A Thanksgiving Miracle
November 26, 2025
I listened to a sermon this past Sunday where I was encouraged to take a minute of reflection to honor the true heart of Thanksgiving. Not to be consumed by family dynamic struggles, Black Friday deals, Thanksgiving promotions, the cute outfits and whatnot, but to reflect on the gratitude I hold for how God has worked and will continue to work in my life.
Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God. Philippians 4:6
An everyday thanks. It was a great heart posture reset. What are the holidays truly about, right?
Since then, it’s been on my heart to share this story. A true miracle. And what better time to share than the 5 year anniversary?
So, I’ll take us back to November of 2020. I was 17 years old. Just going into my senior year of highschool. Covid times, great times, am I right?!
My dad got Covid. The doctors said he got the death strand. He was down bad, to say the least. But, the last thing he wanted was to go to the hospital. At that time, especially, the news was spreading that people were being admitted into the hospitals for minor struggles due to Covid, then being put on ventilators, and then never coming off of them. A scary thought to us all, I’d imagine. Definitely to the Easton household.
My mom had to leave to go see my sister play in Missouri. She was at Ole Miss playing volleyball and was nearing the end of her season. I remember us all sitting down and deciding that dad was just okay enough to make it through the weekend with my supervision alone. You know, he was just laying in bed and having coughing fits that were pretty bad but nothing hospital-worthy. Or so we thought.
She left on Thursday. I went to school, per usual, and my senior year I got late arrival and early dismissal. Pretty nice gig (I was really reaping the beneifts of being able to graduate early but instead taking my fourth year and having it be pretty lax). Especially nice in this circumstance, considering I could be with my dad for most of the morning leading up to the one class I had to attend (Shoutout AP Calculus). I remember walking out of class and seeing that I had a ton of missed calls from my sister. I called her right back.
Dad needs to go to the hospital. Right now. I can still hear the urgency in her voice.
Umm… okay? Should I drive him? Like, now, now?
Grandma and my aunt were relatively nearby, but not close enough to get him there in the time he needed to go. I raced home.
I remember opening up the garage door and seeing spots of blood contrasting on the light concrete floor. The garage is where my dad would go to cough, and I put two and two together in the seconds it took for me to make it to his room and assess the situation. Not good.
Mind you, I was expecting my dad to be adamantly against going to the hospital with me as he was before. Hey dad, ummm, I think we need to take you to the hospital, okay? A weak whisper and nod, okay. Okay, yeah, not good. He is agreeing with me. Well, that’s good, but that’s also scary.
To the hospital we drove.
I remember it being pretty silent. His soft, short breaths so he wouldn’t go into a coughing fit that felt like it lasted a lifetime. My mind just praying, okay Lord, help us. Please. Help me help him. It wasn’t until we were a few minutes away from the hospital until he spoke. He was so scared. I had never seen him so helpless. Tears. I had only seen him cry one other time in my life, just a month previously, actually, as we had to Zoom-call goodbye to my aunt who passed away from metastatic breast cancer. Really gotta love the Covid times, am I right? Isabella, I don’t want to die in there. I don’t know what to do. I love you so much. I don’t know what’s gonna happen in there. I don’t want to be put on a ventilator. I love you Isabella. I don’t want them to kill me. I didn’t have a clue of what to say. If he doesn’t know what’s gonna happen, I sure don’t. How do I comfort him? How do I tell him with confidence that it’s all gonna be okay? I can’t. So I prayed. I don’t remember what I said. Peace, comfort, and hope were definitely in the mix of things I asked for the Lord to clothe us with. And the thankfulness that He’s got us held so well in His hands. For healing, for the doctors to know what to do, that they don’t feel inclined to put my dad on a ventilator…
I dropped him off, parked my car as best I could without a crash caused by my blurry vision built with tears. Successful. The parking, I mean. But man did I feel my first sense of real hopelessness in that moment. Did I just drive my dad to his deathbed?? Oh Lord, I really hope not. That was the best thing to do right??? Oh man, I have no idea. Am I ever going to see him again???
We later found out from my dad that as he walked in and sat down in the waiting rooms, he overheard two doctors talking. They didn’t think he could hear them, and he barely could he was so out of it. His oxygen level was at 63. Not good. The one said, I don’t know how he’s gonna make it out of here, and the other, I don’t know how he made it in.
Miracle number 1. He made it to the hospital. He didn’t die at home. I can’t imagine how that would have gone. Praise God I’ll never have to know.
[A little caveat: People told me as I went home and was quarantined myself that I was a hero. It still makes me scoff a bit. I felt like anything but a hero. And that was really blowing it out of proportion. It was just what had to happen. I mean, anyone would have done the same thing, and it’s not like I saved him. I just drove my car a few miles down the road and, at the time, I really had no idea what was happening. I was just glad that I was at least home.
