Like it Never Happened

On my way to get our car’s annual maintenance checkup, I found myself stuck behind a truck with a bumper sticker that read, “Like it never even happened.”

For some reason, those words spoke to something deep within me. I’d been worrying about an upcoming injection for my bones. After so many infusions and shots during chemo, I’d quietly been hoping I had paid my dues —that I would never again need to be poked, pricked, infused, or injected. But staring at that bumper sticker, I found myself thinking back on the different crises I’ve had in my life. There were moments I was certain were the end — and then eventually, each one simply floated away, like slow-moving clouds drifting out of sight. Memory fades. And one day, you realize: it’s like it never even happened.

I thought of Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego, thrown into the fire but left unharmed because a fourth man walked among them. When they were pulled out, they didn’t even smell like smoke. Oh, the God I serve. Didn’t even smell like smoke.

Still, the injection loomed. So I went to a soaking prayer service at our church. The practice is simple: you write your prayer request on a card, set it beside you, and sit in silence while soft music plays and votive candles flicker. For an hour, you simply rest, and prayer ministers move quietly through the room, reading your card and praying over you without a word. That night, I wrote out everything — all my worries about the procedure, my reluctance, the pressure of two doctors and a physical therapist all telling me I should go through with it.

I sat with all of it. And then something caught my eye.

Light was pouring through the stained glass window — dazzling, almost dancing. I couldn’t look away. The anxiety left my body as I watched it. One by one, others in the room looked up and noticed it too. It was as if the Lord Himself had slipped into the space beside us, playful and present. Because the sun was setting, it didn’t last long — but while it was there, it was sacred. Warmth and joy quietly replaced my fear.

Driving home, I felt calm, seen, heard. The injection still waited somewhere in my future, but somehow, it had lost its power over me.