chapter 5
Miracles, Messes, and More Miracles
My son couldn’t function in the physical world, but it was difficult for me to function in the spiritual world. Who had the greater disability?
The sense of God’s presence was becoming more palpable than I had ever known. Miracles were happening to Alex—though we did not yet know it. What we did know was the miracle of Christian fellowship and through it the sense that God was at work in ways that were both mysterious and real.
But I wouldn’t want you to think that Beth and I are miraculous people. After all, this book is a work of nonfiction. In the first few months following the accident, as we were being lifted up into God’s presence, we were also feeling frayed at the edges, becoming tense, frustrated, despairing, and, sadly, even nasty to each other. I don’t want to write these facts off as normal for people under the kind of stress we were under, but I do want to be honest. Often we were far from behaving in the way Christ envisions for His people—that is the truth, no matter how else I would wish it to be.
Thank God, there is another truth: God continued to be faithful to us in the midst of our messes.
It is one thing to read the Scriptures and affirm their truth. But until you are in the trenches of trial, until you are faced with life circumstances that test your faith, until you are pressed to the absolute limit of your physical and emotional capacity, until you face the unrelenting stress of ongoing trauma, you never really know how you’ll respond to what you may have embraced so easily during a comfortable Bible study.
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I’d read books on spiritual warfare and obviously read about it in Scripture. I knew what it was to war, but the Malarkey family gave me a motion picture of what spiritual warfare looks like. They were a family at the edge more than once, but by the grace of God they never went over the edge. I really believe that hell brought its best against the Malarkey family, and God just kept bringing them back. Kevin and Beth know what it is to endure and be faithful.
Pastor Gary Brown, the Malarkeys’ pastor at the time of the accident
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Our Marriage Takes a Battering
My relationship with Beth was stretched to the breaking point. We are told in Scripture to keep our eyes on Jesus, even in the midst of a raging storm. When Beth and I failed to do that, when we gave ourselves over to the flesh, the intensity of our lives made even the smallest issues loom larger than a mountain. I would lose my temper in a discussion about child care, for instance, or over what we were going to do for dinner. It sounds foolish, I know, but at times we were each so caught up with our own pain, fears, and physical exhaustion that we gave full vent to our baser selves. Beth and I have to be honest and admit that our relationship suffered great trauma, not only during Alex’s first weeks in the hospital, but also for years after the accident.
I knew all the Bible verses written especially for me, such as “Husbands, . . . love your wives, just as Christ loved the church.” And Beth knew all the Bible verses written especially for her, like “Wives, . . . submit to your husbands as to the Lord.” We knew what the Bible said. Trying to live these words out in the center of the storm, with nerves exposed and raw, we fell into sin—not sin that involved other people; we simply weren’t walking in love. We grew distant and irritable with each other.
We were troubled by how little time we were able to devote to our other three children—they needed us too. How could we ever create a “normal” home environment for them? It seemed such an irony to have worked so hard to have a nice family home on a lovely property but to so seldom be there as a family.
We were spending an inordinate amount of time at the hospital, devoting the bulk of our energy to Alex. Our middle children were four and two, unique stages that require special attention. Then, of course, there was Ryan, who had joined us just two days before the accident. New babies aren’t exactly low maintenance. The first weeks are critical in forming the child’s cognitive skills, personality, and normal development in bonding with the parents, especially the mother. We didn’t want Ryan to be neglected in any way.
It just felt like too much to carry. Beth and I, needless to say, had some long talks with our Creator: Lord, You know this is far more than we can handle, on any number of fronts. We need You as we never have before. We’ve prayed without ceasing for Alex, as have countless other people. But we must lay before You so many other requests as well. We have three other children who covet our attention. We have bills we cannot pay. We have our marriage, and the two of us each need personal strength and daily energy to keep going. We can only ask for Your wisdom, Lord, and claim Your promise that You will never desert us.
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I have to be honest and say that Kevin and Beth greatly struggled in their marriage. Many times I came to the house to speak with them, counsel them, and pray with them. Those were dark days.
