A TRUE Story of Divine Sovereignty

People sometimes ask why I wrote Held Between Breath & Death. The short answer is simple: gratitude. The longer answer is a little more complicated.

When I first began considering whether to write the book, I wasn’t thinking about becoming an author again. I wasn’t thinking about telling my story. I wasn’t thinking about reliving some of the most difficult days of my life. In many ways, I would have preferred to leave those memories where they were and simply move forward.

But I couldn’t escape a growing conviction that the story wasn’t really mine to keep.

The more I reflected on what happened, the more I realized that my survival was only one small part of a much larger story. The story included physicians who spent decades mastering their craft. It included nurses who showed extraordinary skill and compassion. It included researchers, engineers, therapists, technicians, and countless others whose work made my survival possible. It included my wife, Sharon, and our children, who carried burdens I scarcely understood while I lay unconscious. And above all, it included the gracious hand of God, whose presence I can now see woven through every chapter of the experience.

I have spent much of my life fascinated by people, organizations, technology, medicine, and learning. My education, career, and life experiences only deepened that fascination. The more I learned, the more amazed I became by the complexity of God’s creation and by the remarkable capabilities He has given human beings. I have never seen science and faith as enemies. Quite the opposite. The God who created the universe is not threatened when we discover how parts of it work.

Throughout the book, I wanted readers to see that truth. The same God who created the laws governing the universe also created minds capable of studying those laws. The same God who designed the human heart created people capable of learning how to repair one. My story is not a story of God versus medicine. It is a story of God working through medicine, through people, through technology, through training, through courage, and through countless acts of grace.

But the book is about more than survival.

It is also about perspective.

Before my medical crisis, I already knew intellectually that life was fragile. Most of us do. We attend funerals. We read obituaries. We know that none of us are guaranteed tomorrow. Yet it is surprisingly easy to live as though tomorrow is owed to us. It takes only one ordinary day turning extraordinary to remind us how quickly life can change.

One of the lessons I hoped readers would take from the book is that ordinary days are gifts. The conversations we have, the meals we share, the people we love, the opportunities we have to serve, forgive, encourage, and point others toward Christ—these things matter far more than we often realize. We tend to recognize their value most clearly when we are suddenly faced with the possibility of losing them.

The book is also a love letter of sorts.

• A love letter to Sharon, who walked through darkness I never witnessed firsthand.
• A love letter to my children, my grandson, and those yet to come.
• A love letter to friends who prayed and comforted and wept.
• A love letter to physicians and nurses who refused to quit.
• A love letter to the countless people whose love and kindness sustained us.
• A love letter to God, whose mercy, grace, and love sustained us.

Ultimately, I wrote the book because I wanted to bear witness to God.

Throughout Scripture, God’s people are repeatedly called to remember, to testify, and to tell what He has done. I am under no illusion that my story is more important than anyone else’s. It isn’t. But it is the story God gave me. And if He chose to preserve my life through circumstances that still astonish me and the doctors involved, and perhaps even you, dear reader… then I believe I have a responsibility to speak about His faithfulness, goodness, power, and His call to be reconciled to Him through Christ.

Conversely, I did not write my book with cookie-cutter simplicity. We can’t box God in like that. I did not write because my story proves that every prayer will be answered the way we hope.

• Not because every illness ends in healing.
• Not because every family receives the outcome they desperately desire.
• Many faithful people suffer. Many faithful people grieve. Many faithful people lose loved ones they longed to keep.
• I understand that.
• The message of my book is not that God always gives us the outcome we want.
• The message is that God is trustworthy whether He does or not.

The greatest hope I wanted readers to encounter is not ultimately the hope of physical healing. Physical healing, wonderful as it is, remains temporary. Every person whose life is saved eventually faces death again. The deeper hope is found in Jesus Christ, whose death and resurrection offer something nothing else can provide: forgiveness of sin, reconciliation with God, and eternal life with God.

• If readers finish the book grateful for medicine, I am glad.
• If they finish grateful for family, I am glad.
• If they finish more aware of the preciousness of ordinary days, I am glad.

But if they finish the book with a deeper appreciation for Christ, a greater confidence in God’s sovereignty, and a renewed desire to live for what matters eternally, or even if readers simply develop a greater curiosity toward exploring all of these things, then the book will have accomplished exactly what I prayed it would accomplish.

That is why I wrote Held Between Breath & Death. In essence, I am simply giving to God what belongs to God: my life and my story for His Glory. And dear reader, he gave you your life and your story for his glory too. Yet he gives each of us the freedom of choice. What will you choose to do with your life?

With Gentleness and Respect,
Bart Dahmer