The Unexpected Anchor

"When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and through the rivers, they shall not overwhelm you." - Isaiah 43:2

We rarely recognize our anchors until the storm arrives. On that ordinary Friday afternoon in November—November 20th to be exact—I wasn't thinking about anchors or storms or even faith. I was simply counting down the hours until discharge, eager to leave the hospital after two weeks recovering from larynx resection surgery. Tomorrow I would go home. The worst was behind me.

Until 12:02 PM.

The first sensation wasn't fear but confusion—why couldn't I breathe? The surgical hole in my neck had clogged, and suddenly the simple act of drawing breath became impossible. A nurse's aide happened to walk in, and in those critical moments, nothing worked as it should. No call button could be found. No emergency switch on the wall seemed accessible. After what felt like eternity, she ran from the room screaming, "Code blue! Code blue!"

What followed exists in my memory as fragments: my room flooding with medical staff; my doctor, who "happened" to hear the distress call for the 10th floor; desperate attempts to clear my airway; failed efforts to administer anesthesia as needles couldn't find their mark in my arms. Then came the surreal moment when cell phone flashlights illuminated my throat as my doctor called for a knife.

The loud "whoosh" that followed his incision is a sound I'll never forget.

"We need to get to the operating room," he said urgently, while my body—operating on pure survival instinct—wailed and thrashed. A nurse kept repeating, "Stay with me," but her voice seemed distant, as if traveling from another world to reach mine.

Yet in this chaos, something extraordinary happened. While my physical body reacted in panic, I felt a presence—someone holding my shoulders, a sensation of being securely held. A profound peace washed over me, contradicting every physical circumstance. In that moment between breaths, between life and potential death, I wasn't alone. God was there, an anchor holding steady when everything else was in turmoil.

Days later, my doctor sat on the edge of my bed, medical bewilderment evident in his expression. "I don't have any explanation," he said, "but you must have someone watching over you. There's no brain damage, no other issues despite the loss of air." Unable to speak, I could only nod and point upward as tears traced silent paths down my face.

I couldn't have known then that this terrifying incident—born from an assault that I had tried to forget—would become the unexpected anchor that secured my faith more firmly than ever before. For the next four months, my voice was reduced to barely a whisper. As Thanksgiving approached, my mother traveled from Maryland to Austin to care for me through December. During those silent weeks, I journaled extensively, immersed myself in scripture, and let gospel music speak the praises my voice couldn't form.

My conversations with God during this time were raw and unfiltered. I was upset, sad, hurt, and frankly furious. How could this happen to me? My voice wasn't just my communication tool—it was my ministry, my profession, my identity. I taught youth to sing. I spoke at conferences nationwide. I hosted meetings and workshops. "Why?" I demanded of God. "How can I do my job without my voice?"

The answer, when it came, was gentle but firm: "My grace is sufficient." Then came the reminder that Romans 8:28 remained true—that all things work together for good for those who love God and are called according to His purpose.

I never expected that an assault resulting in a tracheostomy would become the anchor that would catapult me to a deeper relationship with Jesus Christ. By February, my voice returned, albeit softly. When the assault first happened in 2021, I reported it and told a few people, but when nothing came of it, I buried the experience. I told myself I didn't want to give my attacker credit for anything in my life. I wanted to forget.

But God had different plans. He allowed me to go through this valley, to receive this trach, and now I carry a visible reminder of how God can transform something horrific into something that glorifies Him. Today, I host a podcast and talk show, appear on television monthly highlighting local businesses and community members, have written a children's book, and am developing a series. I am on assignment to use my voice—this voice that was nearly silenced—to glorify God and share His love with others.

I share this deeply personal story as part of my own therapy journey, working through healing and growth in real time. This column becomes both my offering to you and part of my healing path—a sacred space where personal transformation and community connection intertwine.

My life now stands as testimony that you can weather life's fiercest storms and still serve the Almighty God, trust His process, love humanity, forgive others, and live with purpose. I know with unshakable certainty that I was created for His purpose, and I'm walking in it. Sometimes this path feels uncomfortable and frightening, but I am comforted knowing that God is with me ALWAYS—for nothing can separate me from His love.

Wherever you are in your walk, know that God is with you. He desires a closer relationship with you. I am not perfect. I make mistakes. I struggle. And yet, God loves me completely. This is the message I feel compelled to share: We need each other. We need to uplift and share love. And sometimes, our deepest wounds become our unexpected anchors—holding us steady when everything else gives way.

Reflection Questions:

1. When have you experienced an unexpected anchor in your life—something difficult that ultimately strengthened your faith?

2. How might your current struggles be preparing you for deeper purpose?

3. What visible reminder do you carry (physical or metaphorical) of God's faithfulness through difficult seasons?

Rooted and Reaching

In "Rooted & Reaching," Lady Madelyn Patterson explores the beautiful tension between being grounded in faith while stretching toward new possibilities. Each bi-weekly column serves as both mirror and window—inviting readers to see themselves more clearly while glimpsing another's journey of faith-fueled growth. Drawing from her experiences through cancer treatment, career transition, and creative rebirth, Patterson weaves personal narrative with spiritual wisdom, examining how deep roots of faith provide not limitation but liberation—the stability needed to reach toward purpose, healing, and community.

Through stories that honor both tears and triumph, each reflection illuminates how remaining rooted in foundational truths enables us to extend beyond comfort zones into unexpected callings. Every piece concludes with thoughtful prompts that invite readers to examine their own reflection—seeing beyond current circumstances to recognize both where they're firmly planted and where they're being called to grow. "Rooted & Reaching" creates sacred space for readers to contemplate the spiritual paradox of being simultaneously anchored and expansive, acknowledging that our most authentic growth happens when we're deeply connected to what sustains us while courageously reaching toward what calls us.

Join this journey of discovering how faith provides both the nourishing soil for our roots and the endless sky for our reaching—a place where reflection leads to action, and where both stability and growth work together to fulfill our divine purpose.