The Boy Who Came Back From Heaven Part 8

He only squinted his eyes and formed the word "Ouch!"

I never asked leading questions. For example, I didn't say, "Was Heaven white, like in the pictures?" Or "Did the angels have wings?" Every piece of information was something that Alex volunteered.

Over time, Alex shared more and more information. Since I don't have a charismatic background, all of this is new territory to me. Idon't have a theological box to put it in. It is a reality that has invaded our lives.

Crisis The nurses were in and out in a more sporadic way than we might have expected, but things were working out. For the first couple of days after Alex came home, Beth and I felt comfortable caring for him during those times when we were by ourselves.

Then, on that third day, Alex seemed to be having a rough go of it. We just couldn't make him comfortable. As the afternoon wore on, he began struggling for breath. The nurse helped to clear his airway, which made things better for a short time. Then he began struggling again. Next his body temperature plunged to a dangerous ninety-one; his heart rate hovered in the mid-sixties. A mucous buildup had developed in his throat, obstructing the trachea. This problem had to be dealt with immediately, but before we were able to clear the obstruction, Alex grew drowsy, unresponsive, and increasingly pale.

We couldn't handle this crisis, even with the nurse close at hand, and time was fast slipping away. Our only option was to call 911. From the start, I had had my secret doubts about the wisdom of our providing all of Alex's care at home. As we waited for help to arrive, I couldn't help but think, Maybe this is confirmation Alex's situation is too complicated and dangerous to handle at home Maybe this is confirmation Alex's situation is too complicated and dangerous to handle at home.

The ambulance arrived, though not in a particularly speedy manner. Thank goodness the professionals were there. The paramedicsquickly trooped through the house to Alex's room, but stopped upon entering. Looking around at all the medical equipment, the head paramedic asked, "What do you want us to do?" Clearly, they didn't know what to do with someone on a ventilator.

"What do you mean, 'What do I want you to do?' I called in and told the dispatcher my son is on a vent and can't breathe, his temperature is dangerously low, and he's lethargic. If I knew you would ask me that question when you arrived, I wouldn't have called 911."

+ + +Please pray for protection of Alex and [for] guidance. Iknow that he is in G.o.d's hands and will beokay, but it is challenging to be in a system where you feel likeyou know more than the people you are relying on. Please know that Alex is in really good spirits. G.o.d is in control.PrayforAlex.com post by Kevin Malarkey on February 17, 2005+ + + It was a tense moment, and everything-the life of my son-was on the line. The paramedics had no real answers other than to take Alex to the hospital, so they began wheeling him out. The visiting nurse and I accompanied the ambulance to the facility, while Beth stayed home with the little ones.

At the small local hospital, the doctors and other medical personnel tried their best, but it was soon obvious that they, too, lacked the expertise to handle Alex's situation. It seemed that we knew more about our son's condition than these folks did. Suddenly we were the experts-we took the lead, and the doctors and nurses watched us carefully. I took on Alex's care myself, since I knew best how to do it.

To begin with, he was borderline hypothermic and needed to be warmed immediately. We covered him with blankets to increase his body temperature. I fed him through the G-tube in his stomach, monitored the ventilator, and did all the little things we had learned to help keep my son stable. None of this is intended to reflect poorly on the local hospital. We were a bit surprised by how little help they were prepared to give, but we found out that this is common in smaller hospitals. Alex's situation was such an acute and specialized one that it required the care that only a larger facility could provide. It wasn't until evening that we got permission to transfer Alex to Children's Hospital.

A Total Failure?

At the local hospital I watched Alex's vital signs like a hawk, anxiety coursing through me. I prayed constantly for mercy and help throughout that evening, which I thought would never end. Harrowing-there's no other word to describe the feeling of watching your son attempt to breathe, knowing there's nothing you can do but wait.

The ambulance to take Alex to Children's arrived. What a relief it was to finally get Alex the help he so desperately needed, but on another level, it felt like total failure. For weeks we had set our eyes on the big day when Alex would come home "for good." We'd built it up, mounted banners, fixed up the house with ramps and equipment, and managed to hold everything together for a grand total of three days. Now we had bounced right back to the place we had convinced ourselves we'd left forever.

