"But God": When Grief, Illness, and Prayers Collide

The Story of an Unexpected Answer I Couldn't Explain

Prayers Have No Boundaries

Author Note:

Hey there, friends! I know so many of you here in the states are hunkering down for a wintry weekend…Stay warm! And this is my reminder to be careful on the ice—I went down on our driveway this past week, and it reminded me of this fun little diddy I wrote last year. (Thankfully, I’m Ok!)

This story is from last month. If you’d like a reminder of what SIBO testing is, I wrote about it last year HERE.

I went into my SIBO test grieving, but came out with some unexpected results. . .

The Test I Always Dread

I’d been dreading it—the next SIBO test, always waiting in the background. For six years, these numbers had directed treatment and held my emotions hostage. They often came back higher than expected, leaving me feeling at the mercy of a disorder I couldn’t control.

This time, as I drove to the testing facility, grief rode shotgun.

The Prayer That Was Missing

In the past, I hadn’t faced this drive alone. My friend Linda always shared the drive time with me. She made a point to call me on the way, knowing how hard it was to face testing again. She’d always pray over my anxiety and for different, better results.

Peace would descend after these car prayers, the “casting up” and “giving over” of all our concerns. I know I am blessed with many friends who are prayer warriors, but I loved how Linda supported me, especially during these drives.

Except now, Linda was gone. She’d fought her last battle with cancer and arrived HOME just a few weeks earlier.

On this December day, I faced my drive alone, without her presence and prayers. How could I stand it? Grief stabbed at my chest, and tears blurred my vision. (Not recommended while driving, of course!)

Arriving on autopilot, I dried my eyes and forced myself into the office. Immediately, a friendly and very pregnant lab tech called me back.

“Have you been through these before?” This was always the first question.

“Many times,” I assured her. Her shoulders relaxed as she realized no long spiel was needed about how the testing would go.

She pulled the lid off a plastic container, handing me the thick orange syrup to drink. This would “feed” the bacteria, allowing their levels to be tested through my breath.

“OK, just blow into this bag for our baseline,” and I did as instructed. In terms of medical tests, breath testing was easy. All it required was for me to set aside an entire morning. I liked to think of it as “found” time, where I was forced to sit down and read or write.

That morning, to busy myself, I’d brought along some devotions, and then opened my computer to write a new story. Every twenty minutes, the tech showed up with the bag and mouthpiece for me to inflate.

For the first hour of her morning, I appeared to be the only one there. At one point, she must’ve been bored, because she pulled up a chair and sat down across from me.

“How long have you been dealing with this?” she asked.

“Six years, I think? I’m considered ‘chronic’. My SIBO numbers are usually pretty high. Even when we get them lower, they always seem to shoot right back up…”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” She seemed genuinely interested in me as a patient, which I noticed and appreciated. Usually, the techs were anxious to get on with their job and finish their day.

A lab tech hard at work!

“I’m Not Seeing Much…”

Midway through my testing time, she began to share her thoughts.

“I’m not seeing much on your results,” she mentioned casually as she came to collect my next reading.

Stopping mid-thought, I glanced up.

“Really?” That had to be a mistake. Noone had ever said that to me during a SIBO test. Plus, they weren’t supposed to reveal any results until a doctor reviewed them.

“Yeah, we’ll see what happens during this last hour,” and she carried my test tube over to her machine.

Near the end of that hour, she came back with the bag and spoke to me again.

“I didn’t see any real rise in numbers until now, and it’s not terrible. I think you’ll be pleased with the results.”

I had a really hard time believing her—first of all, that she was even sharing it, and second, that my results might be lower than expected.

A negative result wouldn’t mean the SIBO issue was eliminated, but. . . was it really better, and if so, how much? Was the test accurate, or off?

I knew firsthand how volatile the SIBO results journey could be. I’d never had a SIBO test that hadn’t come back positive. A negative result would be momentous.

I gathered my things and left, anxious to view actual test numbers. Unfortunately, none would be available until after the weekend.

When the Numbers Don’t Make Sense

On the way home, I tried to make sense out of what clearly didn’t.

There was no good reason for my SIBO results to be better. If ever there was a time period when they should’ve gotten worse, it would have been this past fall. Helping with our writing retreat, then losing our writing friend Lisa, followed by my first overseas trip, and upon return, the sudden loss of Linda. Yes, it had been a difficult period.

All of which created a snowball of stress and grief, more so than any of the previous years combined. So, why would my test results improve instead of deteriorate? It didn’t add up.

Then a thought came to mind I couldn’t dismiss. Linda had prayed for me and these test results so often. She truly cared about me and my journey and understood long-term health issues. Could it be that she was still interceding for us with Jesus, only now face-to-face?

Knowing Linda and her tendency to advocate, I wouldn’t put it past her! Ripping a tissue from the box, I again wiped away tears. Maybe Linda was still up there praying for me? Could that be?

Comfort and peace flooded in while I awaited the actual results

But God

On Monday, when I saw the email arrive, I opened my electronic chart immediately. There, in black and white, read the results I’d waited years to see:

“Negative. The rise in bacterial levels is not indicative of a positive test.”

Wow. That’s amazing, I thought. There’s absolutely no earthly reason for a negative result, but here it is in writing. Could the test be wrong?

But no, I wasn’t experiencing any real symptoms. . . It still didn’t make sense.

This is God’s work, is all I could think.

“But God.”

And maybe—just maybe?—I like to think that Jesus enjoyed a little prompting from a dear advocate and friend.

Because prayer can move beyond a lifespan, and some answers arrive wrapped in both mystery and mercy.

“…Christ Jesus is the one who died—more than that, who was raised—who is at the right hand of God, who indeed is interceding for us.”

(Rom. 8:34b, ESV)

For Worship:

Grab your dancing feet! “Washed” by Elevation Rhythm :)

*Photo Credits 1) Bruce Hong and 2) National Cancer Institute on Unsplash

**The Holy Bible, English Standard Version copyright © 2001, 2007, 2011, 2016, 2025 by Crossway Books and Bibles, a Publishing Ministry of Good News Publishers. Used by permission. All rights reserved.