Looking back on these past two years, Matt has been the star around whom we have all orbited. Yet, in the quiet moments, I have wondered what life might have been like if this "all-consuming need" had never happened—working a few more years, a planned retirement together, vacations, and more time to pause and savor the simple joys in life, rather than this full-steam-ahead mentality.

I understand that this is a natural human curiosity. The crisis might be what lingers in my mind about our new equilibrium, but without it, we wouldn't have experienced the expansion of love and compassion that now defines our family. This journey has uncovered the layers of our collective spirit. It revolves around Matt’s unwavering resolve and the sheer force of his gravitational pull. It is supported by Mike’s steady partnership and my growing inner strength. We have been uplifted by Megan’s vibrancy, like a breath of fresh air and hope, and anchored by Ryan’s steadfast calm, the solid ground we all need. I wouldn't trade the struggle if it meant losing the extraordinary depth of this faith journey.

Even today, Matt and I still reminisce about the glue that held us together during that melee. He remains profoundly grateful, often telling us how deeply indebted he feels for the way we fought for his life. Because of that bond, there was nothing we asked of him that he wouldn't do. During those long, hard days, we developed our own shorthand for that love: I’d pinch my fingers together and tell him, "I love you only this much," and he’d respond with arms thrown wide to show the true depth of what we actually felt. We still keep that tradition alive, along with our vice-grip bear hugs and the sly grin that accompanies a favorite refrain: "I love you to the moon and back." Deep within myself, I feel separate reservoirs of love and memories—one for the man he was before that day, and another for the man he is becoming. As I gaze at a token of Matt’s love, a necklace of a moon and a pendant etched with the saying that connects us, in time, I want to believe these memories will unite into one all-encompassing story and man.

Reflecting on the unexpected detour our lives took reminds me of a passage in Women Rowing North, in which Mary Pipher writes that our past despair allows us to deeply appreciate our lives and savor our time. I’ve found that to be true. These crucibles have opened my heart and made me grateful for every small pleasure that I once took for granted.

Ultimately, there is a spiritual sufficiency that comes from being pushed to the edge. As the book Hope When It Hurts suggests, when our strength fails, and God’s power reigns in our weakness, we show the world—and assure ourselves—that we have a hope beyond present suffering. These storms provided opportunities we would not otherwise have had: to discover a joy that isn't dependent on circumstances and to realize that even in the thick of a Goliath-sized battle, we are never fighting alone.

Do you sense that the scope of God’s miracle is greater than the obvious? Certainly, Matt is the headliner—the showstopper. But even more radical is how God has drawn so many of us—family, friends, church members, and even strangers—closer to Him. I believe the gradual unfolding of Matt’s recovery has touched more lives than an instantaneous healing ever could have. An immediate miracle would have sparked applause, but the memory would likely have dimmed, and skeptics might eventually have discredited the truth. Instead, Matt’s steady victory provides a persistent "friction" against doubt. Perhaps this experience will cause some to wonder whether applying logic to questions of faith, rather than the evidence of a benevolent God, as we have seen, is the best way to determine the foundation of their disbelief.

© 2026, Sarah Watkins

Be on the lookout for Part V in December (if all goes well).

Thank you for your interest and support.