💔 The Weekend That Changed Everything: Fear, Faith, and My First AFib Reading

I wasn’t looking for anything serious.
I was just scrolling through Amazon on a quiet afternoon, browsing like I usually do. But something caught my eye — a small ad for the CARDI health monitor. I don’t know why it stood out. I wasn’t feeling sick. I had no symptoms. But something tugged at me.

I clicked. I read. I paused.
And then, almost without thinking, I bought it.

I believe now that it wasn’t random. That quiet prompting?
That was God’s mercy nudging me.
A still, small voice saying, “Pay attention.”

“AFib”? No… That Can’t Be Right.

When the device arrived, I opened it up and gave it a try, expecting everything to look normal.

But there it was. Big letters on the screen: AFib.

I blinked. That had to be a mistake. So I tried again.
Still AFib.
Later that evening — again, AFib.
The next morning — still showing AFib.

It didn’t make sense. I felt fine. No pain. No fluttering. No shortness of breath. No racing heart. Just… life as usual. But this little device, this random Amazon purchase, was whispering something I didn’t want to hear.

I started to sweat — not physically, but mentally.
It was a kind of quiet panic. Not chaos. Not a scream.
But a slow, gnawing fear creeping in: What if something’s really wrong?

Alone in the Unknown

It was the weekend. No doctors. No nurses. No appointments.
Just me, a new device, and the internet.

So I did what so many of us do: I started Googling.

I wish I hadn’t — but I also don’t regret it.
Because that weekend, I learned everything and nothing all at once.
One article said I’d be fine. The next one said I was at high risk of stroke.
One story gave me hope. Another broke my heart.

I read until my eyes hurt. I scrolled until my chest was tight — not from the condition, but from the fear of what it might mean.

I remember sitting on the edge of my bed, staring at the monitor in my hand.
Reading the same three letters: A-F-I-B.
I wasn’t officially diagnosed yet. But I knew.

And in that moment, I felt more alone than I’ve ever felt.

I Wasn’t Ready

What hit me hardest wasn’t the fear of dying.
I’ve placed my faith in Jesus Christ. I know where I’m going.
He died for me. He rose again. And because of Him, I don’t fear death — because I know death isn’t the end.

But still, I wept.

Why? Because I wasn’t ready to go.
Not yet.

I want to see my kids grow.
I want to laugh around the dinner table a few thousand more times.
I want to live — really live. I want to be there for my family. I want to hold my wife’s hand for many more years. I want to walk my grandchildren through life and wisdom and stories.

I wasn’t scared of heaven — I was scared of leaving earth too soon.

That’s the tension nobody talks about enough. The grief of loving life, even while trusting God with death. The human ache of wanting more time, even when you know your eternity is secure.

I remember praying that night:
“Lord, I’m not afraid to meet You… but please don’t call me just yet.”

The Grace That Holds Us Together

In that moment of fear and fragile faith, a verse came flooding into my mind like a wave of light in a dark room:

“My grace is sufficient for thee: for my strength is made perfect in weakness.”
— 2 Corinthians 12:9 (KJV)

And I broke.

Tears fell. My chest softened. My fists unclenched.
I wasn’t okay — but I was held.

That weekend, I learned something precious: God is just as present in the in-between as He is in the breakthrough.

Before any doctor saw an EKG, before any plan was made, He was already carrying me.

And He’ll carry you, too.

For Anyone Facing the Unknown…

If you’re reading this and you’re in that “in-between” — between the fear and the answers, between the symptoms and the diagnosis, between hope and heartbreak — please hear me:

You are not alone.
God is already in your tomorrow. He’s already in your test results.
He sees your tears. He hears your thoughts.
And His grace will carry you — even when you feel like you can’t take one more step.

A Prayer From My Heart to Yours

Lord,
In the quiet moments of fear, when the screen shows something we don’t understand and the answers feel far away, draw near.
You are our peace in the panic, our comfort in the chaos.
Thank You for walking with me through this storm.
Give strength to those reading this who feel scared or broken or overwhelmed.
Remind them that even when we don’t have clarity, we can cling to Your promises.
And let Your grace be enough — just as You promised.
In Jesus’ name,
Amen.

My Afib Journey