The Post That Has Taken a Year To Write

Honestly, this experience was part of my decline in blogging.  I had to shut the world off.
I had to create a space of faith.  I had to hide from the world and rely on God. Blogs and stauts updates and online life felt superficial and wrong.

One year ago, my newly driving son took his brothers for a little drive. They had some chore money burning a hole in their pockets, and off they went to buy some goodies. I loved that they were being brothers, together.

Just a few minutes after they left, the phone rang. My husband answered and left like a tornado.
 My son had hit a man on a motorcycle.


Here.

As I drove to the scene, I tried to calm myself. Be calm. Breathe. Don't get mad. Don't let my husband get too mad.  But being mad would have been a dream.

As I got closer I saw people everywhere. Cops everywhere. Ambulance. Firetruck. I wanted to tell them to go home, go back inside. This is no big deal.

But I saw then.... the helicopter.

A body.

My worst nightmare.

My son came to me, crying. "I didn't do anything wrong, Mom, I promise."

I remember  his thin body shaking in my arms.  Witnesses vouched for him. They saw him stop, they saw him look, no goofing off or texting, but stopping and looking doesn't help when a motorcycle is in your blind spot.

I gathered up my  kids, and we sat, crying, praying, clinging to each other, as my husband talked to police and filled out papers.  We watched from this corner, sitting at the fence. (there was no snow last year, but I couldn't go back to take pictures until now) It was an orchestra of emergency workers and medical helpers.

A kind couple helped me with the kids, I remember the wife saying "just keep praying", and being told that her husband had joined with another man in laying their hands on the victim's head and calling upon the Lord to bless this man. ( Yes, I love my religion)

His condition was unstable. They thought they would lose him at any moment. It was an hour or two before they were cleared to put him in the copter to be life-flighted. We waited until that point, and then we went home and sat.

What do you do next?

We cried and prayed and sat numb, and finally loaded up to go to the hospital. We decided to go, just to say sorry...just to show them we were real people and we hurt too and we wanted to help. I couldn't think beyond that.

Well this man's family was sitting stunned, they were in shock, They were in pain.

But as we entered the lobby and through tears said who we were guess what they did....

his wife and his mother (who had lost her husband, this man's father only 6 months earlier) embraced my son. They held him, they told him not to worry, they told him it wasn't his fault...and all this as their loved one lay dying in the other room.  The strength they had to forgive us was beyond words. I hope I could do the same in their situation.

I can not express the anguish that took over my soul.  In the Book of Mormon we read of Enos, who literally wrestled all night with pain and intensity in prayer as he sought the Lord. I had an Enos night.

I wrestled all night, pleading to understand and begging for faith. The minutes were like an eternity.

He survived the night. He survived a few days.  He survived the weeks...his bones shifted and began to heal with out surgery.

The Doctors declared miracles.

Our family had much to work through- so much to process, so much to face, but rest assured we were not alone.

God was there every minute.

Every breath, every movement.

We kept going. We were supported. We felt loved. 

 At times my throat would close, my legs would give out and I would fall to the floor, thinking of the possibility that my had son killed a man in a motorcycle accident.  It seemed too much to wrap my brain around. I was sure I would die of a broken heart.

But in an instant it would stop. It was as if I was lifted, held, guided.

It was then that something much bigger, much better gave me strength. And I went on.

There  are so many things I can't express, so many things I can't put here now, but I had to share some of  this story because I am now a much more keen witness of the power of prayer, and God's mercy.

I wish I could shout it.  I wish I could tell of all the miracles I have seen in my lifetime.

Truth be told, people tell me I am different. Good. I should be.

I have experienced the unbelievable.

The man still lives, and a chance encounter found me meeting up with his mother yesterday.  We cried together and she gave me a bit of an update. He has his struggles (if you are reading this please pray for us in March, as he is seeking more intense medical treatment), but he has changed as well. His life has shifted, he is growing, and his mother feels it all happened for a reason.  Imagine the faith it takes for her to even say that. There are still kind, beautiful, forgiving people in this world.

Why I am writing this now, after a year?

I can't say. The year that has passed still swirls in my brain. But there it is.

Please, please, please, wherever you are and whatever mountain you have to climb know this....you do not have to climb it alone. Surrender to God and his ever beloved Son.

Don't listen to the world when they try to tell you He isn't real.

I am telling you.

He is.

(photo from rememberyourfirstlove - pinterest)