One time I was so troubled in my spirit, feeling the weight of spiritual oppression over that marriage, that I called one of the men in our fellowship, and the two of us went over to the Malarkey house to pray. I didn’t knock on the door. We just began praying, walking around their house seven times, praying all the time. It is an absolute miracle, an absolute proof there is a God in Heaven, that their marriage survived and that they are together today. Without God, there is no possible way their marriage would have survived.
Pastor Gary Brown, the Malarkeys’ pastor at the time of the accident
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Our House Takes a Battering
Our tag-team parenting lifestyle continued into the cold weeks of winter. One of us would “jump into the ring” with the three children at home, while the other would stand watch at the hospital. Then we’d switch places.
One evening, I was home with the kids. Little by little, icy rain descended over the entire area of Bellefontaine, but we were warm inside. Let the ice fall, I thought. Then, with a flicker, the lights went out and the house was enveloped in darkness. We had lost all electricity. Packing a bag quickly before the worst of the ice storm hit, I had to find somewhere for the kids and me to spend the night, which, other than driving in a developing ice storm, didn’t prove to be too difficult. Once we’d settled into our temporary digs at Beth’s sister’s home and I’d put the kids down for the night, I realized we weren’t too much the worse for wear.
The next morning, I returned to our house to see how things were. Was the power back on? The house isn’t visible from the road, and no sooner had I pulled into the two-hundred-foot-long driveway than I had to stop the car. A tree had fallen across the front of the driveway, preventing me from driving farther. No problem, I thought. I’ll walk.
I jumped over the downed tree and carefully made my way up the slippery driveway, looking from side to side at the destruction the ice storm had brought. Trees were down everywhere, enveloped in thick sheets of ice. With one across the road, how many would be down on the rest of the property? I dialed my father to tell him what I was finding. “Hey, Dad, you won’t believe this. There are trees down all over my property. This is unbelievable. Well, at least one didn’t fall on our—” Timing is everything. Just as I said that, I rounded the bend to see that a huge tree had fallen directly across the center of our roof.
“Uh, Dad, looks like I’ll have to call you back.”
I stared with incredulity, taking in the scene. If the tree falling on our house had been the only thing we had to deal with, it might have seemed more significant in my mind. Given that Alex’s life was hanging in the balance, it just didn’t register as that big of a deal. Sure, I had mixed emotions, but when your child is only barely clinging to life, everything else falls into perspective.
I called Pastor Brown. I knew he would come after getting the word out to others. And he brought a chainsaw and hard hats! We put the hard hats on and entered the house. There was still no power, and even though it was mid-afternoon, all was dark inside. Without knowing what kind of structural damage there was, we moved along carefully.
It could have been better; it could have been worse. The roof would have to be replaced, but it had kept the tree from breaking through to the floor of the house. And of course, there was plenty of damage to our possessions. Many repairs would be necessary—just what we needed. I thought of our beleaguered family and sighed: when it rains, it pours.
Beth, the three younger children, and I slept in the basement of Beth’s sister’s home for a week. We were very grateful that Kris was willing to take us in. By now, we were accustomed to sleeping in all kinds of places. For baby Ryan, this was simply the norm; he had spent only one night under his family’s own roof. We were all becoming a little tougher in the boot camp that our life had become.
Ten men cut up and removed all the fallen trees and the bits of trunk and branches that had come down on our property. And once again, an army of earthly angels seemed to descend upon us in the middle of our trial. It was another lesson in learning to trust the goodness and providence of God.
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When Kevin called back and told me about the tree on the house, my first response was to laugh—not a laugh of callousness, but a laugh of joy at the goodness of God. I truly mean that. For me, the question isn’t, “Why do bad things happen to good people?” but “Why does anything good happen at all?” We certainly don’t deserve it.
I told Kevin, “First, consider that the power went out. What a great blessing. Had it not gone out, Kevin, you would have been in the house with the kids when the tree struck the roof. Second, you badly needed to replace your roof anyway. Now you’ll get a brand-new one, and your insurance is going to pay for it! And third, I have a question, Kevin: Which trees were taken down in this storm? All the weak ones! The strong trees are still standing. You’ve received a natural pruning, making your property safer and healthier, leaving the strong trees for your family to enjoy. By next July, you won’t be able to tell a single tree was taken down.”
