ASSEMBLIES OF GOD
Something extraordinary happened in my life as Easter approached in March 1943. I was urgently admitted into the Masonic hospital of El Paso because of menopause complications. Blood loss had left me completely debilitated and lifeless. Many brothers and sisters donated blood. The doctors operated on me when they were convinced I could handle surgery.
After surgery, everything seemed to be going well, then suddenly, the surgery incision opened. I was taken to the operating room again and the doctors fought to save my life. Nothing they did helped my condition. The doctors called Demetrio and told him they could not do anything more for me. They recommended he bring the children together. Demetrio let our two daughters, who lived out of town, know. Ruth lived in Colorado and Esther taught classes at the Bible institute in Saspamco.
It was emotional to see my kids cry around my bed. I could barely speak. I told them to stop crying and to have faith. In my daily talks with God, I asked God to give me 15 more years, just like He did for King Hezekiah. In that prayer, I begged the Lord to allow me to raise my three-year-old daughter and my other kids until they were grown.
The brothers and sisters prayed for me. My pastor, Rev. Josue Sanchez, who is now the superintendent of the Gulf District of the Assemblies of God, visited me and prayed for me every day. Another Assemblies of God church with their pastor, Rev. Jose Padilla, did a 24-hour prayer vigil. People of God prayed for my health wherever they were.
I did not improve. One week before Easter, in my frail state, I informed the nurses that on Easter morning, at 9am, Rev. Josue Sanchez would be in my room to serve communion. They looked at one another as if to say that was impossible. They were so sure that I would not live to see Resurrection Sunday. All treatment was suspended, and the nurses were waiting for me to die at any moment.
It was Saturday night and the eve of Resurrection Sunday. My kids had gone back home. Only Demetrio stayed, waiting for God to intervene in some way. He was seated with his head hanging down in the waiting room when the silence was interrupted by the slow footsteps of the doctor. She walked up to Demetrio and put her hand on his shoulder while she told him:
“Rev. Bazán, we have done everything we can to save your wife’s life. The Lord has taken her to her heavenly home.”
When he heard those words, Demetrio cried unconsolably.
“Look Pastor, your wife is in heaven, in a better place,” she told him.
She frantically tried to comfort Demetrio, but how could he be consoled as he watched the nurses push the hospital bed, with the lifeless body of his beloved wife, into a dark and cold room?
Demetrio returned home, and without saying a word of what had happened, he locked himself in a room to mourn. He himself recounts that experience:
I fought with the angel of the Lord like Jacob had. I fought all night with sweat, supplication and tears. Six hours had passed and a voice from heaven told me, “Get up, your wife is alive, she is not dead.” Suddenly that horrible weight vanished. I stood up from where I was kneeling, I washed my face and with a still spirit, I drove to the hospital to see Nellie. That is when I learned what intercessory prayer was, and I learned what it cost to do it. I had preached about intercessory prayer many times, but I had never put it into practice. Now I understood what it was to intensely agonize for the well-being of another person.
Meanwhile, in the hospital where the doctors had pronounced me dead, I felt alive. I saw a hand with a spoon extended towards me while a voice said to me, “Take this, it’s blood, and it will be your strength and your life.” Obediently, I opened my mouth and took three spoonfuls of liquid that tasted like blood. Then, I saw the image of Jesus Christ leading me to paradise. It was such a beautiful view that it’s difficult for me to explain, but it remains in my memory. I felt the room fill itself with a strange smell that came from the ceiling, I breathed it in and it gave me life. The more I breathed, the more strength I received.
It was early morning on Resurrection Sunday when Demetrio arrived at the hospital and with great enthusiasm, begged the nurses to take me out of the cold, dark room and to give me oxygen because I was alive. Irritated, they refused. The only way was to get permission from the doctor. Demetrio’s persistence was so strong that the nurses contacted the doctor. She returned to the hospital, traveling a distance of 40 miles, just to calm Demetrio down. When the doctor entered, Demetrio ran toward her and without wasting time, he told her: “Doctor, please take my wife out of there. She is not dead.” “But, Pastor, we need to conform to the will of God,” she responded. Perplexed by his insistence, she led Demetrio to the room where they had placed me. As soon as they opened the door, the doctor screamed with surprise: “She is alive! Take her out of there!” The alarmed nurses ran to attend to me. They marveled at the extraordinary development. My husband, overflowing with joy, hugged the doctor, nurses, and me. He jumped like a little kid and exclaimed: “It’s Resurrection Sunday! It’s Resurrection Sunday! It’s a miracle from God!” As they took me out of the room, I told them: “I’m cold and hungry. I would like hot tea.” At 9am, Rev. Josue Sanchez, my pastor, came to my room and served communion just like I had asked. There are many witnesses of this unforgettable visitation of God in my life.
Extracted from the book, Enviados de Dios, by Nellie Bazán
