A Season of Weariness
There was a season in my life when I was worn down. One of my granddaughter’s closest friends was in hospice, and I visited her regularly. At the same time, a close friend of mine was also under hospice care at his home after battling job‑related cancer. Moving between those two homes, carrying the weight of their suffering, I felt drained. I was tired, emotionally spent, and honestly questioning why I was still doing ministry.
One afternoon, while driving between visits, a text came through saying our department would be transporting a firefighter with a traumatic brain injury from the airport to a hospital. I didn’t have the capacity to care about it. That wasn’t like me, but I was empty.
A Call from Anchorage
Then my phone rang. The caller ID said Anchorage. I didn’t know anyone in Alaska, so I let it ring. But it didn’t go to voicemail. It just kept ringing. Something nudged me to answer.
A man from Anchorage Fire Department introduced himself and said he had been searching online for a chaplain in the Denver area. He had come across my website and decided to call. One of their firefighters, Ben, had been in a serious training accident and suffered a traumatic brain injury. They gave him a five‑percent chance of survival. Ben had already been flown to Denver, and his family was at the hospital waiting, scared and exhausted. He asked if I could check in on them.
I agreed, but in my mind, I planned to do it later, when I felt more capable. I asked which hospital Ben had been taken to.
“Craig Hospital,” he said. “Do you know where that is?”
I paused. I was literally sitting at the intersection of Craig Hospital at that exact moment. I knew then that God was calling, whether I felt ready or not. I told him I would go in right away, even though my heart wasn’t in it.
As I hung up, I started negotiating with God. “I’ll do this,” I said, “but You’d better give me a connection with this family. I’ve got nothing left.”
A Door Opens
When I reached Ben’s floor, his dad was standing outside the room. I could tell immediately he didn’t want anyone approaching him. I respected that, introduced myself, handed him my card, and explained why I was there. There was no connection. Nothing. Just a polite wall. I wrapped it up quickly and told him, “If you need anything—even food—just call.”
I turned to leave, feeling like I had done my duty and ready to be done. Just then, the door opened and Ben’s mom stepped out.
“Who are you?” she asked.
“I’m a local fire chaplain,” I said. “I was just leaving. I gave my card to your husband. If you need anything, don’t hesitate to call.”
She asked if I wanted to see Ben. He was in a coma, but she believed he could still sense people around him. I agreed, trying to respect the tension between her openness and her husband’s distance.
Inside, I was frustrated with God. Great connection, Lord. Thanks for that. A little of the old sarcastic Paul.
A Connection Only God Could Orchestrate
Then she asked, “Are you a native Coloradan?”
In my head I thought, What difference does that make? But out loud I said, “No, I’m from California. Moved here in ’91.”
“Oh really? Where in California?”
“Thousand Oaks,” I said.
Her eyes lit up. “You’re kidding! I’m from Newbury Park.”
We both laughed at the coincidence. I told her Terri was from Newbury Park too.
“What’s her name?” she asked.
“Terri Gellenbeck.”
“I think I knew her,” she said.
God had my attention now. But He wasn’t done.
She asked about my fire background.
“I started right out of high school,” I said.
“What department?”
“Ventura County.”
She stared at me. “You’re kidding. My dad was with Ventura County.”
“What’s his name?”
“Bill Write.”
I froze. “Captain Write?”
She gasped. “No way!”
“I worked with him right out of the academy in 1979.”
Forty years later, I was standing in the hospital room of Captain Write’s grandson.
She took a picture of me and sent it to her dad. He remembered me.
At that point, I couldn’t deny what God was doing. I surrendered to it. I got on board with His plan, even though I was hurting and empty.
Walking the Journey Together
I committed to walking with Ben and his family through the entire journey. And I did. Ben recovered one day at a time, a true miracle. His recovery changed my life. It brought Terri and me close to his parents, and they’ve become like family.
It wasn’t all easy. During Ben’s recovery, his wife filed for divorce after being unfaithful. It was brutal. Ben leaned on me through that season, and we became close friends. Ben was in Craig Hospital for a year then was moved to another state for more rehab, I visited him several times. I even surprised him in Alaska for his homecoming celebration.
I’ve seen miracle after miracle through his story, and I can say without hesitation: God is good.
A Story God Continues to Use
As Ben healed, I began sharing his story with other first responders who were facing their own battles. His journey carried a kind of hope that reached people in a way my words alone never could. Whenever a police officer or firefighter at Craig Hospital was struggling through a spinal cord or brain injury, I would tell them about Ben — what he had survived, how far he had come, and how God had carried him through.
On one of Ben’s follow‑up visits to Craig, he had the chance to meet another injured responder. Even that single visit made an impact. There’s something powerful about hearing encouragement from someone who has walked the same road. God has used Ben’s recovery to breathe hope into people who are fighting for their lives, reminding them that their story isn’t over.
A New Beginning
Five years after the accident, Ben is doing great. Not long ago, he asked me to officiate his wedding. He had met a wonderful woman, and Terri and I did their premarital counseling. Later, we flew to Alaska for the wedding. Standing there with him on that day was a blessing I’ll never forget.
