Day 48 -God is good, what else can I say?
Currently sitting quietly in Ricky’s hospital room, watching him sleep so peacefully and undisturbed. Nights are the times I truly enjoy sitting here with him the most, as everything feels quieter and he seems so much calmer and more at ease.
I went home on Sunday night to rest, and then Mom came back here on Monday to be with him. On Tuesday, almost the entire family—except for me and the kids—woke up with a stomach virus.
I couldn’t get back here fast enough; it really felt urgent, though I didn’t fully understand why at the time. When I finally arrived tonight, I immediately noticed Ricky’s eyes were red, like he had been crying. I told him that Mom was sick, but reassured him that I wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon. I spoke to him about the upcoming transfer to a facility closer to home. I also shared my hope that Nova Jane might be able to visit him there. Finally, I encouraged him to keep working hard so that one day soon he could just walk right out of here, healthy and strong.
Ten minutes later, while moving his left foot as he had been doing for some time, Ricky suddenly begins raising his left leg and bending his knee with intent. Here I go, running down the hallway to find his nurse. I’m sobbing uncontrollably, too overwhelmed to speak clearly, and manage to tell him to come back into the room… Room 8512, which is his current home away from home. I’m pretty sure the nurse thought it was something other than his knee moving, given the way I was reacting so emotionally. Ricky literally grins—a big, genuine grin. Yep, he grinned at the male nurse and immediately started bending that knee again. The nurse spoke to him casually, like they’d been friends since high school, which is something I absolutely adore. I love our nurses who treat Ricky with such respect and kindness, explaining everything they’re doing even though he can’t respond verbally.
I’m seated at the foot of Ricky’s bed, reading “our” Bible story, when he continues raising that left knee and moving the foot as if he’s preparing to run a marathon. Suddenly, his right knee lifts and bends as well. For a brief moment—maybe half a second—I wondered if I’d lost my mind. Tears began streaming down my face again. Then a doctor entered to explain that Ricky has a slight infection, but assured me it’s nothing life-threatening. Still sobbing, I shared with her that we have been praying throughout this journey—praying for miracles, signs, or any indication from God to let us know we are on the right path. I told her that many times during this process it has felt like we had to fight for Ricky’s very right to heal. The doctor was clearly impressed with Ricky’s left leg movement, though Ricky, being stubborn as ever, refused to show her what he could do with his right leg. She did admit that his face was showing intentional emotions… another thing “they” said he would never be able to do.
Today God gave me one of those massive glowing billboards, except my message stayed up more than a few seconds. I was actually talking about those things just this morning. I’m more of a newspaper girl, preferring the small details, but today God decided I needed something big and unmistakable—a billboard.
I continue reading stories to Ricky, and he keeps looking at me with that familiar grin. A grin you immediately recognize if you truly know him at all. It’s a grin or smirk we haven’t seen in over six weeks—a smirk that feels like a long-awaited light breaking through the darkness. It’s something we all deeply needed to see, something that reminded us of hope. Ricky has this wonderfully silly and contagious laugh that lifts everyone’s spirits around him. Just today, someone asked me to describe him, and without thinking, I said “Ernest.” Ernest, as in “Ernest Saves Christmas.” We actually joke that Ernest might be Ricky’s long-lost twin brother, because their personalities are so alike in humor and heart. Over the last few days, I’ve found myself grieving that laugh—the sound we once took for granted. Ricky is still here, and I thank God every single second that He has allowed Ricky to remain with us. But sometimes, when the emotions catch up to me, I feel the ache of missing my big brother —his personality, his spirit, and yes, even his lovable ignorance that made him so uniquely him.
Back to the important stuff, I simply couldn’t stand that I saw Ricky move his right leg and no one else had noticed it. So, I sat down at the end of his bed, phone in hand, recording as I launched into one of those heartfelt “Super Bowl” talks we sometimes have. Miraculously, I captured his left leg lifting up—and then, even more astonishing, his right leg moving too!
A small leg movement might seem insignificant to most people, but to us, this is nothing short of an absolute miracle. Not a miracle that any doctor would have predicted or even helped to happen, but a miracle that God Himself permitted and orchestrated.
Just the other night, I wrote about how we sometimes hinder the miracles God performs in our lives because we forget that He is God and can truly do anything at all. With Him, everything is possible. Perhaps, in some ways, I had forgotten that myself. But today, I saw it again with my very own eyes. Those two limbs that many believed would never move again are slowly but surely moving, and the vibrant personality of Ricky’s that we thought was lost forever is slowly returning. I’ll gladly take those precious grins and smirks any day.
Please continue to keep us all in your prayers. Always remember, God is able to perform any miracle you might be in need of. Have faith, and never quit believing.