The hand of God was everywhere to be seen in this situation, but, as I pointed out to Kevin, we have to be willing to see it—to receive it as God’s good in our lives.
Dr. William Malarkey, Kevin’s father
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The repair work would be undertaken in fits and starts for more than two years. Half the roof needed to be pulled out and rebuilt. The deck, interior walls, and ceiling all needed to be replaced as well. I hired a man from our church to oversee the project. He and his crew went to work. Over time, it became clear that the roofing crew, about fifteen people in all, were using their vacation time and taking days off from their jobs to work on someone else’s problems in the dead of winter. These people were true servants and somehow managed to convey the perspective that I was serving them by allowing them to come and fix my house. They worked as if they hadn’t enjoyed such an amazing privilege in a long time.
It’s ingrained in us to earn our own way, to pay back any little favor, and never to be on the debt side of the ledger. Not long after I “hired” the foreman, I pulled him aside and assured him that I would be paying all the workers. Just as I was emphasizing my point, one of the men overheard our conversation.
“Don’t you get it, Kevin? This is the best-paying job I’ve ever had.”
“Owe nothing to anyone—except for your obligation to love one another” (Romans 13:8). The chill and damage of winter’s worst ice storm was no match for the warmth we found in those beautiful examples of Christ’s love.
Our Bank Account Takes a Battering
We had already been in a tight spot financially before any of this happened. Now it was nearly impossible to avoid thinking of our lack of money.
On the very morning of the accident, I had sat in church and reflected on the financial challenges our family must confront, since Ryan’s birth had not been covered by our health-care plan. Now we had Alex’s situation, and I didn’t know where the money was going to come from to cover his astronomical hospital expenses—this, of course, during a time when it was virtually impossible for me to give my energy, time, and focus to my counseling practice. I felt pulled in so many directions, and I know Beth did too.
One afternoon, as I sat in Alex’s room pondering all of this, a hospital representative came in.
“Mr. Malarkey, may I talk with you?” she asked.
“Of course. May I ask what about?”
“Yes. Well, we need to discuss the payment of your account.”
I stiffened but maintained my composure. This was strangely reminiscent of the time I was given the bill for my wedding reception while the event was still in progress. I walked into the hallway with the woman and said, “Now, what seems to be the problem?”
She said, “I really was wondering if you could fill out some paperwork.”
“Well,” I said, “I have a special situation. I’ve recently switched to a medical expense sharing group, and to be frank, I’m not exactly sure where things stand.”
I was embarrassed. We had used hundreds of thousands of dollars’ worth of hospital time, facilities, and surgical practice. Unbeknownst to me, it would be millions before long, and I wasn’t clear on where the money was going to come from.
“I understand,” she said. “But don’t you want to check into Medicaid?”
“I don’t know much about how those things work, but isn’t it for, you know, people who are truly poor? I can’t imagine that we would qualify.”
“People often think that,” she explained. “They’re often surprised by how it works out—particularly when they have a large number of children. Don’t you have four? Each child raises the income limit.”
“I had no idea.”
It didn’t take long for me to crunch the numbers, and it turned out that, given my current income and the arrival of Ryan in November, we fit just under the limit for Medicaid. What a weight suddenly flew off my shoulders! Medicaid would pay every penny of Alex’s bill, and the coverage would be retroactive to November 1, 2004, for the entire family. We owed more than $10,000 for Ryan’s birth, and just like that it would be taken care of.
I had already received two bills that totaled $200,000. The aggregate total of medical costs ended up well into seven figures. What I owed out of pocket to Children’s Hospital was a grand total of $14, which, it turned out, was an accounting error. I didn’t even owe that much!
How can I describe my feelings? Overwhelmed. Grateful. Humble. Ashamed.
Yes, Lord, You’ve made Your point—again, I prayed. I carry all this burden of worry, and You cover everything in Your plans. I haven’t understood that my income struggles and my drop in salary were part of Your perfect plan! The amount of my loss is far exceeded by the bills that I don’t have to face—and even if I’d still used traditional insurance, it would have combined with Medicaid and still left me with a massive bill that could take many years to pay. But You knew in advance how to bless us. Why can’t I ever learn to walk in faith, to trust Your will?
