The day ahead was packed, and I was nervous.

The facility was secured, and after weeks of untangling the schedules of seventeen leaders to bring everything into alignment, the lineup was finally set: Seven chapters and twenty-one slots, over three days, to finally film the remaining portions of a book study we’d been working on all year.

And it all started that night. But first, a completely unrelated meeting. No biggie.

Kavanagh is seven months old now and outgrew his ability to sleep through these meetings weeks ago. So halfway through, I checked to see if there was an urgent text from Vince summoning me home to feed him.

There were no texts of that nature, but I’d just missed a call from my dad. It was an odd time of day for him to call. And he’d also left a voicemail.

I stepped out of the meeting to listen to it, and immediately called him back.

He said Grandma was in an ambulance on the way to the hospital. She’d collapsed while she was on the phone with the neighbor; the neighbor called my dad, who rushed over, used his key to get in the house, and found her. Called the paramedics. Called my uncle. Called me.

I wanted to rush to the hospital, too. Instead, I left the meeting and went the other way; I came home and nursed the baby. Tried to read the Bible but stared at the page without seeing words. I wanted to see her. Wanted to be there. Wanted to know what was happening. Wanted to know if this was anything like last time or if this was going to be the last time.

But I sat on the couch with Kavanagh and waited for him to fall asleep.

Once I was finally out the door and on the highway, the first few lights were in my favor and I caught up to the train running parallel, blaring its horn at every crossing. I got ahead of it for a minute and then stopped at a red light as it passed. Caught up to it again when the light turned green, then it got ahead again, leapfrog style, as I stopped at another intersection. Cars pulled up behind me while we waited for the light to change.

The light turned green and I hit the gas, and the train and I were even. But a white pickup had pulled onto the highway just ahead and was cruising at a cool 35 miles an hour when I wanted to go twice that. And maybe I could’ve gotten away with it. But maybe not.

It is your pace car, the Spirit said. Sometimes I put things in front of you to slow you down on purpose.

Getting there earlier wouldn’t have mattered. My dad and uncles were in the waiting room when I got there and they’d been there for a while. Grandma was sedated, getting a temporary pacemaker, and then she would be medivaced to Anchorage. And it wasn’t like the last time. This time we couldn’t be in the room with her.

So we waited. My uncle finished reading the paper and I took it from him and found the crossword puzzle. I started working on it as people came to the intake desk and talked way too loudly about intimate health issues for everyone in the waiting room to hear.

A young woman came in, hysterical and in pain. I tried to ignore her but she didn’t want to be ignored, and years of parenting flagged my extremely sensitive BS-o-meter. That, or I’m a terrible person (could be) but she didn’t sound genuine to me. And maybe I was wrong…but maybe not.

She sobbed and asked for a wheelchair. Asked the nurse to slow down as she wheeled her in front of my family. And then parked a few feet away and kept crying…loudly.

And I kept trying to ignore her. Tried to avoid looking in her direction. Just filled in all those little crossword boxes and tried not to hear her.

But I heard the Lord, and He said, Go pray for her.

And I said, You have got to be kidding me.

In a beautiful demonstration of His ways are not our ways, He did not take my iPhone, revoke my internet privileges, or strike me with lightning, which is what many of us parents wish we could do when our children talk back to us.

But no, He didn’t do any of those things. He just repeated Himself. Go pray for her.

And I said, She doesn’t need prayed for. She’s faking.

He said, She still needs prayed for.

And in a beautiful demonstration of petulant-but-resigned reluctance, I said, Fine. My uncles and cousin were across from me. My dad was next to me, helping with the crossword puzzle. And I asked, Can’t I just pray for her from here?

And He said, No. You go put your hands on her, and let Me touch her.

And I had nothing to argue to that. But in my heart I thought, Well, crap.

I let out one of those huffy, frustrated, scoffing breaths through my nose. Bad, bad Christian.

“Here,” I told Dad, throwing the pen down and pushing the crossword puzzle over to him. “I’m gonna go pray for this girl.” God help her.

I walked across the room and – set your mind at ease – I was a nice person. Truly. As soon as I decided to obey, ministry-mode kicked in and the Spirit took over.

I asked her if I could pray for her. She said yes (people usually do). I told her my name, asked her what hers was, and then I prayed for her healing. For her comfort. For her protection and wisdom. I said amen, and she said thank you. I asked if she wanted some water, and she said no. I said, “Well, I do,” and I left and got some.

Somewhere in there I missed the helicopter taking off. When I came back with my water, my uncle told me it left, and we all waited for the nurse to come out and tell us what we needed to know.

Grandma would get a real pacemaker that night. They would reassess in the morning. And as long as she responded well, she would probably stay in the ICU for a day or two, then come home.

And home is where I needed to be, too. Vin texted that Kavanagh was up and needing me, and a bazillion things still had to be done before the first night of filming.

I drove back up the highway and approached the biggest intersection in our little town as the light turned yellow. There was no time to get through it before it turned red, so I stopped. But a white pickup – probably not the same one as earlier – was in the lane next to me and blew right through it.

Cars pulled up behind me while we waited. And I heard the Lord say, Sometimes you lead by being the one who stops when it’s the right thing to do.

So, it’s like I already told you. I might be a terrible, awful, mean, unfeeling person…but maybe not.