A Year of Good Suffering | Crossroads Testimonials

Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me. Your rod and your staff, they comfort me. Psalm 23, verse 4. Is suffering? Suffering is a lot of things. But good? Not exactly the first word that comes to mind. The last year and a half of my life taught me a lot, most of all, that for followers of Jesus, suffering is indeed good. I want to tell you why I believe that. But first, I need to tell you the story, the story of my own suffering. My name is Mitch. I'm a husband to Colleen. I'm a dad to my wild little boy Cam. And I started a business with my brother Kevin. We're from Jacksonville, Florida, but we live in Cincinnati now, and we love it. Back in June of 2025, I flew to Oklahoma City to visit my friend and mentor, Kyle. The plan was to arrive Sunday and leave Tuesday. Quick trip, in and out. Those two days turned into the darkest three months of my entire life. The first thing on the schedule was a one-on-one jujitsu session at Kyle's gym. We rolled for two straight hours. I'd been practicing for about a month. Kyle is a brown belt with ten years of experience. Here's the short version, hardest workout of my life. Here's another short version. I got manhandled. Kyle was floating like a butterfly while I squirmed like a frantic cat trying to escape. Two hours, no breaks. Around the one hour mark, I felt a tightness in my gut. I thought maybe I'd pulled an ab so I kept going. By the end, it felt more like a tear. I sat down on the bench to catch my breath. When I tried to stand up straight, my core was locked. I literally could not straighten up. The pain was so intense, I almost blacked out. Kyle took me to the ER. They did a scan and saw nothing but a little inflammation. I figured I was just being soft. So I sucked it up and went back to the hotel. I didn't sleep at all. The next day I couldn't eat lunch. I couldn't eat dinner. At dinner, one of Kyle's friends looked at me and said, "You do not look good. You're pale. You're sweating and you can't eat. You need to go back to the ER." So we did. Another scan. And before I knew it, I was in an ambulance on my way to emergency surgery. I had a perforated intestine. In plain terms, a hole had blown open in my gut while we were rolling. By then, I was septic and near death. Four hours later, the surgeon came out, sighed and said, "I did the best I could." The way Kyle described it, it was as if I had died on the table. I didn't. But the surgeon was not encouraged.

I woke up to Kyle and to one of my best friends from high school, Michael and his wife, Kelly. My wife, our three-month-old baby boy and my parents all flew out to be with me. Thankfully, they booked one-way tickets. A week later, I wasn't getting better. At all. I was still badly infected. My wounds weren't healing. My energy was zero. I was pale and losing weight fast. After another week and more scans, they found that the repaired part of my intestine had torn open again. I was septic again. And another surgery so soon was very, very high risk. But what choice did I have? If I didn't go under the knife, I was a dead man. So it was time for emergency surgery, round two. Let me tell you what was going on in my head during that time. I was scrambled, confused, angry, but I was never afraid. I faced death not once but twice and I wasn't afraid. And I can't take credit for that. It had nothing to do with my bravery. The Holy Spirit was on me, giving me a spirit of power, of love and of a sound mind. We all love to quote the start of Psalm 23. The green pastures, the still waters. All true. But we usually stop at verse 3. Verse 4 doesn't say if I we will walk through dark seasons. That much is promised. But God points us to look not at the darkness itself, but at His presence in the middle of it, His rod and His staff, His discipline, His protection and His guidance. And I have no doubt I was under all three while I stare death in the face." I'm not claiming I was Mr. Faithful, calm, cool and collected, not even close, but I wasn't afraid. The Lord protected me from thoughts like, "What if I die? What if this is the last time I see my wife and my baby boy? Why now? Why me?" In my own strength, I would have chased every one of those thoughts. But in His strength, the Lord guarded my mind and gave me the strength to fight. Going into surgery, I prayed Psalm 23 and Psalm 27 over and over again, until I slipped into a deep sleep. I woke up more than six hours later. This time, the surgeon came out a little more confident, still not sure what recovery would look like, but more confident. A few weeks after that second surgery, still in the hospital in Oklahoma City, we found another hole in my small intestine. My body could not survive a third surgery, and the doctors knew it, so the plan was to wait as long as possible and hope my body would heal itself. That third surgery hung over my head for months. In mid-August, I was moved back to Ohio, to a hospital in Toledo. Nine days later, the team there said my case was "too complicated" and sent me to the Cleveland Clinic.

So now at September, I'm in Cleveland, coming up on three months of hospital beds. By then, I was almost numb. I fully expected a third surgery. Good health felt too far away to even imagine. I had forgotten what it felt like to be free of pain. I had forgotten what energy felt like. I had forgotten what strength felt like. In the darkest days, unless you decide on purpose to fix your eyes on hope, it's easy to start believing that this is just your life now. The surgeon at the Cleveland Clinic was preparing me for a high-risk third surgery. Then he said, "There is one other procedure we can try without operating, but it's uncommon, maybe a 10% chance it works." Here's where God's hand started to move. The two other hospitals didn't even know about this procedure. If I had stayed at either one, a third surgery was certain, and it lit my hope back up. I didn't hear 10%. All I heard was, "There's another option." But as that hope started to rise up in me, the Lord shook me a little. He never wanted me to put my hope in a procedure. He wanted to point my hope back to him. That's how the Lord works. He doesn't always pull you out of the storm, but he will always help you set your hope back where it belongs. The procedure was nicknamed a bear claw. They run a scope down to the problem area and close the hole with tiny surgical clips. No cutting needed. I lay in that hospital bed for six days, waiting my turn. Nervous? Yes. But at peace. No doubt. Once again, I prayed the psalms. Psalm 23, Psalm 27, and Psalm 144. Blessed be the Lord my rock who trains my hands for war and my fingers for battle, my loving kindness and my fortress, my high tower and my deliverer, my shield and the one in whom I take refuge. The Word of God holds power like nothing else. As those words left my lips, I felt peace and confidence and strength. I believed this would work. And there was still a quiet voice inside me, saying, "Even if this fails, the Lord is still my rock." I woke up from the procedure, groggy, but awake enough to ask the surgeon if it worked. We smiled at me and said, "I think we got it pretty good." I burst into tears. If the clips held while my intestine healed, I wouldn't need an emergency surgery. I can live with that. A couple of days later I left the Cleveland Clinic. The next few months were all about getting my weight and my strength back. Because my stomach had been cut open and stapled

shut twice, I couldn't stretch out for months. Every night, I slept sitting up in a recliner. So it was quite the celebration the day I could finally lie down flat in my own bed. By early December, I was back to normal life, working full time again, light workouts, sleeping flat. And one more thing. Just a few weeks ago, in late August of 2026, I had my third surgery. It was a miracle of sorts. The surgeons were able to repair everything without needing a fourth. I'm on the road back to full health, praise God. What you just heard is simply what happened. Next time, I want to talk about what a wilderness season is and why I believe I was right in the middle of one. Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil. For you are with me. [BLANK_AUDIO]