Faith Through Fear: Carly’s Story and Our Surrender

I know this is our real estate website, but we’re all people first.
Lately, I’ve realized that so many people I’m around don’t know this part of our story. Maybe someone reading today needs to hear it. Behind every pretty picture and success story online, there’s real life, and real life has both beauty and heartbreak. This story is part of who we are.

November 6, 2012, is the day everything changed for our family.
We had three children then. Connor was almost five, Claire had just turned one, and Carly was thirteen weeks old. We lived in Lake City. Matt worked in Gainesville. We had a babysitter who came with glowing recommendations, someone trusted by families we knew.

That afternoon, the phone rang.
“Carly’s not breathing.”

Everything stopped.
I told her to call 911 from the house phone. Matt called a firefighter friend in case 911 didn’t answer, because three years earlier when he was in a fire, no one had answered. That is a story for another day. I stayed on the line and could hear Carly’s labored breathing. Friends and family rushed to the house. Paramedics took her to Lake Shore Hospital, and we drove there from Gainesville as fast as we could.

When we arrived, she was cold and colorless. Her temperature was only 92 degrees. The hospital CEO and deputies were there. They were preparing us for the worst. They told us there was bleeding all over her brain. Later, we would hear the words Shaken Baby Syndrome, something I had never even heard of until that day.

They flew Carly to UF Health in Gainesville. We couldn’t ride in the helicopter, so close friends from our church drove us. That drive was long and silent. We all process trauma differently. For me, it was shock, a kind of frozen stillness I can’t describe. For Matt, it was more outward, emotional. We each carried the same fear in different ways.

When we saw her again, she was hooked up to machines. We slept on the hospital floor that night, and for many nights to come. They eventually brought us a chair and encouraged us to rest, but we rarely did. Doctors explained more than we could absorb. They called it a traumatic brain injury. There was bleeding all over her brain, swelling, and blood behind her eyes. They told us she might not live, and if she did, she might not walk or talk or see or learn, that she would likely have permanent brain damage. We couldn’t hold her or even touch her at first because any stimulation could make the swelling worse.

Then came the day she was extubated. After all those days of fear and alarms, we finally got to hold her again. She was still connected to so many machines, but we didn’t care. To have her in our arms again was a gift.

At one point during those early days, I went home briefly to take our older children to the county fair. I had promised them I would. On the drive back to Gainesville that night, a worship song came on, and that was the moment everything broke. I cried harder than I ever have. My prayer changed from “God, please make her okay” to “God, whatever Your will is, we trust You.” That drive became my surrender. And in that surrender, I found peace, not because I knew the outcome, but because I trusted Him with it.

When I returned to the hospital, Carly had begun having seizures. She was still so small and fragile, but she was alive. One morning not long after, our church family gathered to pray for her. Someone set up a live video feed so we could join from the hospital. Seeing our church on that big screen, hearing those prayers, that morning still stands out in my mind. I felt something shift inside me. Peace replaced panic. Hope replaced fear. The Bible continually commands us not to fear, but I do fear so many things. I pray that Carly never lets fear hold her back, that she always knows she is a living testament of God’s grace and mercy.

A few days later, a nurse left a note on Carly’s pillow. It said:
“Because he loves me,” says the Lord, “I will rescue him; I will protect him, for he acknowledges my name. He will call on me, and I will answer him; I will be with him in trouble, I will deliver him and honor him. With long life I will satisfy him and show him my salvation.” (Psalm 91:14–16)

We didn’t know who had put it there, but later she told us that Carly’s story had reminded her why she became a nurse in the first place.

Before all this happened, we believe God was already preparing us. Not long before that day, Connor had been working on a memory verse at church: “Be strong and courageous; do not be afraid nor dismayed, for the Lord our God is with us to help us and to fight our battles.” (2 Chronicles 32:8) I remember hearing him recite it, not realizing then how true those words would become for our family.

