INTO THE STORM

CLICK BELOW TO LISTEN WITH AUDIO

The day before Storm Sandy, the second most devastating natural disaster in US history after Hurricane Katrina, I was busy securing all outdoor furniture, loose fixtures, and anything else that could potentially fly and cause damage by hurricane force. The storm was not just a meteorological event but a personal crisis, one in which I could have relinquished to despair and blamed God for the misfortune that would visit me. Instead, something miraculous happened that would change my life.

“Lexi! Go fetch, girl!” I yelled to my dog and threw her a ball.

Usually, like a good retriever, she’d eagerly chase after the ball and bring it back. But this time, she didn’t. The driveway was dry, but it was that time of year when it became treacherous. The five white pine trees that lined the driveway had dropped their needles, blanketing the surface and causing it to become as slippery as a wintry snow and ice mix. I had years of experience walking across patches of snow and ice, but apparently, I hadn’t mastered a slippery slope of pine needles. Watching the ball roll down my long, steep driveway, I got this brilliant idea to retrieve it myself. As I did, my feet flew out from under me, sending me into the air. Instinctively, I threw out my right hand to break the fall—then BAM!

As I lay immobilized in excruciating pain with the wind knocked out of me, I made a feeble attempt to cry for help. As I lay there, I saw that my right hand was unnaturally bent to the right and clearly out of alignment with the rest of my arm. It appeared broken, but I desperately hoped it was simply a severe sprain.

My mind was a relentless barrage of negative thoughts: what if my wrist is fractured and doesn’t heal correctly or there is permanent damage? I was especially anxious because, as a professional flutist, my primary concern was how it might impact my ability to play the flute afterward.

The situation seemed bleak. I couldn’t squeeze or move my hand, and my wrist was visibly swollen. It didn’t look like I would be performing anytime soon…. But I wanted to believe that God would hear my heart’s cry. “Please, God, don’t let it be broken.”

I managed to lift myself from the ground, secured Lexi, my non-retrieving dog, in the house, and drove myself to the hospital using only my left arm.

After arriving at the ER, I waited briefly before being taken to a curtained waiting area where I was examined and X-rays ordered. However, I would have to endure a lonely couple of hours waiting for the results. 

When the surgeon finally arrived, he pulled back the curtain and entered, holding his clipboard.

“Mr. Hutzel?” he asked as if to confirm that I was he.

“Yes,” I replied, feeling apprehensive.

There was a slight pause as the doctor glanced over his notes. My heart stopped momentarily as I waited with bated breath.

Based on the results of your x-rays, Mr. Hutzel, I’m sorry, but I have some bad news for you. Your wrist is badly fractured and will require a plate and pins. We will need to operate tonight. I’ll have a nurse come and get you prepped. I’ll see you in the operating room in just a little while.”

My heart sank, and without careful thought, I boldly blurted out, “I don’t think so! I want you to set it the old-fashioned way.”

Who was I to tell the surgeon how to proceed? He wasn’t impressed and strongly objected, presenting all the reasons the surgery was essential.

 “Your fracture is quite severe, and without surgery, there’s a risk that the bones may not heal correctly, potentially causing lifelong deformities and complications. Treating it using traditional methods isn’t an option. Please, Mr. Hutzel, allow the nurse to prepare you for surgery tonight.”

I reasoned to myself, what would be the worst-case scenario? That I would have to have surgery in a couple of days instead of tonight?

Again, I insisted, “No, doctor, I want you to set it the traditional way.”

After much debate, the surgeon finally gave in. He carefully placed my broken wrist in a splint supported by a sling. As he left the room, he said, “Be sure to make an appointment with my office for this coming Monday.”

After getting discharged, I called my daughter Aleigh, who was participating in an equestrian event at her college. Picking up the distraught tone in my voice, she asked. “Dad, what’s wrong? Where are you?” Her voice was filled with concern. I explained that I was at Hunterdon Medical Center ER and that I’d broken my wrist while prepping for the storm. Her worry deepened, and she responded, “Just wait; I’ll come pick you up and take you home. Love you.” “Love you too, Aleigh,” I replied gratefully.