As I said, I had to quarantine in the house. I was alone that weekend, and I remember being really bored. Not getting any updates, waiting on my mom and sister to come back home. I played jazz music, had my own personal concert, and curled my whole head of hair with a tiny wand haha. I had time to spare. Oh, and our dog Mattie was home. Shoutout Mattie. But what I remember most vividly about that time being alone was that I had my best friend at the time bring a goodie bag of my favorite things and her mom’s homemade cookies. My favorite at the time. I remember she came and called me on the phone while we talked through the window of the front door. It was so nice. And then, Cherie Duffey, a family friend. I’ll never forget her kindness. She delivered my favorite Chick-fil-A meal. That support, and just the random act of kindness, comforted me more than anything then. Forever thankful to them and to the multitiudes of people who were powerfully praying and supporting our family.
It’s also a miracle that I never got Covid myself. We had to test multiple times in order to not be quarantined anymore, as most of you know that drill. I came back completely negative each time.]
My dad was in the hospital for 7 days. I think I’ve told people before that it was 16 days. Oops. But 7 days. We couldn’t go visit him because, you know, Covid was highly contagious and whatnot. I remember my mom and sister and I going to the parking lot across the street from the hospital and Facetiming my dad, waving to him from a distance. He couldn’t sleep for 6 days straight because his coughing fits kept him awake. He described his breathing ability to be that of sucking through a stirring straw. He was on 16 liters of assisted oxygen, plus 2 from the nasal cannula. The maximum amount of assistance you could have before you had to be put on a ventilator. He was so stuffed up that he could only breath through his mouth, and again, just barely. Covid pneumonia is what he grew to have. The death strand of Covid, again, as the doctors said. It was midnight of the 7th day. My dad said it was so bad he remembers praying to God, Lord, I cannot take this anymore. Either heal me now, or take me. It was just a bit earlier that same night that the doctors had called my mom with the update that he wasn’t making it home, and that she should start to prepare herself and us kids. My dad said in that moment of prayer, there wasn’t a loud voice or a noticeable shift in the room, but there was what felt like a finger that pressed on each side of his nose. And then a whisper. God’s voice, Lance, go blow your nose. He had to get up first to blow his nose, which, as you can imagine, took a ton of effort. But, he went, crawling out of the bed and over to the bathroom. Went to blow his nose, which in previous times with maximum effort would only result in a tiny bit of blood to come out. He says he barely blew, and boom. Completely cleared out. He took his first deep breath in since he first got sick. In and out. Thank. You. Jesus.
He couldn’t get off the ground, he was so weak. So he sat, unrushed, breathing in and out, praising the Lord for the breath in his lungs, the clear breath in his lungs! And he watched his oxygen rise (which was fluctuating throughout his hospital time from the 80s to the 60s to the 50s back up to the 80s) all the way up to 100. He finally got himself back in bed, and fell asleep. 8 hours of sleep.
He woke up with every doctor imaginable around him. They were trying to figure out what had happened. Unexplainable. (Explained as we know by the grace and power of our Almighty, Miracle-Working God!)
His levels of oxygen assistance went down the next day, Thanksgiving Day, from 18L, to 14, to 12, 10, 8, 6, 4… all the way down to the 2 liters he could take home with him. My dad came home miraculously on Thanksgiving Day to spend with our family.
Fast forward to this year of Thanksgiving. This is a bit vulnerable, but when have I hesitated enough to not share realness of life on here? It’s the one year anniversary of seeing my dad (does that make sense? As in, the last time I saw my dad was for the duration of one day last year, Thanksgiving day). Our relationship has been quite the rocky one since my parents’ separation and divorce. We hadn’t talked for the majority of this past year (a story for another time, but one of a lot of trust that our God is a God of healing and provision, whether we feel it in our current circumstances or not). He and I are spending Thanksgiving this year together. Which, truthfully, didn’t see that one coming. But God did! And I am reporting here live in a story that has a lot more to unfold for the better of God’s kingdom and glory.
I’m thankful for a God that gifts us every breath. That gifts us the exact families we have and are a part of, no matter how complicated. I’m thankful for a God that gifted us with the blessing of His Beloved, Jesus Christ, and that He cares about us even more to bless us with more than we can imagine. Friends and loved ones. Great opportunities and stories to share. I’m thankful for His healing hand, His loving guidance, His greater hope, and for the deep care and great plan He has for His children. All for His glory.
Happy Thanksgiving (one day early). Today and every day, let us take on a heart of gratitude for how good we really have it.
