Hear Our Story
If you’ve been inspired by our fight, listen to us share our story and the hope that keeps us going.
Hear Our Story
If you’ve been inspired by our fight, listen to us share our story and the hope that keeps us going.
If you’ve been inspired by our fight, listen to us share our story and the hope that keeps us going.
If you’ve been inspired by our fight, listen to us share our story and the hope that keeps us going.
Here is our redeeming story and the why behind our continued fight.
We know we are a small part of a much bigger picture—but we also believe that small, intentional actions can spark meaningful, lasting change.
“Behold, He is making all things new.” — Revelation 21:5
A Story of Faith, Fight, and a Life Redeemed
Psalm 18:2
The Lord is my rock, my fortress, and my deliverer; my God is my rock in whom I will take refuge, my shield and the horn of my stronghold.
Candace and I met in 1991 while I was working for her sister and brother-in-law at a fitness center in Las Vegas called Family Fitness Center. I had recently gotten out of the Air Force in 1989 and had gone straight into the fitness industry, working as a sales counselor selling memberships for what was one of the fastest-growing fitness centers on the West Coast at the time. I stayed there for over eleven years, and her sister and brother-in-law were the managers and operators of the club.
One New Year’s Eve, I was at her sister’s house when Candace came downstairs briefly before heading out with friends. She was home from college for the holidays. We exchanged a quick hello, not knowing that moment would change both of our lives forever.
At the time, I was focused on building my career. Candace was finishing up at Dickinson College in Carlisle, Pennsylvania, with plans to become a doctor. She returned for one more semester to finish school and then came back to Las Vegas that summer and started working at Family Fitness Center as a salesperson.
By then, I had been promoted to Assistant Manager. We worked side by side and quickly realized we shared the same work ethic, discipline, and drive. Candace was taking two advanced chemistry classes, studying for the MCAT, and still working forty hours a week selling memberships. We won a company contest together and earned a cruise—and it was on that trip that our relationship truly began.
Shortly after, Candace was accepted into medical school. When she told me she might be leaving, I admitted that I didn’t want a long-distance relationship. She made the difficult decision to postpone medical school for a year so we could stay together.
Not long after that decision, everything changed.
Candace was involved in a serious car accident that resulted in herniated discs at L4 and S1. In 1991, she underwent a laminectomy, but complications followed. She developed an infection and ultimately required a spinal fusion a few years later.
The pain never truly went away.
About a year after her fusion, she was rear-ended by a distracted driver who thought traffic was already moving. The impact damaged her fusion and required another surgery.
Candace is an all-or-nothing person. She pushed through the pain the only way she knew how. Over time, pain management became a permanent part of her life. The medications were prescribed and monitored, but they never felt like enough.
We left Las Vegas and moved to Davenport, Iowa, to open our own fitness center called Fitness Express. After a few years, things didn’t work out with our business partners, and we moved to Round Rock, Texas. Unsure of what was next, I eventually bought an area development franchise with Office Pride and ran a commercial cleaning business for several years. After selling that business, Candace and I later moved to Alaska.
Throughout all of this, Candace traveled back to Las Vegas every six months to see her pain management doctor.
While we were in Round Rock, her pain and frustration led her down a darker path. She began drinking heavily. By 2008, she was consuming nearly 1.75 liters of vodka every other day while also taking about 35 milligrams of methadone daily.
Her health declined rapidly. She lost weight. Her memory began to fade. Her body was breaking down.
On January 15, 2012, a snowstorm hit Davenport. I briefly started our snowblower in the basement so it would be ready for the next day. The exhaust irritated Candace’s lungs and triggered uncontrollable coughing.
She sat down to watch TV, told me I was stressing her out, and asked me to take the remote. She stood up—and collapsed.
I heard a loud pop.
That sound was her heart stopping.
I called 911 and monitored her heartbeat until the fire department arrived. They began CPR but were unsure what was happening. Then an off-duty paramedic from Medic One arrived and immediately took control. He administered epinephrine and restarted her heart.
She was rushed to Genesis East Hospital, but doctors couldn’t keep her heart beating. Her body was filled with fluid, leaving no room for her heart to expand.
We soon learned that her pancreas had developed a massive cyst that ruptured into her lung, flooding her chest cavity and stopping her heart.
A doctor named David Pratt—who was about to retire—recognized the problem. He inserted a chest tube and drained the fluid, allowing her heart to beat again.
Candace was intubated and placed on life support.
The neurologist warned me that she was posturing and likely had severe brain damage. He suggested it might be time to let her go.
But God put it on my heart to fight.
I refused to give up.
Sixteen days later, Candace began breathing on her own.
She remained hospitalized for over sixty days. She weighed only 79 pounds. She was placed on Keppra for neurological complications. Her body shook uncontrollably. Her balance was gone. She had to relearn how to walk, eat, and perform daily functions.
At the time, we didn’t yet understand that her brain injury would be permanent.
But Candace was determined.
A nurse wrote on the whiteboard in her room:
“She likes to walk and work out.”
That became her mission.
I brought resistance bands to the hospital. We walked the halls together multiple times a day. Candace walked every hour, day and night. She fell. She hit her head. She got back up.
Movement was the only time she didn’t feel pain.
Her room became a place of worship. We played praise music 24/7. Doctors, nurses, and staff came just to meet her—the woman who wasn’t supposed to live.
But she did.
Today, Candace walks with a walker. Her body still carries the scars. Her brain injury changed her life forever.
But her spirit is unbreakable.
At the gym, people approach her every week. They tell her they’ve been watching her. They say she inspires them. They say they had to meet her.
They don’t just see a woman learning to walk again.
They see courage.
They see discipline.
They see joy.
They see hope.
And whether they realize it or not, they see Jesus.
Candace boldly shares her faith. She tells everyone that Christ is her Lord and Savior—and the only reason she’s alive. She prays daily to meet someone who needs Him.
People don’t come to her because of her walker.
They come because of her light.
People often ask why I chose to keep Candace on life support when doctors suggested otherwise.
The answer is simple.
If our roles were reversed, she would have fought for me.
I believe God saved her life for a reason. And I believe that reason is still unfolding.
Candace is living proof that miracles still happen. That love still fights. That faith still heals. That hope still rises.
And that sometimes, when the world says it’s over…
God says, not yet.
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Temple, TX, USA
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