The Night We Almost Lost Our Son Daniel

It was the late 1980s, and life was simple—but good—for our little family. By the world’s standards, we didn’t have much. Tammy and I lived in a 100-year-old farmhouse that had been in our family for generations. According to county tax records, it was valued at just $1,700. That number tells you everything. The house didn’t even sit on a true foundation—just a few large rocks that had shifted with time. From the front door to the back door, the slope was nearly 15 inches. If you dropped a ball in the hallway, it would roll all the way to the kitchen without stopping.

Eventually, after months of sweat and strain, we managed to put a proper foundation under that old farmhouse. We drove an ancient car that had been handed down to us from my parents. We nicknamed it Leapin’ Leana because every time you pressed the gas pedal, it would leap forward and lean to one side. Between the quirky farmhouse, that unreliable car, and our two beautiful little children, we didn’t have much—but we were grateful.

One late evening, after dinner with friends, we pulled into the driveway of our crooked old farmhouse. The kids—Bethany and Daniel—were sound asleep in their car seats. Tammy and I were exhausted too, but we still had to carry them inside. Tammy lifted Bethany carefully, and I leaned over to unbuckle Daniel. That’s when I had a small but strange thought: Pick up the papers on the floor.

I brushed it off. I’ll get it in the morning, I told myself. But then I heard it again, more firmly this time: Eddie, pick up the papers on the floor.

I froze. That wasn’t just me talking to myself. That was the Holy Spirit. So, almost reluctantly, I reached down and picked them up. And there it was—an empty bottle of children’s Tylenol.

My heart sank. I turned to Tammy, trying to stay calm, and asked, “Do we have any children’s Tylenol?”

She nodded. “Yes, there’s a brand-new bottle in the diaper bag I just bought.”

But when we checked, it was gone. Somehow, four-year-old Daniel had gotten into the bag, removed the so-called childproof cap, and swallowed the entire bottle. We shook him gently, trying to wake him. He wouldn’t respond.

Panic set in. We lived way out in the country—45 minutes from the nearest hospital. We bundled him into the car and rushed to the local fire station. The firefighters quickly gave Daniel medicine to make him vomit, then sent us straight on to the hospital.

After running tests, the doctor looked at us soberly and said, “If you had put him to bed tonight, he would not have survived until morning.”

I’ll never forget that moment. The weight of what could have happened hit me hard. The only reason Daniel was still alive was because of the gentle, persistent whisper of the Holy Spirit.

The Bible promises us this very thing:

   •   “But when He, the Spirit of truth, comes, He will guide you into all the truth.” — John 16:13 (NIV)

   •   “Whether you turn to the right or to the left, your ears will hear a voice behind you, saying, ‘This is the way; walk in it.’” — Isaiah 30:21 (NIV)

   •   “For He will command His angels concerning you to guard you in all your ways.” — Psalm 91:11 (NIV)

That night, the Spirit guided us, and God’s protection surrounded our family. What could have ended in tragedy instead became a testimony of His faithfulness.

Looking back, I realize that even in those humble days—living in a slanted farmhouse, driving a car that could barely stay straight—we had the most important thing of all: the presence and guidance of the Holy Spirit.

And here’s the truth: He still speaks today. He still warns. He still directs. He still protects. The question is—are we listening?

“Since we live by the Spirit, let us keep in step with the Spirit.” — Galatians 5:25 (NIV)