My room at University Hospital in Birmingham, Alabama, was crowded. I gazed up at the faces of my pastor, William Cox, and deacons from our church, including my husband, Brooks, who were gathered around my bed.
For more than a year, I had been fighting a losing battle against a strange liver ailment and had recently lingered in a hepatic coma for three days before coming around. It seemed I had been on the critical list more often than not. But that day I felt relatively good, if weak, and my mind, thankfully, was clear. I caught Brooks’s eye and he smiled reassuringly.
Brooks and I attend First Baptist Church in Warrior, Alabama, our hometown, where I am a music teacher. All in all we’re a pretty mainstream congregation, and though…