On five more occasions during the next year, we would move back and forth between home and the respiratory unit at Children's. The stability we had sought eluded us. No matter how many times we told ourselves we were fortunate to have our son alive, we still succ.u.mbed to feelings of discouragement and, at times, even despair.

Physical exhaustion battered our hope. Many times we were too exhausted even to pray. Thank G.o.d for the prayers of the saints! They sustained us when putting one foot in front of the other was all we could do. There were many times Beth and I were little more than walking bundles of frayed nerves. Because of this, it was all the more surprising to see how many people were continuing to look at us as sources of spiritual inspiration-models of living faith. There was no shortage of talk that set us up as heroes or martyrs, profiles in courage. Why didn't other people seem to notice how stressed, moody, and unpleasant we could be? I could only hope these people figured out the real truth.

Please hear me when I say that our ability to hang in there had nothing to do with our strength, our faith, or any positive attribute of our own. As a matter of fact, these circ.u.mstances only humbled us. They showed us not our strengths, but our vast weaknesses; not our faith, but our faithlessness. Courage? We had never needed it more. We lived in fear of what the future might hold for Alex.

This wasn't about our strength; it was about G.o.d's. He was the only reason we had come this far without giving in to utter despair. We've heard about many crises that have destroyed marriages and families. I'm told that when a child dies, the parents very often end up getting a divorce. We struggled with the bad times, and we were forced into absolute dependence upon G.o.d, the only refuge we had, because we knew we weren't strong enough in ourselves to weather such a storm.

Every time we were tempted to give up or to give in, every time we were at the last tiny strand of the end of our rope, G.o.d would send human angels of comfort, or He would do something miraculous in Alex's life. The Lord constantly reminded us of His presence, unlimited power, and gracious love, while the situation itself reminded us of our limitations and weaknesses. On top of all this, the ever-responsive human angels of comfort were often the very people who professed great inspiration through our story! We were the ones who needed to be applauding them. They were the healing hands of G.o.d in our lives over and over. How could we possibly have made it through each day without them?

Most couples have the luxury of working out the kinks of their relationship in privacy, but we were living our lives in the waiting room of Children's Hospital and in the midst of a home that had become Grand Central. I might snap at Beth or some medical helper, or she might be exasperated with me, and then we'd feel doubly guilty-not only had we been rough on each other, but we'd aired our frustrations in public. We had presented a poor testimony of G.o.d's goodness. Many of these times our children were present as well. Quarreling in front of children is never a good thing, but they were right in front of us almost all the time.

It simply couldn't be helped, given the constant stress level, unless we really became the perfected saints people thought we were. That wasn't going to happen; we were ordinary people placed in an extraordinary situation, but blessed by a G.o.d who supplies our needs beyond all expectations. I only hope that in the final a.n.a.lysis, people saw much more of G.o.d than us in this situation. I know they had to see the anger I felt so often-never directed at the Lord, but sometimes at the doctors or at Beth. In the heat of the moment, I made statements to her that I would love to take back.

The Pressure Cooker I'd love to forget more than a few instances when I snapped at others. One involved an argument with one of the doctors. I was deeply concerned because Alex was struggling to breathe, even on the vent. It was so frustrating to see that his lungs kept filling up with mucus, blocking the air he desperately needed. Couldn't something be done to keep the stuff from flowing? The doctors were convinced that it was an anxiety problem. They wanted to administer an anti-anxiety medication to Alex.

They got the diagnosis right but the patient wrong. I was the one who needed the prescription, particularly after hearing their prognosis. I knew Alex's problems were not emotionally based. I was furious, and the more the staff kept making that suggestion, the angrier I grew. What bothered me most was that Alex had been a model of courage and calmness all along. Yet here the doctors were claiming his state of mind was causing what were clearly physical problems.