After a few very long weeks, we finally went home. The doctors weren’t very hopeful. They prepared us for a hard road. We began physical and occupational therapy, with the other specialists as follow-up appointments. Carly was sent home on seizure medication. But from that day of prayer, she hadn’t had another seizure. Deep down, I knew she was healed. Eventually, I felt complete peace about it and decided to stop the medication. She never had another one. I knew that peace had started back when our church gathered to pray over her.

It’s true what the Bible says in James 1:2–4: “Consider it pure joy, my brothers and sisters, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance. Let perseverance finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything.” God was growing us, shaping us, and preparing us for something bigger than we understood.

And in Genesis 50:20, Joseph says to his brothers, “You intended to harm me, but God intended it for good.” That verse has never left me. What was meant for harm, God used for good.

The Bible also reminds us in Ephesians 6:12 that “our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms.” We know the enemy comes to steal, kill, and destroy, but we also know our Lord has already overcome.

In the months and years that followed, we saw miracle after miracle. Carly grew stronger. She met every milestone the doctors said she might never reach. When she started walking, then running, we were overwhelmed with gratitude. We knew we were witnessing the goodness of God firsthand. She is truly a miracle.

There’s another verse that carried us through: “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” (2 Corinthians 12:9) We lived that truth daily. His strength carried us when ours was gone.

A few years later, as Connor grew older, he started asking questions. He remembered pieces of that time and wanted to understand what had happened. We sat down as a family and told him. He listened, and then he cried because he couldn’t understand how anyone could hurt a baby. Those are hard conversations, but necessary ones.

Around that same time, we began to notice something beautiful in Carly. She had such a heart for people. She started collecting Bibles, writing notes inside them, and giving them to others. She wanted everyone to have the peace she felt. Her notes would say things like, “I know what God has done for me, and I know He can change your life too,” followed by verses that had touched her heart. Watching her do that is how we knew God was working in her and that it was time for her to know her own story.

Then, a few years later, in 2022, when Carly was ten, we told her. That year, both girls were learning to surf in St. Augustine, and they loved Bethany Hamilton’s story. Bethany had turned her shark tragedy into something that glorified God, and her courage inspired them deeply. We joined a mother-daughter devotional Bethany was hosting, and at the end, we surprised the girls with a trip to Hawaii to meet her and surf together. It felt like a full-circle moment, seeing our girls strong, healthy, and fearless in the ocean.

Carly’s name means “strong one.” And she is exactly that. She’s disciplined, determined, and full of life. At twelve, she told us she wanted to be a surgeon. She even bought a small surgical kit and set her phone wallpaper to say, “It’s never too early to be good at something.” Maybe that’s her future, maybe it isn’t. We trust that God will use her story however He chooses.

Carly today is everything we prayed for and more. She is direct and bold in speech. She loves reading and learning. She is responsible and takes initiative in everything she does. She loves cooking and works hard at whatever she puts her mind to. She might be a little type A, but her drive and heart are gifts. She has become the definition of strength and grace.

We remember waking up one morning during that time and seeing family photos from Halloween still on everyone’s Facebook profiles. Life was still moving for the world, but ours had stopped. Yet even in that pause, we saw God’s presence through others. We are thankful for the people who brought meals, mowed our grass, prayed all over the world, organized events, visited us in the hospital, and walked with us through that time. We will never forget you.

Now, more than a decade later, November 6 still brings tears, both sorrow and joy. It reminds us how fragile life is and how faithful God is.

Ephesians 3:20–21 says, “Now to him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to his power that is at work within us, to him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus throughout all generations, forever and ever. Amen.”

We have seen that power. We have seen miracles. We have seen grace.

Every year on this day, we tell our story again. It’s not easy, but it’s sacred. It reminds us to be grateful for life, for healing, for faith, for the people who stood beside us, and for the God who never left us.

Because He loved her.
Carly is healed. Carly is whole. Carly is strong.
And today, we celebrate that, her Alive Day.

As we look back, this story continues to shape how we see everything. Life and work both bring challenges, but every moment is a reminder that we are here for a purpose. Faith, family, and the people who walk beside us matter most. And like I shared in my last post, problems aren’t punishment—they are preparation. This one was ours. And through it, we have seen that God truly does immeasurably more than we can ask or imagine.