In the intensive care unit, the room went still except for the hum of the monitors and the shallow rise and fall of my wife’s chest. She lay pale from anesthesia, her body marked by decades of procedures.

Mike Tyson famously said, “Everybody has a plan until they get punched in the face.” I knew what I believed — or thought I did — until reality landed its blow. The light of Christ still shone, but in that moment it felt blinding as I strained to process what was right before me.

Headlines trumpet confusion as wisdom, cruelty as strength, and lies as truth. God’s light exposes all of it.

Christian, what do you believe?

That question often barges in under fluorescent lights at zero-dark-thirty, in the antiseptic air of another hospital ward. I have carried it for four decades. The answe

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