With my emotional barometer surging, I stepped up to the doctor until we were in each other's faces. I'm six-foot-two and weigh 220pounds, and I'm sure I can be an imposing presence when I lose my cool. The doctor was as stubborn as I was, insisting that Alex needed to be on anxiety meds. It was a bad combination. I finally blew a gasket. "Perhaps I should knock you on your rear end and then start jumping up and down on your chest so you can understand how it feels not to be able to breathe!" I shouted. "But you won't have to worry about breathing because I'll get you an anti-anxiety medication! Giving my son anti-anxiety meds may help his anxiety, but it won't help him breathe past the mucous clog covering part of his trachea!"

Believe me, it's hard to relate this episode from my past. Part of me would rather you listen to those who painted us as spiritual giants. But of course, that would be far from honest. This is a nonfiction book, and it tells a very true story. I want you to know that there's nothing at all special about me, and plenty inside me that G.o.d still needs to fix up. I'm very much a work in progress when it comes to being conformed to the image of Christ, the goal for all of us as believers. But as I work on this book, I always keep in mind Alex's reluctance to tell his story. His fear is that people will admire the human beings in the narrative, including himself, rather than the only One who should truly impress them.

Days of Worship As if our local church hadn't already done more than enough, they decided to do something more-a Sunday-morning service dedicated to Alex. What an honor that was, a chance to magnify the Lord through the amazing things He was doing for our son. The best part, of course, was that Alex was able to be there and to enjoy every moment of it.

After we watched a brief video that told his story, I wheeled Alex down the center aisle. You can imagine what happened then-everyone jumped to their feet. Alex got a raucous standing ovation as everyone felt G.o.d's glory in the moment. Few had dry eyes that day.

Amid the praise, I leaned down to whisper to Alex, "This is not about you." He rolled his eyes at me-his favorite gesture, which has multiple meanings. In this case, I interpreted it as, "Daddy, that's what I've been telling you all along!" His trial and subsequent experiences had made him wise in the faith, even as a little guy. He said he had been to Heaven. People might question someone else saying such an outlandish thing, but in Alex's case, no one doubted it because it was all too clear that something had radically changed this six-year-old boy. Someone had brought him back to life when he seemed to be dying. Someone had healed his vertebrae. Someone had awakened his mind and awareness when we were told it was extremely unlikely. And Someone clearly had future plans for Alex Malarkey.

For Alex, it's all about that Someone. There has never been a moment when he took one iota of credit or reacted to a compliment in any way other than to redirect the glory to G.o.d. My greatest goal in life is to attain that mind-set myself, to become a billboard for Heaven rather than a sign of the times.

As the worship service progressed, the spirited songs of praise continued. Alex sang along with the congregation. I kept an eye on his face, because I love seeing him exalt G.o.d in music. Soon people began to stand and talk spontaneously about the amazing impact that their interaction with Alex had had on their lives. What a blessed day that was. Our hearts needed it so much.

Many months later at another service, where Alex was singing with the children's choir, my mind went back to the morning before the accident. Alex was so shy and clingy. In a way, this was a shy child's worst nightmare-every eye fixed on him. But Alex was a different creature now. He didn't want to be a spectacle, and we didn't want him to be one either. If he could have an ordinary experience of singing with the children's choir, it was a wonderful answer to the kind of prayer we had sent frantically to Heaven when he was in his coma. Having him back was the best we could have hoped for, and if by the grace of G.o.d he could have the normal experiences that other children enjoy-well, that was even better.

Not long afterward, there was yet another service-a special Sunday evening gathering at our home. Here was another use of our "dream home" that we'd never dreamed of. Hundreds flooded in from all over central and western Ohio. After parking in our church lot, people boarded shuttle buses that brought them to our home. The church men struck again, setting up a sound system under a large oak tree, in an open area near the house. Pastors from different churches spoke. Then, once again, there was a time of sharing. We kept hearing about miracles, about good things happening in people's lives through G.o.d's showing His greatness in what the world saw as a tragedy.

