How I Became a Christian

I grew up in a Methodist church. As I went through adolescence, I was torn between the usual temptations, fear of divine retribution, peer influence, and scientific teachings that the world and life just randomly evolved without a creator. To assuage my guilt and fears, indulge my passions and satisfy (so I thought) my reason, I came to consider myself an atheist. I knew enough about the Bible to twist it back, refuting and discouraging many who tried to witness about Christ to me.

After I went to medical school, I began to experience times of loneliness and depression when I'd realize exactly what I was missing. I'd convinced myself deeply of the irrationality of religion, and couldn't honestly convince myself otherwise though I yearned for the peace of God. I'd try reading the Bible for a time, in hopes I'd somehow be inspired, then bog down and leave it. I married a wonderful young woman who grew up in the Christian church, but dragged her into my apostate ways for several years.

She felt the need to worship God and went to several churches during my medical school and residency, finally joining a Disciples of Christ church in Anniston, Alabama. I still couldn't convince myself, though I'd go with her sometimes. I went through some very painful soul-searching; I can't stand being hypocritical! I also had noticed in my medical practice a huge difference between people with a strong faith in God and those without faith, when they were faced with real problems. I wanted what they had! I began to consider myself an "agnostic."

The turning point finally came when a patient of mine was brought in after an unwitnessed cardiac arrest at home. He had had a previous MI several months before that had severely damaged his heart, causing congestive heart failure. Apparently he'd now had another. He was out for a long time; his mildly retarded wife panicked and ran around screaming for some time before calling his mother, who finally got the rescue squad called. They found him blue and getting cold, in ventricular fibrillation (no circulation.) Amazingly, they were able to get a heart rhythm going after CPR, drugs and several shocks. They brought him in to the ICU directly, bagging him through an endotracheal tube. He'd been directly admitted to a cardiologist, but I was there and saw him come in. I stepped in and got him stabilized on the ventilator, then talked with his family. He was totally unresponsive, with no spontaneous respiration or cranial nerve reflexes. (Clinically, brain dead.)

His wife was pitifully lost without him, and they had two beautiful young children, around 3-5 years old. I felt so sorry for them! The real strength of the family was his mother, but she was elderly, diabetic, and a smoker with bad chronic lung and coronary disease. She wasn't going to be able to look after the mom and kids till they grew up. I continued checking on them for the next couple of days, while a neurologist confirmed my impression of brain death by her examinations and a flat EEG. The plan was made to disconnect the ventilator and pronounce him dead the next morning, if a second EEG was flat also. I went out to talk to the family, and the grandmother asked if the children could see their daddy one last time. This was strictly against hospital rules, but I thought if they could see how he looked with all those tubes in him, unable to speak or move, it would help them to accept his death. I smuggled them in a back way for the last visit.

I finally got home around midnight. My wife had gone to sleep, and I climbed in with her. I was very distressed and unable to sleep, thinking only of those children without their father. Finally, in despair I prayed: "God, I don't even know if you're there to hear me or not. But if you are, I just want to ask one favor. I don't want anything for myself, but could you possibly do something to save that man, for his wife and children? Lord, I want to believe. Help my unbelief!" After this, a deep sense of peace and relaxation came over me, and I went to sleep.

The next morning, I arose and went to the hospital to check on this patient and his family before going to the office. The EEG tech was there, applying the electrodes for the final test. He was totally inert, as he had been. I stood gazing at him, and tears welled up in my eyes. "Poor Mr. _____", I said. Then his eyes suddenly opened, looking straight into mine! I felt as if I'd been shocked from my head to my toes! We spoke to him, and he clearly understood us and was trying to reply. The cardiologist and neurologist came on the double. An agnostic and a Hindu, they both said, "It's a miracle! I can't explain it otherwise." Within an hour he was extubated and speaking to us. He was hoarse from the tube, but otherwise fine. Though he had congestive heart failure prior to this event from a previous heart attack, he had no further complications and was transferred to the stepdown unit from the ICU the next day, going home in a few more days.

That Sunday, Easter 1985, I joined the church! I began avidly reading the Bible and growing in my relationship with Christ. At the time, though, I told no one but my wife what had happened. The patient came to see me a few more times, but then started following up with the cardiologist and I lost track of him.

Then one day, the cardiologist told me this man was back in the hospital with an exacerbation of his congestive heart failure. He told me that he was very concerned, because the patient seemed to be giving up and wasn't doing well at all. I went to see him near midnight in the hospital. (I had a very busy practice and kept weird hours.) I woke him up and talked with him. He seemed glad to see me, but he said he was just tired of fighting and wished he could die. I said, "You know, you were dead a few months ago. But here you are. You're here because God wants you to be. He's got a plan for you, and you need to find out what it is!" I left and went home to bed. The next day, the cardiologist said, "I don't know what you said to him, but he's really turned the corner!" He went home the following day. I didn't see him again until just before I left Anniston to come here to teach in the Quillen College of Medicine. I was writing on a chart in the ICU of the smaller hospital across town when someone said, "Hey, Doc! How're you doing?" I looked up, and it was him! Dressed up in nice jeans and a vinyl jacket, there to encourage another patient! I never told him the whole story, and I haven't seen or heard of him since. I'll rejoice to see him again in Heaven one day!

Sometimes, some of our Christian brothers get very dogmatic saying "The age of miracles is over. This is the age of faith. We no longer need miraculous signs to demonstrate God's power and validate the Gospel message." Maybe we shouldn't need a miracle to believe, with God's word available to us all, but he graciously provided one to lead me to salvation and to help that man and his family. I am eternally grateful to him for it!