February 14: Love, Seizures, Scars, and Gratitude

February 14 will probably always carry more meaning for me than Valentine’s Day alone.

Of course, it is Valentine’s Day—and that, in itself, is reason enough to celebrate. This is now the third Valentine’s Day Sarah and I have shared since we began dating, and the second since we’ve been married. Loving her and being loved by her is one of the clearest evidences of God’s kindness in my life. Every year with her feels like grace I didn’t earn but gladly receive.

But February 14 also marks another anniversary. One that changed the trajectory of my life in ways I never could have anticipated.

The Morning Surprise

It began early in the morning on Valentine’s Day 2020.

When we woke up, we discovered that Bella, our Golden Retriever, had given birth to her fifth litter overnight—in secret, in the basement, without any announcement or warning. It was classic Bella. Quiet. Independent. Suddenly there were five new lives where there had been none the night before.

It felt like a joyful surprise. A memorable start to an already meaningful day.

We had no idea how much more memorable that day would become.

The Moment Everything Changed

Later that evening, I was exercising when I felt what seemed like a familiar sensation—a cramp in my left calf. I had experienced cramps before, so initially, I wasn’t concerned.

But this one was different.

Instead of subsiding when I applied pressure, it intensified. My leg began lifting on its own, higher and higher, completely outside of my control. I couldn’t force it down. I couldn’t steady myself. The pain increased, and with it came a growing sense that something was very wrong.

I managed to get to a recliner and sat down, calling out for help.

And then, everything went dark.

The next thing I remember was regaining consciousness in the ambulance. Noah had seen what was happening and called 911. That decision—his quick thinking in that moment—was one of many mercies God provided that night.

At the hospital, doctors determined that I had experienced a grand mal seizure.

But the seizure wasn’t the real problem.

It was the symptom.

The Diagnosis

Further testing revealed the cause: a tumor in the meningioma layer of my brain.

It had likely been there for years—growing silently, unnoticed. Eventually, it reached a size where it began pressing against my brain tissue. That pressure triggered the seizure.

Within a few days, I underwent brain surgery—a craniotomy—to remove the tumor.

That surgery was the first of what would eventually become seven.

Seven craniotomies.

Seven times opening my skull.

Seven times stepping into the unknown, trusting God with outcomes I could not control.

The Long Shadow of Childhood Cancer

The most likely cause of these meningioma tumors traces all the way back to my childhood.

When I was treated for leukemia, radiation was part of the process that saved my life. But radiation, while life-saving, can also carry long-term consequences. Decades later, those consequences began to surface in the form of meningioma tumors.

It’s a strange reality—being saved by one treatment, only to face its effects many years later.

And yet, I would not undo it.

Because without that treatment, I wouldn’t be here at all.

Living with the Reality

Meningiomas are something I will likely deal with periodically for the rest of my life. That is simply part of my story now.

There is a certain humility that comes with living in a body that reminds you of its fragility.

There is also a clarity that comes with it.

You realize quickly what matters and what doesn’t.

You realize how little control you truly have.

And you realize how faithful God is.

The Faithfulness of God Through It All

Over the past six years, there have been surgeries. Recoveries. Uncertainties. Waiting. Prayers.

There have also been countless evidences of God’s provision.

Through skilled surgeons.

Through family and friends who showed up in tangible ways.

Through prayers offered when I was too weak or too tired to pray myself.

Through strength that was clearly not my own.

God has been faithful—not always by removing difficulty, but by sustaining me through it.

He has not promised an easy path. But He has promised His presence.

And His presence has been enough.

Gratitude in the Present

Today, I am grateful.

Grateful that this current season of surgeries is behind me—for now.

Grateful for every person who has prayed, encouraged, supported, and walked alongside me during these years.

Grateful for Sarah, whose love has been a constant source of strength.

Grateful for the perspective that only suffering can teach.

Grateful for the simple gift of waking up each day.

And most of all, grateful to the God who has carried me through every moment of it.

Scripture says we are “more than conquerors through Him who loved us.”

That doesn’t mean we avoid hardship.

It means hardship does not have the final word.

The scars on my head are reminders of battles fought. But they are also reminders of God’s sustaining grace.

Six years ago, on Valentine’s Day, my life changed.

But God did not change.

He was faithful then.

He is faithful now.

And He will be faithful in whatever comes next.

“If God is for us, who can be against us?”