Going to rehab was supposed to be a short-term visit—just a few weeks, maybe a month. I was in “A Wing,” the section for younger patients, full of noise, energy, and hope. We were there to recover, to work hard in therapy, and to get back to life.

But after a while, things didn’t look so good. The doctors said progress was slow. My body wasn’t cooperating the way I wanted it to. I prayed every day, asking for healing, asking for purpose. And then came the move I didn’t see coming—from A Wing to B Wing.

That’s where they sent the “lifers.”

The B Wing was quiet—too quiet. Mostly older women, sitting in wheelchairs, listening to Frank Sinatra and Perry Como on an endless loop in the community area. The energy was different there. It felt like the end of something, not the beginning. But deep down, I knew my story wasn’t finished.

The Fighters

That’s when I met Joe and Dorene, my prayer partners and co-conspirators. We had one goal: get out of there. We weren’t ready to live out our days in a place that smelled like hand sanitizer and mashed potatoes.

Every afternoon, we gathered in a small corner to pray. We prayed for healing, for strength, and for freedom. But those prayer sessions weren’t quiet or somber. They were strategic. We discussed what it would take to get home: walking independently, managing our medications, and convincing the therapists that we could handle daily life on our own.

Our plan wasn’t just faith—it was faith in action.

Still, it wasn’t easy. The staff reminded us that we were there for our safety, that we needed 24-hour care. But we knew the truth—God wasn’t done with us yet.

The Confession

One day, I told my doctor about our “escape plan.” I expected him to laugh—or worse, to scold me. Instead, he smiled.

He said, “Edna, if you’re serious, let’s make it happen the right way.”

And that’s when everything shifted. The therapists began pushing me harder in physical therapy. They made me walk a little farther each day. The nurses encouraged me to take charge of my own care. Every milestone felt like a small miracle.

Slowly, things started to change. I could stand longer, move faster, and—most importantly—believe again.

“Don’t Call It a Comeback”

The day I finally walked out of that rehab center felt like something straight out of an LL Cool J video.
🎵 “Don’t call it a comeback, I been here for years!” 🎵

That lyric hit deep. It wasn’t just a catchy hook—it was a declaration. I wasn’t making a comeback because I had never truly left. God had been working in me the whole time, refining me through pain and patience, shaping my faith through frustration.

The Scripture That Carried Me

“Seek the Lord while he may be found; call on him while he is near.
Let the wicked forsake their ways and the unrighteous their thoughts.
Let them turn to the Lord, and he will have mercy on them,
and to our God, for he will freely pardon.”
— Isaiah 55:6–7 (NIV)

These verses remind me that God’s mercy is never far away. In the rehab center, I was surrounded by brokenness—broken bodies, broken hearts, broken hope. But through prayer, I sought the Lord, and He met me there—in hospital halls, in physical therapy sessions, even in the quiet moments when I wanted to give up.

God doesn’t always deliver us from the hard places right away. Sometimes, He delivers us through them.

From Care to Courage

Moving from the nursing home back to independent living wasn’t just a medical milestone. It was a spiritual one. It meant reclaiming not just my body, but my purpose. Cooking my own meals, going out, helping others again—it all felt new.

Now, when I think about that time in B Wing, I don’t see defeat. I see the faces of Joe and Dorene, the rhythm of Sinatra in the background, and the quiet power of faith that refused to give up.

So, no—don’t call it a comeback. Call it a resurrection.

Because God didn’t just bring me home.
He brought me back to life.

🎵 LL Cool J – “Mama Said Knock You Out” 🎵

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Question for You:
Have you ever had a season where God delivered you through something instead of from it? How did your faith carry you through that “B Wing” moment in your life? Share your story below—I’d love to hear it.

Copyright © 2025 by Edna Brown. All Rights Reserved.