On Friday, April 19, I was in Little Rock, Arkansas, when I started feeling sick and then began throwing up violently. I figured it was a stomach virus, and my wife and I headed back to Fayetteville. As we traveled, I became sicker and sicker, continuing to almost constantly throw up, even though there was nothing left in my stomach. We stopped dozens of times. The pain grew more and more intense, and we considered stopping at hospitals along the way, but opted to try to get to the hospital in Fayetteville.

By the time we got to Washington Regional Hospital, I was experiencing the worst pain of my life. I was nearly unconscious when we stopped at the front door of the emergency room. They got me back to see a doctor immediately who started an IV and a morphine drip, but the pain was still unbearable. They had to use heavier narcotics and anti-nausea medicine which finally brought some relief. They did two CT scans and told me that I had an inflamed portion of my small intestine that had likely been attacked by a virus. They ruled out any infection or problems with my appendix, kidneys, gall bladder, liver, or pancreas. They said that they were going to admit me to the hospital and that I should heal in a few days.

Pam put the word out to the body of Christ that I needed prayer. Hundreds of brothers and sister in Christ began to engage in the great supernatural mystery of intercessory prayer, this time for me. Thankfully the pain diminished greatly over the next 24 hours, but the nausea prevented me from eating or drinking anything. The IV fluids I was hooked up to kept me hydrated and alive for the next five days. My small intestines were not working at all. The doctors still did not believe that there was a blockage, however.

By Wednesday afternoon (day five) I began to lose hope. After five seemingly fruitless and discouraging days of pain and misery in the hospital with hundreds of people praying for me, I finally got a breakthrough. On Wednesday afternoon, my wife, Pam, pressed a very resistant nurse to call the hospital doctor and order another scan. Amazingly, he ordered the scan immediately. I don't see demons and angels like Pam and my daughter Jordan do at times, but I prayed for God to give me a picture that would help me. I saw a visual of me laying on a bed and two gigantic angel wings fold over me. I sensed God saying, “I have got you.” It happened as I was being wheeled down to get the scan.

When I got back to my hospital room, I called and asked a close friend, Kevin Pope (retired radiologist and elder), to call the hospital, find out who was on call, and try to get that radiologist to read my scans quickly and talk with Kevin about me. He told me that would not work because he did not have hospital privileges, but he would try it. A little while later the wall phone in my hospital room rang. It was a radiologist named Dr. Fendley wanting my permission to talk to my friend Kevin and saying that he would read my scans shortly. A little later, Kevin called me and said that Dr Fendley had spent an extra year in residency specializing in abdominal radiology. He found the problem and said that I needed surgery immediately but likely it would be tomorrow morning, although he promised to push it. My nurse told me that I would not be able to get surgery in the middle of the night.

I started praying specifically for an old-school surgeon who is 74 years old named Steve Wood to be my surgeon. He is one of my acquaintances from college who I had talked into cutting out my lymph node in his office when I had lymphoma nine years earlier. He does not remember me well, but I always admired him because he drove an ambulance in college and went to med school in his 30's. Thirty minutes later at about 10 p.m., Dr. Wood spontaneously walked into my room. He just happened to be on call. I went crazy. I said, “Get your knife out and get this done before I die.” He said, “Let's do it.”

It gets better. I thought if God is hearing me, why not ask for my anesthesiologist. I prayed for Ben's (my son) close friend and boss in his Air Guard Medical Unit, Dr. Jeff Thurlby. Jeff is a devout believer and had just returned from a 17-day Mercy mission on a boat in Africa. Thirty minutes later he walked into my room. He said he was on call and would take care of me. By 1:30 a.m., I was out of surgery and Dr Wood had cut a six-to-eight-inch section out of my Ileum and reconnected it. Steve said it was black and dead and on the verge of rupturing. God spared my life. Thank you, Jesus!

I am now at home recovering and very thankful for the prayers of the saints, the good care of lots of medical professionals, and the mercies of our great God. I did have lots of opportunities to have God conversations with dozens of wonderful people during my little bout with pain and suffering. Many Christian health care workers ministered to me and prayed over me. Obviously, I shared with everyone I could the way it all came down on Wednesday, which was clearly the hand of God. I am 72 years old, but I get to keep doing ministry for a little while longer, with a greater appreciation for the suffering that many people endure in this life for much longer than a week or two. Soon and very soon, the sufferings of this world will not compare to what God has in store for those of us who really know Him and long to be with Him.

His servant,

Jim Hall