They Call Him Lazarus

 I will never forget the doctor standing in front of me, shaking his head, talking so softly I had to watch his lips to understand what he was saying. He said, “Mrs. Croucher, there is just no way your husband will live. You need to bring in your family and start making funeral arrangements.” I remember looking at him and not feeling anything at all. I wondered if that was normal. I looked at him and asked where the chapel was. It was all I could think to do. I didn’t want to talk anymore, I didn’t want to think anymore, I just had to get to the chapel. I had to talk to my Jesus. I had to hear His voice, feel His comfort, be lifted in His strength. He was our only hope. I walked blindly to the chapel vaguely remembering how I even got there. Even after five years my eyes still fill with tears as I remember that day, remember that pain. 

I fell to my knees and this harsh bitter sound that didn’t even sound human escaped from deep within my soul. I cried out to Jesus full of agony, fear, and utter disbelief. I never spoke a word, just uncontrolled wailing when the room changed. It wasn’t cold and dark anymore. I felt warm, an invisible arm around me. I looked about and saw no one. I closed my eyes and could feel His sweet presence. Jesus had heard my cry, He ran to me that day. He held me in His arms and sheltered me in His wings. He spoke to me and said, “I will raise Him up. This is for My glory. Do not believe what you see. Trust in Me.” In that instant the fear was gone, the pain was gone, and I was renewed.

I returned to my husband’s side. He was in ICU with a rare fungal pneumonia called blastomycosis. In non-severe localized cases 68% of the people who acquire it die. My husband had one of the severe cases they had ever seen. The fungus had covered his lungs, attacked his pancreas, spread to his brain, his ears, and his skin. His kidneys were compromised from the antifungal medications.

He was on a ventilator that was doing all the breathing for him. He was supposed to be sedated but he was restless. I looked at the monitors and his vital signs. Being a nurse I knew he was dying. I leaned up to him and said, “David Croucher!  Don’t you be afraid! I spoke to God and He said not to believe what we hear or see. He is going raise you up!” Tears rolled down my husband’s cheeks. He squeezed my hand and closed his eyes. The nurse came in and asked me what arrangements I had made. I told her I wasn’t going to need to make any arrangements. My husband was going to live. She looked  confused, then angry. The doctor came back in and asked me to step outside. He showed me the chest x-rays and explained to me that my husband wasn’t my husband anymore. He was gone. The fungus had spread all through his body and he would never be the same and never recover. I told him I believed God was going to heal him. He looked at me and told me I really needed to prepare myself for his death.

After two weeks of being on the ventilator the doctor told me they needed to trache him. I stood there as they pulled out the consent form, the tears began to roll down my cheeks. The nurse got angry and asked me why I was crying. I told her my husband was a pastor,  that he needed to be able to talk to preach. The doctor said, “I don’t know why we are even doing this procedure! He isn’t going to live anyway!” I was instantly angry and said, “My God is bigger than this disease! You mark my words in three days he will be off the ventilator and then you will see my God healed him!”  He stood shocked, handed me the papers and I signed them.  They both left the room and I collapsed on the floor. Oh why had I told them that?  “Oh Lord!” I cried, “Please make it so! Please!”  I remember someone coming into the room asking me if I needed “something” to calm myself down. I told them no. Took a deep breath and headed off to the surgery waiting room. Dave went through the surgery fine. They ended up having to put tubes in his ears because he had fluid behind his ear drums. They suspected it was the fungus. I didn’t care, he was alive and my God wasn’t finished yet.

I had five children at home ages three to sixteen years old, a house to take care of, a church to oversee, and absolutely no money coming in. But God provided. Companies I had never heard of sent checks for no apparent reason. People I didn’t know showed up to the house with sacks full of groceries because God told them to. People in the hospital would walk up to me and hand me money. My Jehovah Jireh, my Provider brought us through what He took us to. We didn’t have insurance but somehow all the hospital bills, the doctor bills, the labs were taken care of.

I would get up early every day and drive the forty-five minutes to the hospital.  I would stay all day well into the night and drive back home at ten or eleven. The children always waited up for me waiting to hear how their daddy was. I would somehow pull myself together and tell them how it shouldn’t be too much longer. I would hold them and rock the little ones telling them funny little things that happened through the day.  I was so very proud of them for pulling together and taking care of one another, truly what family is all about.

Finally the three days had passed. I admit I was scared to go to the hospital. Was it me or my God that said He would take Dave off the ventilator? Doubts and fears started to flood my mind. The enemy laughed at me and asked me where was my God now? Through the pain, through the heartache a song deep within my heart came out and I began to sing, “"I will lift my eyes and I will worship You, I will lift my voice and I will worship You... I will lift my hands and raise them to the sky and I will dance and rejoice! For You are my God... You are my everything... You are my God and I will worship You! No matter what You say, no matter what You do... no matter what I have to go through... I will worship You."

The fears and the agony left me. Through it all I had not lost my praise. I walked into the ICU wing full excitement. The doctor was sitting at the nurse’s station watching me. He never said a word. I walked into my husband’s room and he looked at me, smiled, and said, “Hi honey!” He was off the ventilator! They were able to cap his trache and for the first time in weeks I could hear his voice. The doctor came up behind me as I stood there crying in sheer joy. Tears ran down the doctors face and he said, “It doesn’t make sense but I think he’s going to make it!”

They told me he would have to be released to a rehab unit and would be in there probably for the rest of his life. I told them to just wait and see he would come home with me in the next week or so. They just shook their head. The doctor that trached my husband came in, tears in his eyes and said, Your husband has a new name. I call him Lazarus! God raised him up from the dead!”

Dave never went to a rehab unit. He went to therapies for about a week and came home with me. It wasn’t easy but we were so blessed. He still had the fungus and would always have it, but he was alive.

The fungus had attacked his pancreas so his body quit making insulin. His sugars were uncontrolled with the infection and were in the 300-400’s even with five shots of insulin a day. The doctors said he would need insulin for the rest of his life.

In October 2007, four months since the hospital, Dave was so sick from his diabetes he couldn’t go to church prayer.  I went to the church and told the members I wanted them to anoint me with oil as I stood in the gap for my husband and I only wanted people who believed he would be healed from insulin dependence diabetes that night to stay. I wanted everyone else who didn’t believe to go. Everyone stayed and anointed me with oil. I was so blessed I knew God had healed him. I drove home and told Dave God had healed him and not to take any more insulin. The poor guy just looked at me. I told him it was simple, if he took his insulin one of two things would happen. He was healed, there was no way I would be able to get his sugar back up he would either die or due to his unbelief he would lose his healing and would be insulin dependent for the rest of his life. I said if I am wrong the worst that will happen is your sugar will be up. Dave claimed his healing that night and has never taken an insulin shot since. God healed him that night of insulin dependence.

Our oldest child, Chantel, was upset and asked me why I never told her that her dad was going to die. I can honestly say I didn’t tell her or anyone that my husband was going to die because I believed God and His word. He wasn’t going to die, so why would I tell them that?

I share this story with you to encourage you, to bless you, and to remind you that we serve a God who is bigger than any problem, any disease, any circumstance we face.  Worship Him through your storm and watch Him make a way when there is no way. He is more than enough!  Whatever you face, don’t believe what you see, believe your God.