God Heard Me: Six Days That Changed Everything

Flat Feet and Blood Clots

I was born with flat feet, and growing up, it often felt like I was walking on Lego blocks—or rocks buried in concrete. That pain followed me throughout childhood and into adulthood. My right foot always hurt worse, but both feet were constantly aching. It wasn’t just uncomfortable—it changed the way I walked, the way I stood, and the way I lived.

Eventually, the pain became unbearable. That’s when I ended up needing foot surgery.

The First Surgery

The doctor asked which foot hurt more, and I told him the right one. That’s where we started. What began as a plan to fix a flat foot turned out to be much more complicated. During surgery, they shaved four bones in my right foot. But then they discovered something no one had caught before—my tendon was torn. They had to repair it and put it back in place.

I didn’t even know how long I had been walking around on a torn tendon.

Turns out, I had no arch in either foot. My feet were rotated inward almost 90 degrees, and I had pain in both hips. I was never a sports kind of guy, but I had always tried to stay active—I was even in the marching band with my brother back in high school. All those drills under the hot sun started to catch up with me.

The Pain, The Cast, and The Faith

After surgery, I was put in a soft cast the first week, then a hard cast the next. I was propping my foot up with pillows, in a lot of pain, but determined to get through it. What helped me keep going? My family, especially my mom, and my faith in God. I kept reminding myself: this too shall pass.

But what came next… I didn’t see it coming.

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A New Battle: Chest Pain, Fear, and the ER

Just days after the surgery, I started feeling pain in my chest, radiating to my right shoulder. I tried to brush it off. I didn’t want to worry my mom—she was already doing everything around the house while I was recovering. But I was grunting, struggling to breathe, and deep down I knew something was wrong.

One night, after everyone had gone to bed, the pain got worse.

It was midnight when I went to lie down, and by 6 a.m., I couldn’t take it anymore. I sat up and told my brother,

“I don’t know if I’m going to make it, man.”

My mom heard me, and without hesitation, she rushed me to the hospital.

The Diagnosis: DVT and Blood Clots

At the ER, they ran tests and found that the trauma from my foot surgery caused a deep vein thrombosis (DVT) behind my knee. That clot had traveled up into my lungs and caused blood clots near my heart.

The pain? Unimaginable.
The fear? Overwhelming.
The faith? Unshaken.

I spent six days in the hospital, foot in a cast, hardly sleeping, with doctors checking on me constantly. My mom, my stepdad, my grandma, my brothers, and even my church family were all praying for me. That’s when I knew—I was facing one of God’s toughest battles. But I also knew… I was built to win this war.

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Why I Say “Trust the Process”

Since that moment, I’ve lived by a simple motto:

“Trust the Process.”

It’s not just words—it’s how I got through one of the scariest times in my life. When life threw pain, fear, and uncertainty at me, I trusted in God’s will. I stayed grounded in my faith in God. I kept going.

I’m not perfect. I make mistakes. I mess up sometimes.
But I always look for a way to fix them.
I always look for God’s hand in the healing.

And if you’re reading this and going through something—whether physical, emotional, or spiritual—let this be your reminder:

You’re stronger than you think.
You’re not alone.
And this too shall pass.

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Final Thoughts

I never thought a foot surgery would lead to blood clots near my heart. I never had expected to go from bone shaving and tendon repair to struggling to breathe in the middle of the night. But I came out of it stronger. Wiser. More faithful than ever.

Whatever storm you’re in right now—trust the process.
It may not make sense now, but it’s part of something greater.

— David Gillespie

Daniel’s Perspective:
Those six days felt like forever. I wasn’t used to being apart from my brother—we were always side by side. And in those long, quiet moments without him, I remember wishing I could’ve taken his place.

I’ll never forget the sound of his screams. Something in my spirit told me something was deeply wrong. I asked him in the middle of the night if he was okay, and even through the pain, he told me, “Nothing is wrong. I’m okay.” But the next day, David was in the hospital.

For six days straight, I prayed like never before. I laid my hands on him and cried out, “Heal him, Jesus. Cover him in your blood.” I held on to faith with everything I had. I visited as much as I could—just to talk, to crack a few jokes, to remind him he wasn’t alone. In my quiet moments with God, I made a promise: If You bring David through this, I’ll never stop thanking You.

And I haven’t.

I watched my brother fight through something that could’ve ended his life. But instead of it breaking him, it built him up. Now I see a version of David that’s stronger—physically, mentally, and spiritually. His survival was a miracle. And every time I look at him, I see proof that prayer changes things and that God was with us every step of the way