At first, I planned to count my blessings and move on without discussing my experience. Talking about what happened wasn’t part of my plan, but I now realize that I have a testimony to share about the grace of God. In January 2022, I contracted COVID and spent about one month in the hospital, followed by three months of recovery. Even though the experience happened to me, it no longer feels like it was solely for me. Although I wouldn’t wish the ordeal on anyone, it has also become one of my greatest blessings.
The timeline from my return from abroad to realizing something felt off in my body was short. I remember arriving back at my apartment from the airport in early January and collapsing onto my bed from exhaustion. I woke up the next day and I just didn’t feel right. The heaviness in my chest and body made it difficult to move. I texted my mom, asking her to fly to DC from Texas. She arrived the next day, and by then, I was already becoming unrecognizable. Shortly after her arrival, I went to the hospital. I was now hospitalized for the first time in my life and because of COVID restrictions, I couldn’t have any visitors. I was alone.
At first, I chose not to reveal the full extent of what I was going through to my family and friends because there was so much uncertainty. At times I was getting better and thought I would be heading home, but then I would experience another setback. Conversations with doctors began to feel surreal as my mind could no longer process what was happening to my body. While in the hospital, other changes were unfolding in my life. A difficult conversation with a friend surfaced, one I had been dreading. I knew it couldn’t be delayed any longer.
My friend called, and I sensed our relationship was on the verge of change, something beyond my control. At that moment, I couldn’t walk on my own. I used all my strength to reach the bathroom in my hospital room to get privacy from the nurses. Exhausted and struggling to speak, I found myself unable to respond to our conversation in a way I normally would. I kept stumbling over my words and just couldn’t find the right thing to say. As my friend spoke, another voice, as clear as day, spoke to me exactly at the moment when I felt like I couldn’t take anymore.
The voice told me, “Do not resist”, in a direct tone. It felt like a command, with an authority and power that was unshakable. My immediate reaction was one of confusion—I remember thinking, “What is happening right now, and what does that mean”? Despite my friend continuing to talk, the voice drew my attention away from the phone conversation. Initially, I felt like I didn’t understand the meaning of those words, but deep down, I knew. I heard the voice right before the moment I knew our relationship was about to change, and I might not see my friend again. It was the complete opposite of everything I wanted at that time. I felt completely broken and numb to what was happening. I will never forget the voice I heard that day.
Despite my efforts to remain strong, my life was unraveling from multiple directions, and I felt helpless to stop it. All I wanted was to go home, back to a former life that no longer existed. A few days later, one of my nurses came to my room to help me move from my hospital bed to a lazy-boy style chair. Alone in that room again, propped up like a doll, I couldn’t hold back the tears. I had spent so long trying to keep it together and recover, but now I felt defeated and like I no longer had a purpose.
As I was crying, I started to hear a soft melody of instrumental music next to me. I turned my head searching for the source of the sound, but there was nothing there. The gentle music was in the room with me. Multiple instruments were playing harmoniously together, but the harp stood out the most. It was the most beautiful sound I have ever heard. The sound was so pure that it’s almost difficult to describe. I felt a peaceful presence around me. I stopped crying because I could feel something behind me towards my shoulders, almost like the sensation you get with a hug. I felt at peace. The music lingered for maybe a minute and then it was gone. Even today, as I listen to live music at concerts, the sound coming out of the instruments can’t compare to what I heard that day.
After those two encounters, I didn’t understand what they meant, but deep down, something within me knew that I was going to be okay. I’m grateful for that because at the time, I had no idea that the scariest and most challenging phase of my hospitalization lay ahead of me. Phase II was a blend of fear and profound love, unlike anything I have ever experienced in my life. It was the first time I truly felt the weight of my own mortality and prayed to God, uncertain if I would get a response.
In the weeks following my hospital release, there was no instant spiritual transformation. I spent most of my three month recovery binge watching episodes of Stranger Things and eating vegan pizza. Whenever anxiety crept in, I would read scientific journals because the logical part of my mind still sought an explanation for those two encounters I had in that hospital room. I couldn’t shake the feeling of “how was that possible?” Yet, there was another part of me, unable to forget that profound feeling of peace and love.
By May 2022, my health recovered and I went back to Texas to get a break from D.C because it didn’t feel like a healing city. My life moved on as normal and I went back to what I knew; but those two encounters still lingered in the back of my mind like tiny seeds. I still thought pursuing a certain role, degrees, more things, accolades and even people could make me feel whole. Despite having so much to be grateful for, I still felt pain and lost deep down. It wasn’t until July 2023, that I finally realized the lifestyle I was pursuing was not me. While it was cool for the culture, it also made me feel more empty inside. One random day, I reached out to my brother, opening up about those two encounters in the hospital. He encouraged me to buy a Bible and to visit a church. Although I grew up Christian adjacent, I remember feeling unsure about faith and God as early as 10 years old. I thought about it for a week, unsure if I would be comfortable visiting a church.
Eventually, I found the courage and made the decision to visit a church in Dallas. As I sat through the service, tears streamed down my face as I held my head down. The emotions of my hospital experience rushed back to me during worship. I can’t recall what I wore that day or any words spoken by the pastors because all I felt was the overwhelming presence of the Holy Spirit. Overcome with emotion, I left the service early and broke down, sobbing in my car. I could no longer run from the love of God. I kept repeating “you saved me,” as my mind finally accepted what my heart already knew.
Since I was a child, my Granny would always say, ‘I love you, but God loves you more.’ For the majority of my life those were just words. There was no relationship or belief behind it for me. Yet, during the darkest moment of my life, the overwhelming feeling of pure love amidst the pain was so strong that I could finally understand what she meant – “God is love”. I experienced the love and protection of God in a way I did not know was possible. Before that experience, I’m not sure if I fully believed in God, but He comforted me in that hospital room when I was at my lowest. One of the doctors who treated me called me a miracle. Now, looking back two years later, I recognize that experience as my greatest blessing. It gave me a deep desire to know God and the faith to accept Christ as my Lord and Savior. My journey is still unfolding, but I now have a sense of wholeness and purpose that I didn’t have before.