Out of the Prison of Self-Pity
My dad, as usual, put it best: “If you weren’t broke, you’d be bankrupt.”
He had a point. As a matter of fact, I never knew him not to have one. My father has the wisest advice of anyone who has ever counseled me.
During the early part of our experience with Alex and the accident, Dad offered me his perspective once again, and it served me well. When the accident occurred, he was speaking at a medical conference in Europe. He quickly flew home to Ohio. As soon as he spotted me at the hospital, he put his arm around me and said, “Son, many people in the world would love for this to be their worst problem.”
I realize many people just don’t get that point of view, and some would say that he was being insensitive with this comment. But I knew my dad. His incredible perspective on life and what is really important gives him amazing power in everyday living. How many times did I come to him with a problem when I was growing up? And how many times did he patiently listen and offer good advice? But I knew every single time what I was going to hear before I left the room—he would always bring up someone we both knew who was struggling in life to help me better comprehend the scope of my own problem.
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Does our daily focus on the ordinary events of life dampen our awareness of the providential and miraculous events occurring in and around us all the time?
Dr. William Malarkey, Kevin’s father
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I came to understand the wisdom of this approach. Self-pity imprisons us in the walls of our own self-absorption. The whole world shrinks down to the size of our problem, and the more we dwell on it, the smaller we are and the larger the problem seems to grow. Awareness of others is a healthy antidote to this self-focus.
We’re not the only ones with issues, and usually our own struggles are far from the worst we know about. There is never a moment in life when it’s impossible to have a heart filled with gratitude—no matter what happens. A catastrophic event, such as our accident, puts that philosophy to the test. But even then it’s true, and Dad dared to apply it as his grandson lay in the valley of the shadow of death.
I didn’t need to know just how unfortunate I was. I needed to be reminded of the truth: my struggles were far from the only ones out there, and I still had much to be grateful for. I can’t imagine any outlook on life that is wiser or more grounded. I recall sitting in the waiting room of the ICU, watching news of the tsunami that hit Indonesia at the end of the year. Nearly 230,000 people in about a dozen countries were killed; 43,000 of them simply vanished without a trace.
I sat in my chair at the hospital and watched the TV screen as a home floated along the coast. I thought to myself, I still have Alex, who is alive by the grace of God. I still have my home. Okay, that home needed some major repairs, but I still had it. And even when my house crunched under the force of the tree trunk, I could still say, “Many people all over the world would love for this to be their worst day.”
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I remember telling my father that I’d been happy each of the first sixty days of Alex’s coma—and I’d cried on fifty-seven of them.
Kevin Malarkey
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My dad doesn’t believe in the existence of a bad day. I find that holding this philosophy makes a great difference in our state of contentment. The tougher life became, the more good we saw in people and in God.
It’s possible to know peace and pain at the same time, believe it or not. Life can be rough yet still feel right. Even as I wept at times, I knew my family was aligned with the will of God. I could say, with the old hymn, It is well with my soul.
Even so, in moments of reflection, I’ve asked myself, Do you wish the accident had never happened? That’s an easy call. Yes—and no. From a strictly human or physical perspective, of course I wish that the accident had never happened! But I am not merely a mass of molecules, incoherently careening through time and space. I am a child of God, destined for another world, a world before which this one pales in significance. Our spiritual preparation for the next world is to be the priority of this life. As the accident has brought Alex and me—and untold thousands—a deeper life with God, then my answer to this question has to be different. I have chosen to view the accident as integral to my life.
What if we could go back and rewrite the scripts for our lives? With what I know now, I could avoid a lot of pain by bypassing the future laid out for me. But I would also be sidestepping the countless blessings of God, present and future. I could never have peace about that.
It’s not a matter of God’s planning for my son to suffer, but of God’s planning to use all of this to do wonderful things that bless many lives—my son and the rest of my family included. Nothing good ever comes to pass without a price. It’s a very difficult thing to understand, but ask yourself, what if Jesus—who did have foreknowledge of His crucifixion—had turned and walked away?
