despite being in the ICU and not quite out of the woods. 

I didn’t leave until my mom kicked me out, with a team of doctors close behind her resembling a pride of lions. Due to covid restrictions, only one vaccinated visitor was allowed in the room at a time. So, I rather sternly told my grandpa to take his pills, eat healthy food, and not do cartwheels down the hallway no matter how good he felt, and left the hospital. My heart gushing with praise and joy for God. 

And, yes. I did ugly cry in front of my dad, trying to assure him through my sobs that everything was okay, and I was just overwhelmed with joy. I’m pretty sure my dad thought I’d gone crazy, but I don’t care. He still loves me and trusts that I’m sane enough to help him put some finishing touches on the Jeep over the weekend.