The next morning, I asked my friend John for a ride to church. Usually, I’d be playing my flute with the worship team on Sunday mornings, but my injury made that impossible. I mean, have you ever seen a one-handed flutist?  Well, aside from Jethro Tull.

After the service, I asked John if he could take me to another church service I frequented, though not as a worship team member—just as an attendee. “Sure. No problem,” he responded. “I’d be glad to.”

We found seats at the front of the large auditorium, in the third row on the right, and stayed seated until we were invited to stand for worship. As the singers, guitars, and drums led us in songs of praise, I felt God’s presence surrounding me. With my one good arm raised in worship, I suddenly heard what I believed to be an audible voice say, “Bill, you are healed!” It was so clear and unmistakable that I turned around to see who had spoken. Yet, no one made eye contact or acknowledged the words, leaving me momentarily puzzled. Thinking I had imagined it, I resumed singing praises, only to hear those exact words again.

Did I hear God, or was I imagining things or losing my mind? In my uncertainty, I approached the pastor after the service and asked him to pray for me. He took a bottle of anointing oil from his pocket and anointed me with it, and, gently placing his hand on my arm, commanded with authority, “In the name of Jesus, be healed.”

As he prayed, I felt a surge of intense heat, like fire, coursing through my arm. I took this sensation as a sign my prayers were being answered.

After the service, John drove me home. With my right arm in a sling and unable to do much of anything, I reflected on what had happened. I thought about instances in the Bible where God spoke directly to individuals like Abraham, Moses, and Job and wondered why, out of 8 billion people in the world today, God would choose to speak to someone like little ol’ me. It defied all logic.       

Overnight Sunday and through Monday, Storm Sandy unleashed fierce winds and relentless rain. When it finally subsided, I stepped outside the safety of indoors to assess the damage to my property. While other homes had sustained damage, I was relieved to find no structural damage to mine. However, I was disheartened to find five trees uprooted, one of which was my favorite: a weeping willow tree. I wept for it as it lay on its side; its long, slender branches, which once elegantly bent towards the ground, would no longer grace my property, nor would birds perch in it. A profound sadness washed over me, like an unsuspecting ocean riptide pulling me deep into a sea of despair.

AFFIRMATIONS

Despite my overwhelming sorrow, God brought me comfort throughout the week and lifted my spirits. These moments of encouragement, which I call “God-incidences” or “God-winks,” were clear signs from Him, affirming that what He spoke to me and what I felt in my body at Sunday’s service were indeed His miraculous healing touch. Whenever doubt began to creep in, especially when the pain from my fractured wrist resurfaced, God would guide me to specific Bible passages that were undeniably meant for me.

The first instance of reassurance was when I opened my Bible to Job 19. Verse 10 immediately caught my eye as if it leaped off the page and into my heart. It read, “He breaks me down on every side, and I am gone, and He UPROOTED MY HOPE LIKE A TREE.” The profoundness of this verse struck me deeply. It was a comforting reassurance, not a mere coincidence that I had randomly turned to this specific page and verse, which mirrored the incident of the five uprooted trees on my property. This was the first of several powerful affirmations I would receive before my upcoming visit with the surgeon.

The next day, I randomly opened my Bible to Proverbs 3:5- 6, which said, “Trust in the Lord with all your heart and do not lean on your own understanding.” The reference to “lean” with its tree-related association challenged me to fully trust in God instead of relying on my own understanding, which I naturally leaned on.

Like Doubting Thomas, I, too, had my moments of uncertainty. I continued seeking affirmation from God before I would be fully convinced of my physical healing. Abba Father knew me intimately, much like Doubting Thomas. He understood that I, too, was prone to doubt and fear. Yet, He did not condemn or judge me for it. Instead, the Father’s unwavering love and faithfulness remained steadfast toward me, even in my moments of doubt.

Later in the week, as I continued reading Proverbs 3, I was drawn to verse 8, where I was struck by the words “healing” and “bones.” The New Living Translation reads, “Then you will have HEALING TO YOUR BODY and STRENGTH FOR YOUR BONES.” This wasn’t just a verse but a personal message reinforcing my belief that God had heard my heart’s desire for healing.

On Saturday, I randomly opened my Bible to Isaiah 58:11: “And the Lord will continually guide you, and give strength to your bones.” Wow! The timing and significance of this second affirmation regarding healing my bones left me utterly amazed. The phrase “Give strength to your bones” clearly got my attention in a profound way, filling me with a sense of awe and inspiration.”