I hate pain and suffering, especially when it affects those I love more than anything else in this world. But I trust God; I trust Him implicitly to turn sadness into joy and mourning into dancing. I can’t wait to watch Alex dance!
Can Alex Hear Us?
Beth and I were with Alex every day, but we knew his siblings would eventually need to see him too. Determining the right timing was a tough judgment call. It would be hard for them to understand why Alex would not be able to talk to them or play with them, and he was in a strange room with lots of scary machinery.
A few weeks into Alex’s coma, we decided to bring Aaron to see his brother. At four, he was the sibling closest to Alex in both age and friendship. Alex had a few friends, but his best buddy was always Aaron. They were inseparable. In fact, from ages four to six we have almost no pictures of Alex without Aaron. Doesn’t that say it all? They played sports together, they played with action figures together, they ran around outside together, they climbed trees together, and, yes, they disobeyed their parents together!
We spent time talking with Aaron, preparing him for the experience. In our “parental wisdom,” we told him Alex was sleeping. While we spoke to Alex all the time, hoping that on some level he could hear and understand, we didn’t want Aaron to have unrealistic expectations.
Aaron was keen on bringing Alex a gift: a G.I. Joe action figure. We told him we thought that was a fine idea. Beth and I had a friend, “Mr. Jeff,” who was also close to our children. He accompanied Aaron and me, carrying Aaron in his arms, and the three of us entered Alex’s room.
My radar was on high alert, keeping a close eye on Aaron. How would he handle this strange setting for his beloved big brother? In the wonderful way of a child, he took it all in stride and was delighted to see Alex. It’s so easy to underestimate what children can handle.
We held Aaron above the reclining body of his brother, and he began showing Alex the cool toy he’d brought him. In better times, the two of them had loved playing together with action figures. In many ways, Alex had been the ideal big brother for a little boy. I wondered just how difficult it was for Aaron on the inside, how much he was missing his favorite playmate.
“See how G.I. Joe can move his legs? He’s running!” said Aaron, manipulating the limbs on the action figure and making all the appropriate sound effects. “See, he has the kung-fu grip!”
He demonstrated all the features of the toy just as if the two of them were alone, having a great time as they always had.
I should have been satisfied with Aaron’s relaxed, happy demeanor, but I couldn’t keep myself from worrying that at some point, Aaron’s little heart might be hurt because big brother Alex remained unresponsive. In as gentle and nurturing a way as I could, I said, “Remember, Aaron, your brother is asleep. He can’t hear you.”
Aaron turned around, looking me straight in the eye, and announced with absolute confidence, “He can hear me.”
He was only four, but he spoke with all the assurance of one who had all the facts. He turned back around as if to say, What is it about these things that adults just don’t get? and continued demonstrating the action figure’s features to comatose Alex.
I might as well have told him the sky was green. “What are you talking about, the sky is green? Anyone can see the sky is blue. Of course Alex can hear me.”
Jeff and I simply looked at each other and shrugged our shoulders. Can a child see and understand certain things that skeptical adult minds can’t?
Miracles at Christmas
The world never slows down to accommodate a family crisis. Our lives remained an absolute blur of appointments, discussions, and medications, even as a myriad of people cared for our other children and many of our own needs. The one constant around which everything swirled was Alex in his long sleep. It had been a month since our full family of six had occupied one room at the same time.
Even as Alex was inches away in body but worlds away in spirit, we began to prepare him for his own return to life. We remained confident it would happen, so we believed we had to prepare. Very gently, we’d lift him from his bed and place him in a wheelchair for short periods of time, a painstaking, methodical process. First we would move him to the edge of the bed so that his legs dangled over the side. Beth would slide behind him, both to support him and to give him big hugs. What was at first a series of carefully executed moves became another routine in our lives.
One day, something changed. As Beth went through the process, Alex’s lips formed into a slight but unmistakable smile. We looked at each other to confirm that we hadn’t imagined it. Our son was smiling. We looked at each other in amazement as tears of joy began to flow. God was so good to give us this little encouraging sign. Maybe Aaron was right: What do you mean he can’t hear us? But it turned out to be only a momentary flash, and Alex was off again to somewhere we couldn’t go.
