Even in the Silence

Eternal life means living forever in perfect peace and unbroken fellowship with God.

On May 29, 2025, I went to the ER because my CO2 levels were dangerously high. Within hours, my life changed completely. I was given a medication that caused respiratory failure. I stopped breathing. Twice. I spent the next forty-four days in the hospital. For the first week or so, I was on a ventilator. Eventually, I had to undergo a tracheotomy and remained on a breathing machine. I spent about three weeks in ICU—unable to speak, unable to communicate at all. Because of my muscular dystrophy, I couldn’t even write anything down. I remember waking up that first night in ICU. I didn’t know where I was or what had happened. The last thing I recalled was being wheeled into a room—and then suddenly I was awake, in what I can only describe as a coma-like state. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t open my eyes. But I could hear. I heard the voices of the medical staff working on me. One of them asked, “Mr. Hunt, can you hear me?” Another said, “I don’t know why he won’t wake up.” I was aware—but completely helpless. And then, just like that, I slipped back into unconsciousness. When I fully woke up, it was late at night. I remember hearing a man on the phone saying, “Yeah . . . he’s awake.” After that, the room fell silent. The silence was almost deafening. I was scared. I couldn’t ask questions. I couldn’t call for help. I didn’t know if I would live or die. So I did the only thing I could—I cried out to God. Not with words, because I had none. But from the depths of my heart, with childlike honesty, I prayed: “God, I’m scared. I don’t know what’s going on. I need you now more than ever. Please . . . give me a sign. Let me know that everything is going to be okay.” And in His infinite grace and mercy—He answered me. He sent me two angels. Not with wings and white robes, but they were angels to me nonetheless. The first was Isabel. She was part of the janitorial staff—a sweet, bubbly, elderly Hispanic woman who didn’t speak much English. But every day she came into my room with joy and warmth that words couldn’t fully explain. Each morning, without fail, she’d call out, “Hi, Papi!” and walk straight to the foot of my bed. She’d gently place her hand on my foot or leg, lift her eyes to heaven, and begin to pray over me in Spanish. I didn’t understand the words. But I felt them. Sometimes, while cleaning, she would sing softly—and it was the sweetest sound I’d ever heard. In her broken English, she’d reassure me: “God will take care of you.” And in those moments, I couldn’t hold back the tears. Because I knew—this was God’s answer to my prayer. Later, I was transferred to another hospital’s ICU—a long-term acute care facility known as an LTAC. Still unable to speak and still relying on a machine to breathe, I found myself in unfamiliar surroundings once again. So I prayed the same prayer I had before. “God, I need you. Please show me you’re still with me.” And once again, He answered. This time, He sent me a speech therapist named Janie. I can’t explain it, and I certainly can’t quantify it, but from the moment we met, I knew—this was God’s answer. She wasn’t there often. I only saw her a handful of times. But I believe that was God gently reminding me. We walk by faith, not by sight. When I told Janie that she was my second angel, she smiled and told me something that gave me chills. She said God had nudged her into that very career, even though it hadn’t been her original path. And the only reason she was working at that hospital that summer was because she was filling in for someone on maternity leave. In other words—she wasn’t supposed to be there. But God, in His infinite wisdom, saw the need before I saw the storm . . . and placed her there for such a time as this. She brought peace. Encouragement. A quiet reassurance that God still saw me. And, perhaps most unexpectedly, Janie is the one who encouraged me to write Fields of Faith. After it all, God gave me a Bible verse I had never noticed before. I don’t believe that was an accident. I believe it was Providence. God waited until the moment I needed it most—when I had no words, no strength, and nothing left but Him—to reveal it to me: “Unless the Lord had been my help, my soul had almost dwelt in silence” (Psalm 94:17). That verse became my testimony. When I couldn’t speak, when I couldn’t breathe, when everything was quiet and dark—God was my help. And He still is. Through all of this I have come to realize something: One of the darkest, most difficult times of my life has become one of the greatest blessings of my life. And I want you to know—if you’re going through something hard right now, if life feels too heavy to carry—you are not alone. God hasn’t left you. He’s closer than you think. Sometimes He shows up in a hymn, a quiet prayer, a nurse, a friend—or even a janitor with a mop and a heart full of heaven. My hope and my prayer is that you remember this: God is faithful in the storm. He is present in the silence. And when you call out to Him, He hears you—even when you can’t speak. If you’ve ever doubted whether God still moves—this story is your reminder. He does. Because I’m still here to tell it. As the final thought, I want to leave you with this prayer . . . Heavenly Father, For the one reading this now—I lift them up to you. You know their heart. You see their pain. You’ve heard every cry they were too tired to pray out loud. I ask you to meet them the way you met me—in the silence, in the stillness, in the darkest moments. Remind them that they are never forgotten, never forsaken, and never alone. Let your presence be felt, even if it’s through the kindness of a stranger, the peace of a quiet night, or the whisper of a verse they’ve never noticed before. Strengthen their faith. Surround them with your comfort. And give them the courage to keep going—one step, then the next, knowing you are their help and their hope. In Jesus’s mighty name I pray, Amen.

Through all of it — the silence, the fear, the prayers, and the angels God placed in my path I came to understand more deeply that my life rests securely in Christ. The same God who carried me when I could not speak or breathe is the One who has secured my eternity. Because my faith is in Jesus and His finished work on the cross, I know with certainty that I have eternal life. Heaven is not just a hope I cling to someday; it is a promise already given. And one day, when this earthly journey is complete, I know I will stand in the presence of God whole, healed, and finally home with Him.