And there’s just one more affirmation. As I was going through my emails, I came across a post published by my brother Jamie titled “The Voice in My Head,” which immediately struck a chord with me because it addressed the very doubts and questions I’d been grappling with. The timing was uncanny, coming just as I sought reassurance before my follow-up with the surgeon. Although it wasn’t a religious article, it began with the line: “I hear a voice in my head. No, I’m not crazy! Sometimes it’s so subtle that we,” and I’ll complete the sentence in my own words, “begin to question its authenticity.”

AGAINST THE ODDS

Bolstered by the bounty of God winks I received throughout the week, I was eager to hear what the doctor would say about my prognosis.

On Monday, over a week after my first consultation with the surgeon, I arrived at an unusually quiet office. The road closures and power outages had impacted his practice, so I felt fortunate that the roads were clear and there was no wait.

“It’s been over a week now. Let’s examine your wrist,” the surgeon said. “Please place it on the X-ray table.”

After taking three X-rays, each from a different angle, the surgeon paused to review the images.

So, what’s the prognosis, doctor?” I inquired eagerly, filled with anticipation.

“It’s quite remarkable,” he said, scratching his head with a puzzled expression. Undoubtedly, he was baffled by what he observed.

“Let’s wait and see,” he said.  Go ahead and schedule a new appointment for next week.

I ended up scheduling two more follow-up visits. During one of these, the doctor emphatically told me not to drive. I protested, explaining that I needed to attend a flute convention in Ohio, but he insisted that under no circumstances should I be behind the wheel. Despite his advice, I was determined to attend, confident that God had healed my wrist. I arranged for another flutist to accompany me, and we shared the 18-hour road trip to Ohio and back. The convention was a success, but when I returned for my next appointment, I was unsure of what the doctor would decide.

To my surprise, he asked, “What color do you want?”

His question shocked me.

Erring on the side of caution, he explained that he was going to put me in a hard cast.

“So, what color do you want?” he asked again.

Disappointed, I answered, “Blue.”

“This is standard procedure,” he reassured me. “You can expect to wear it for about six to eight weeks, with a full recovery taking up to three months for someone your age.

“Are you kidding? Six weeks? But I was just—” My words were cut short as the surgeon continued to counsel me on what I should expect next.

“Although everything looks good from the X-rays, it still may be fragile. I want to be sure that your wrist is completely healed,” he said. So, I resigned myself to wearing the cast but remained confident in God’s healing.

Two weeks later, at my follow-up appointment, the doctor, noticeably puzzled, scratched his head in wonderment. “It’s remarkable; SIMPLY AMAZING!” he exclaimed.

“How would you like to remove this thing?” he asked. I found his response unusual since just two weeks ago, he had said I would have to wear it for six to eight weeks.

“Doc, do you believe in miracles?” I asked,.” He responded with a resounding “Amen.”

Defying the prognosis of a three-month recovery period or the need to wear a cast for six to eight weeks, I performed a concert just one week after the cast was removed. My healing is a clear testament to God’s miraculous intervention.

REFLECTIONS

As I reflect, I realize that life is analogous to the sea and its waves, and I am like a broken piece of sea glass. God has shown me that the sea tumbles and polishes these shards, gradually removing the rough and jagged edges until each piece is refined and smooth. This was the work that God was doing within me.

From the experience of breaking my wrist to witnessing God’s supernatural healing, I’ve also come to realize that my experience wasn’t just mere coincidence but rather acts of divine intervention. The signs and winks from God were all part of a plan to renew me and fortify my faith. I was reminded that He is always guiding me and that true faith means trusting Him, rather than relying solely on my own understanding.

I pray my story brings hope and inspiration to you as you navigate circumstances in your own life.

Copyright 2024 by Bill Hutzel

CREDITS

Into the Storm was written by Bill Hutzel

.Voice over by elevenlabs io

Musical segment from A Celtic Storm by Emily Blair
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ch2lX7tbfX4

Listen to A Celtic Storm by Emily Blair, Movement no. 1
in its entirety below
(Length: 5 minutes, 10 seconds)