Alex stayed off to the side and listened quietly on this particular evening. He was asked to speak, but he declined. After all, he said, this service wasn't in his honor-it was all about G.o.d. The right thing to do was to let G.o.d speak. My amazing son sat in the background, where he was most comfortable, and listened ... as G.o.d did just that.

From AlexTelling OthersDon't let anyone think less of you because you are young. Be an example to all believers in what you say, in the way you live, in your love, your faith, and your purity.1 Timothy 4:12My relationship with Jesus isn't different from anyone else's who knows Him; He just gave me a very special experience.I want people to know that G.o.d is real and Heaven is real. G.o.d is my Daddy in Heaven, and He understands me all the time. That's how He feels about all His children.Someday I want to be a missionary. I want to go different places where the gospel isn't clearly spoken and speak G.o.d into people and have G.o.d help me do that. I want people to understand that Heaven isn't a place where you go just because you do good things. You have to ask Jesus into your heart and ask for forgiveness.If I'm not able to be a missionary, I want to be a catcher for the Houston Astros. Houston is a cool city. I could go to Texas games, plus it's warm there during the winters. And if I can't be a missionary or a baseball player, I want to be a comedian. I'm funny, and I have every joke book in the English language.

Chapter 8

War and Peace

"Hi, Daddy," Alex said weakly. "I'm being attacked."

Time is a quiet miracle worker, healing, bestowing wisdom, and providing perspective.

Time was doing its work, making routine that which was once traumatic. Hospital trips were no longer distressing. Alex struggled along, making great progress on some fronts. Beth cared for the children. I went back to work and began rebuilding my business. Our family gradually found its rhythm, and periodically we enjoyed rest along the way. But permanent peace in this life is not to be found. That's what the next world will look like, not this one. Spiritual warfare is occurring at all times. Isn't that why the Bible speaks of the necessity of spiritual armor? We may be oblivious to it, but that doesn't change the reality of Ephesians 6:12. There are forces at work that attempt to destroy everything G.o.d wants to do among us-and there is the "still, small voice" calling us to prayer, to vigilance, to standing against the enemy.

I wasn't thinking about any of that sitting in church on a warm Sunday morning in August 2005. In those days, I was confident our biggest battles were behind us. It was gratifying to know that things had calmed down-that most of the real surprises had already happened. Our life was reasonably normal, at least our kind of normal. Alex was back in the hospital with a lung infection, but the doctors told us it was manageable.

A smile down at Aaron reminded me that he was just a year younger than Alex had been when the accident occurred. Suddenly, an odd sensation pierced my mind. A thought burst into my consciousness, as clear as if Pastor Brown had spoken it from the pulpit: Alex is going to be healed Alex is going to be healed. I tried to block it out, but like the phone that won't stop ringing until you answer it, I couldn't: Alex is going to be healed Alex is going to be healed.

Alex being healed was hardly a new idea. I'd heard that earnest conviction from friends on countless occasions. "G.o.d is going to completely completely heal Alex," they would say. "I just know it's true. I can feel it!" heal Alex," they would say. "I just know it's true. I can feel it!"

The first to say it, of course, had been Dave the paramedic, and then Beth herself, on the day of the accident. Many months of doctors, nurses, ambulances, mucous blockages, and ventilators hadn't dampened Beth's belief. She was certain the miracle was coming. Many of her friends had taken up the refrain. G.o.d is going to heal Alex. It's coming, just believe it! G.o.d is going to heal Alex. It's coming, just believe it!

I certainly liked liked that message and had no trouble accepting it, after a certain fashion. From the very beginning, G.o.d had been stretching our faith. It could be argued that His blessing Alex, taking him to Heaven, sending ministering angels, and the rest were clearly part of a trend that would culminate in the grand finale of the full healing of our son-if you were given to that way of thinking. As a matter of fact, even if you didn't believe in G.o.d, you had to believe in Alex. His courage, determination, and tenacious spirit were the raw materials of a victory of mind over body. However, we did believe in G.o.d, and we knew that all things are possible in Christ. that message and had no trouble accepting it, after a certain fashion. From the very beginning, G.o.d had been stretching our faith. It could be argued that His blessing Alex, taking him to Heaven, sending ministering angels, and the rest were clearly part of a trend that would culminate in the grand finale of the full healing of our son-if you were given to that way of thinking. As a matter of fact, even if you didn't believe in G.o.d, you had to believe in Alex. His courage, determination, and tenacious spirit were the raw materials of a victory of mind over body. However, we did believe in G.o.d, and we knew that all things are possible in Christ.

