A farmer’s wife. I really had no idea what that meant when I met my husband. I knew there were risks—after all, there’s heavy machinery and long days in the sun—but nothing could have prepared me for the journey of the past year. On October 6th, my life changed forever. My stepson called, voice trembling and holding back tears: “Dad’s been in an accident… we don’t know what happened… get here fast.” My heart dropped. The kids and I scrambled into the car, the short drive to the farm stretching into what felt like an eternity. When I arrived, my husband was sitting in the truck, trembling, eyes wide, asking what had happened. His right eye was swollen shut, his entire right side immobile, and his wrist was clearly broken. Fear gripped me like never before. We didn’t yet know the full extent of his injuries.
The ambulance ride from Monticello to Tallahassee Memorial HealthCare was the fastest and slowest ride of my life. I looked at my children’s worried faces as we drove away, and it felt like a knife in my heart. That first night in the ER was unbearable. He had amnesia and kept asking the same five questions over and over. Doctors confirmed his wrist was severely shattered and that he had amnesia. His shoulder hurt, too, though initially they insisted it was fine. After several tests, they casted him and sent us home because a hurricane was approaching and they needed the beds.
Trying to cast a wrist that’s badly knotted and needs surgery is… not pleasant. With Hurricane Michael on the way, we had to wait weeks for his wrist surgery. The pain became unbearable. On the morning of the hurricane, I drove him to Capital Regional ER, trusting the instincts God had given me. Once the cast was removed, doctors discovered his arm had compartmentalized. If we had waited, he could have lost his entire arm. We ended up riding out the hurricane in the hospital, away from our kids. The next morning, he had emergency wrist surgery. The surgery was successful—many screws and plates later, his wrist was hopefully on the road to recovery. But an MRI revealed a torn rotator cuff. The news of another major surgery, paired with concern for our kids and farm, was overwhelming.
During his hospital stay, God’s provision was tangible. His barber came to give him a haircut—nurses had never seen that before. Ms. Frances made her trek to visit. Church friends prepped our home for the hurricane and helped clean up afterward. Neighbors, friends, and even strangers rallied to help with the farm, showing Christ’s love in ways we could never repay. Even amidst chaos, blessings abounded.
But challenges kept coming. My stepson, working tirelessly to keep the farm running, overturned a semi load of peanuts. Thankfully, he and his dog were unharmed, and the community came together to help clean up. Other farmers worked late into the night to harvest crops in my husband’s absence, showing yet again that God’s love often comes through others.
Weeks later, my husband’s rotator cuff surgery was scheduled. Hours later, the surgeon’s words crushed us: it was unsuccessful. The damage was worse than expected, and repair wasn’t possible. We sat together, crying, asking God why. The surgeon suggested we wait and see if it healed on its own—but for a farmer, that wasn’t an option. That’s when a referral to Shands came. He was deemed a perfect candidate for a new procedure, Superior Capsular Reconstruction. Surgery three was performed, but again, it failed. The tendons were so damaged they disintegrated. My husband knew immediately, and it broke my heart to watch him face yet another failure.
While all this unfolded, my own journey continued. Two weeks before his last failed surgery, I had a prophylactic double mastectomy. My mother’s breast cancer twelve years prior had shaped my vigilance: dense, cyst-filled breasts, countless biopsies, ultrasounds, lumpectomies, and an ever-present fear. A radiologist’s error in the summer finally pushed me to move forward. Surgery was terrifying, but God gave me peace. The procedure went beautifully, I recovered at home surrounded by love, and later learned all tissues were clean—a huge answer to prayer.
Meanwhile, my husband faced his final surgery: a tendon transfer. Tendons from his back, plus a cadaver, were used to reconstruct a new rotator cuff—a rare procedure, with 25 students observing. By God’s grace, it was successful! After multiple failed surgeries, hope finally returned. Recovery was intense: immobilized for three months, severe pain, and complications that led to a terrifying ER visit. But God’s hand was evident; the ER was empty, and he received immediate care before sepsis could take hold.
What really happened in his accident? He fell 15 feet from the top of a peanut semi-trailer, hit his eye and the tongue of the trailer, and blacked out for about ten minutes. He shattered his wrist, tore all shoulder tendons, lost a tooth, injured his eye, and experienced months of amnesia. Recovery has been slow and steady, but miraculous progress is being made. He can now lift his arm, which doctors initially said would be impossible. Our God is mighty.
The farm has also suffered. Hurricane Michael hit while we were in the hospital, our third consecutive year of devastating storms. We lost half our cotton crop, unsure if we could even farm this year. My husband faces surgeries, farm stress, and physical limitations, yet we trust God has a plan for the farm and our family.
Looking back, I realize God wastes nothing. Every trial, every loss, every heartache has been used for His glory. Some blessings we’ve seen, some we may never understand this side of heaven. But each moment—painful, exhausting, terrifying—has been used to help others and strengthen our faith. Sometimes God brings us to nothing so He can do His best work. We must decrease, so He can increase.