At Christmas, we paused to consider that it had been six weeks since the accident. In some ways, it seemed like six years. For the first time, the hospital allowed us to bring all the children into Alex’s room. For the third day ever, all six of us were in one place. We were able to open a few presents together and to take a family Christmas picture.
It’s another idea that is difficult to explain unless you’ve walked in our shoes, but this was one of my best Christmases ever. By now, we had learned to take nothing for granted. Our son was in a coma, our new home was in shambles, and the presence of God was more real to us than ever before. Just being together was itself a special gift from God. We held each other close and prayed that the Lord would bring us even closer—to one another and to Him—in 2005.
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Several months after Alex’s accident, I was at a run review. This is when a physician reviews patient charts with the flight crew to assess the quality of care given and educate us on a patient’s particular injury or illness. During a review, no information is given that could be used to identify a person. When the doctor got to one patient, however, the details sounded familiar.
We were told the flight crew had done a good job. Then we were shown an X-ray revealing that the patient’s skull was separated from the spinal column. The doctor concluded that the patient had expired because this injury was simply incompatible with life.
I wasn’t 100 percent sure this was Alex’s case because no identifying information had been given. I later discovered, however, that this was indeed Alex. Normally, the physician would have been correct to say a patient in this condition had died; however, the Lord was taking care of Alex, and Alex was not dead.
Dave Knopp, paramedic
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In the midst of all the joy of being together, my eyes moved from one child to another, then to Beth, but my mind wandered into the future of mounting bills. If it seems that my thoughts seesawed between keeping my mind on Jesus, the amazing financial provision God had made, and the mountain of trials we were climbing—that’s exactly how it was. At one point, I triumphed in faith; at another time, I allowed the angry waves to obscure the Redeemer. I used to read the stories of the Israelites and wonder, How could those ungrateful people have been so quick to take their eyes off God after all the miraculous things He did for them? I didn’t have to wonder anymore. I was just like them.
Yet, in the midst of all these temporal concerns, we were about to see the world we were living in collide with the world Alex was experiencing.
From Alex
Angels
An angel of the Lord appeared among them, and the radiance of the Lord’s glory surrounded them. They were terrified, but the angel reassured them. “Don’t be afraid!”
Luke 2:9-10
Angels aren’t boys or girls. They are neither.
They are completely white and have wings.
Some are not as big as Daddy thought they would be—only about two feet tall. Other angels, especially the ones in Heaven, are larger. The angels have visited me many times, and I have felt afraid when more than one comes. Later on, when my daddy and I were able to talk about these things, he told me that maybe these angels are small in size to help me with my fear—I don’t know.
They have different jobs. One just makes me feel better—I get more courage. Another helps me open my mouth and make words. One had his hands on my chest—to help me become stronger, to help me breathe. I always see the angels when they come, and even when I couldn’t talk, they could hear me. At the same time they do their jobs, they make beautiful songs for God.
One time when the angels were with me in my hospital room, my daddy asked me if I wanted to sing with them. I said yes, so we played a worship song—I couldn’t sing with my mouth, but I was singing with the angels—they could hear me. This was in the days when I had to talk to people with special signals—but I didn’t need to talk that way to the angels!
People have told me that after I am with the angels my face is glowing—like a thousand Christmas mornings. It’s funny that I could usually only smile with just one corner of my mouth, but that my smiles after the angels’ visits were huge. I’ve heard about Stephen’s face in the Bible when he looked up to Heaven. Maybe my face looks like that?
There are different kinds of angels. People often want me to describe them, but this is hard! I can only use words like magnificent, awesome, and incredible.
The angels talk to me about themselves and about me. Some of the angels are messengers, and some are warriors, and some are worshipers. One group of angels guards the walls of Heaven. These are the toughest angels of all. They are at all the posts on the wall, and the main post is the heavenly gates.
My daddy asked if it was like the Great Wall of China. No, it isn’t—how can I describe this? But the angels are spread out like that.
There are lots of buildings in Heaven, but I only really notice the Temple. God never leaves the throne in the Temple. There is a scroll in a glass container. It describes the end times. No one can read this scroll but Jesus.
So there are a lot of different angels. The one thing they all have in common is that they are awesome!
They also make me feel calm.