I heard from G.o.d in my own way. I spent time with Him daily, studied His Word, and prayed constantly. But I wasn't one of those people who hear prophetic messages from G.o.d's lips to my ear ... until that August day in church, sitting beside Aaron. That's when I finally got the memo.

One minute I was closely following the pastor's words, and the next I was hearing: He will be fully healed.

I shrugged it off and went back to listening to the pastor, but it kept coming: He will be fully healed.

The message was so persistent, I knew it wasn't coming from me. But I was not eager to embrace the idea of "hearing voices." It wasn't something I'd ever experienced. Could I accept, in faith, that this was G.o.d speaking? It was a huge commitment-the kind of commitment that will break your heart if fully yet falsely embraced. It was the kind of idea that convinces people you're out of your mind if you walk around telling everyone. It was okay for my wife and her friends, but I had a scientific mind-set, in keeping with my occupation. This just wasn't me.

But the Giver of that message was determined to hammer it home. Those five words took on a power of their own, a.s.saulting the fortress of my intellect. It was time to come to terms with what so many had already embraced. G.o.d was ready for me to know that He was going to heal Alex. Was I ready to receive it?

Was I supposed to feel joy? I can't say I did. This development was too strange, too frightening. Alex is going to be healed. Alex is going to be healed. It was Beth's brand of faith, not the careful, a.n.a.lytical type I preferred. It was great for her, not for me. But suddenly, there I was, walking with her in the twilight zone of faith. It was Beth's brand of faith, not the careful, a.n.a.lytical type I preferred. It was great for her, not for me. But suddenly, there I was, walking with her in the twilight zone of faith.

Is G.o.d bound by my intellectual understanding? What was keeping me from embracing a wonderful truth-fear, unbelief, pride? Then, in a moment, the mercy and greatness of G.o.d overwhelmed my tiny intellect, and He gave me the faith to believe. I simply knew knew G.o.d was speaking truth to me: G.o.d was speaking truth to me: Alex is going to be healed Alex is going to be healed. I accepted the message, believed it, and received it, and when I did, a new message was impressed on my heart. I accepted the message, believed it, and received it, and when I did, a new message was impressed on my heart.

Go forward and pray.

G.o.d was literally instructing me to walk to the front of the sanctuary and ask for prayer. I touched Aaron's arm and whispered, "Would you come forward with me for prayer?"

He gave me a look and said, "No way, Daddy! They'll crush us."

I grinned. Aaron knew this church pretty well by now. They get very excited, very enthusiastic about the opportunity to pray with you. If you're a little boy, that stampede is a bit frightening.

G.o.d wanted prayer; Aaron wanted to avoid being squashed.

It seemed important for Aaron to be with me. I thought about it a minute. "Aaron," I whispered, "if you'll go up front for prayer with me, I'll take you to Dairy Queen after the service."

That offer (bribe!) proved too enticing to a young boy, even one confronted with being flattened by G.o.d's people. So we were all set when the pastor asked, "Would anyone like to approach the altar for prayer?" And up we stood.

Dave was one of the prayer leaders in our church. He would wait in the front of the sanctuary, greet those who came forward, and accompany them in lifting up their requests. As he took my hand, Itold him, "G.o.d is going to heal Alex."

He replied, "I know he is," as if this were old news. "Is that what you want to pray about?"

I said, "He just told me."

We began talking to G.o.d, and people began flowing toward us and joining in. At some point there came a shout from about eight layers of people back. "Have you prayed against the devil?" Little did I know that this question would soon become key to Alex's life.

"I told you they'd crush us," said Aaron after it was over. But there was a big smile on his face.

I laughed. "Let's go. I owe you a trip to Dairy Queen."

As I stood at the counter, the man taking our order kept looking intently at us. It was becoming awkward, so finally I met his gaze with a curious demeanor.

"You don't remember me, do you?" he asked, the serious look remaining on his face.

I hate it when people say that. Smiling politely, I only proved him correct. He kept on with the guessing game, which of course makes things even more uncomfortable.

"Come on. You're sure my face doesn't ring a bell?"

"I'm sorry; we've had a lot going on. You're going to have to help me out."

He said, "My name is Chris. I was at the accident scene, next to your car ... with your son. I prayed for him to be all right."

"That's incredible! You were there?"

+ + +The accident is something I don't think about often. It's just not something you experience every day-being with someone when you think he's pa.s.sed away.The Sunday morning of the accident, my family and I were working in our front yard. All of a sudden we heard brakes skidding and a sound I'll never forget. I told the girls to call 911 and took off running toward the accident. When I got in the backseat with Alex, his head was hanging down and he couldn't get air. I desperately wanted to help him, but I knew enough not to touch him. I just kept talking to Alex and telling him to hang on, help was coming. And then I saw him take his last breath. I watched his body shudder and almost relax, if that's the right word.I walked away from that scene believing that Alex had died. I went back to my wife and kids and said, "We need to pray for this family and that boy because in a couple of days Ithink we're going to read his name in the paper." From what I saw, I just felt he was pa.s.sing ... he was going to Heaven.

Chris Leasure, eyewitness to the accident who got into the car withAlex before Dan Tullis arrived

"Yes, I was."

I looked at him, amazed at the greatness of G.o.d. Dairy Queen on Sunday was not a planned stop. Without the direction of G.o.d, I might never have met Chris. From a human perspective, life is random, and sometimes random turns out well. But I know G.o.d put Chris directly in my path that Sunday.

Chris looked down at Aaron, with eyes a little wet. "Is ... is this him?"

"No," I said gently. "This is his younger brother Aaron. Alex is in the hospital with an infection in his lungs. But he's doing better." I reached out and took his hand. "He's doing better because people like you have been there to pray for him. Thank you, Chris. Thanks for praying that day. G.o.d answered you."

G.o.d never seems to be quite finished astounding us with wonder and amazement.

Defense After spending a little time at home that afternoon, I headed to the hospital. Alex and I would spend the night together. The events of that day played over in my mind: G.o.d's telling me that Alex would be healed; being directed to seek the church's prayer; the surge of power and faith I felt as everyone laid hands on us and lifted us before the throne of G.o.d; then, in the wake of that prayer experience, immediately crossing paths with a key prayer warrior from the beginning of the journey. What an amazing day! I couldn't wait to tell Alex all about it.

My spirits were high as I rounded the corner with a smile and entered Alex's room. The moment I saw him, however, my spirit froze. Alex seemed desperate to see me. I'd never seen him like this.

"How's my boy?" I asked, searching his worried face.

"Hi, Daddy," Alex said weakly. "I'm being attacked."

The smile vanished from my face.

"What?" I asked. "What do you mean, Son?"

Alex looked pale, drained, frightened. "The devil-he's attacking me. He's saying terrible things. I want to make him go away."

I felt a knot form in the pit of my stomach. Alex had never said anything like this before.

"Oh, Alex, Daddy is right here. And G.o.d is with us too. Everything is going to be all right."

Trembling, teary, and clearly in pain, Alex looked into my eyes and said, "I can't say His name, Daddy."

"Whose name, Alex?"

My mind raced to understand what he could mean. He had already said the devil's name. And then it dawned on me.

"Jesus? You're having trouble saying the name of Jesus?"

With frantic eyes, Alex said yes. A sense of panic rose in my chest. This was new territory for me. I wanted to help. I'd do anything and everything to help my son, but I didn't know what to do.

"Alex," I said, "would you like to pray with someone special? What about Jay?"