It was March 6th.  A Monday.  The trip was to Orlando, Florida on a ministry trip for 24-7 Prayer.  This awesome church planting convention called Exponential was taking place and they were partnering with 24-7 Prayer to bring a pop-up prayer space to their event so people could retreat there to pray between sessions.  Tim and I had just stepped into leading a team responsible for multiplying prayer spaces, and I wanted to meet some of the people on our team in person, as they are scattered throughout the United States.  I wanted to build relationships, and bring what I had to offer to the event.

So I packed my backpack the night before and I recorded a video for the kids to see when they woke up … and in the morning I actually almost missed my flight.  We overslept.  The alarm didn’t go off.  The taxi called and said they’d been waiting outside.  I threw my clothes on, poured my coffee in a to-go mug, kissed Tim goodbye, and was out the door in 5 minutes flat.  I clocked it.  

 I’d struggled with leaving on that trip for a long time, because I didn’t want to leave the kids for four whole days.  I’d never left them that long.  But whenever I prayed about going, I felt it was right to go.  And it was great.  At the gate, I met up with my supervisor in 24-7 work, as well as my collaborator and friend, and everything just got better.  We started dreaming together.  We started talking about real-life plans for dreams that I’d been holding inside of me for nearly a decade.  I was full to the brim.

But after the flight, everything was about to change.  I didn’t make it to the Exponential conference. I didn’t get to help set up the prayer room as I planned.  I didn’t get to build those relationships I’d traveled to Florida to build.  I got in a Lyft with my friend, headed from the airport to the church to start setting up.  We were still talking about dreams and plans.  I was texting Tim, trying to keep him in the loop of the exciting topics.  He was taking the kids around town dropping off printed flyers for our upcoming Holy Wednesday prayer event.  And then I look up, and I see our driver slamming his brakes as hard as he could.  You know – clutching the steering wheel and pressing one foot all the way down on the brake pedal, straight-armed and braced for impact.  There was a sea of cars ahead – all stopped.  And at first I thought we were fine.  We’d made it.  We hadn’t hit the cars ahead.  And then I felt the impact from behind and everything faded.

When I came to, it was over.  We were in the car.  Blue airbags had covered all the windows, even the passenger windows, and there was this blue hue through the car from the sun beating against them.  My legs were up on the armrest between the two front seats. My friend was unconscious.  The driver was yelling at someone.  And when my friend came to, she started to pray this beautiful prayer that still challenges me to this day – that response of prayer even when completely dazed and wounded and traumatized – and then she started talking to the first responders who were yelling through the busted back window.  I was so grateful she was alive.  Honestly, I didn’t know if she was before that point.  

They had to cut us out.  I don’t remember that.  I don’t remember the sound of the saw.   I just remember them getting the door open and asking if I could get out.  My shoulder hurt and I felt nauseous, but I wanted nothing more but to leave that car, so I obediently clamored out.  I didn’t think of anything else.  I didn’t think of my backpack or my phone or my pillow or my water bottle.  I didn’t even think of the fact that there were no glasses on my face.  And that’s a doozy because I’m pretty blind without them.  I didn’t think of anything but leaving the car.  They got me on a stretcher and into the ambulance and I remember realizing that my breathing wasn’t right.  The air felt like bubbles moving through my chest.

The next few days were a bit of a blur.  I don’t even remember when I found out we had been hit by a semi truck. I remember realizing I didn’t have a phone on me at first and a nurse letting me use the hospital cell phone to call Tim and tell him what had happened.  That was my first moment of slight panic – not waking up in a crashed car, but realizing I had no way to contact Tim.  I was so grateful my phone later made its way to me, though, because it was an invaluable link to the outside world and to my support network of family and friends.  I could ask for prayer, even when I wasn’t quite ready yet to pray myself. 

Tests revealed several fractured ribs, microfractures of the lumbar spine, a semi-collapsed lung, and a substantial concussion.  They kept insisting I stay ahead of my pain, because if I limited my breath due to pain, it could lead to my lung not reinflating and contracting pneumonia, so they pushed IV pain meds frequently.  Whenever the meds were pushed, it was only moments before I felt the sensation move throughout my whole body, and I was quickly to a dazed and disoriented place for hours.  

When I first entered the hospital, I was pretty much unable to move.  I couldn’t sit up or turn over on my own. I had to have an oxygen mask covering both my nose and mouth to breath well enough.  To move me, it would take multiple nurses lifting my bedsheet.   I remember being scared to eat or drink.  With my lung being collapsed, my whole chest just felt unstable and compromised.  The first time I cried was on the second day in the hospital, when a kind ER nurse helped me walk for the first time so I could make it to the bathroom on my own.  I wasn’t crying because it hurt – I was crying as a first expression of grief, as I assessed this body of mine, which less than 2 days ago was a healthy and functioning mobile 34 year old body.  I was lamenting the injuries and the weakness and my path which had so quickly changed.

I’m so grateful, though, that I had people surround me who were willing to help me process trauma, to love me and to care for my various needs.  Several friends from 24-7 stopped by to pray and talk with me.  And, on my third day in the hospital, my brother and sister-in-law flew to be with me.  They took me under their wing in the most beautiful and practical of ways.  Between my family, my in laws, my church back home, and the church in Orlando, my whole family was cared for on all fronts.

I’ll never forget Tim arriving in Orlando to bring me home.  I had hit a wall of fatigue and brain fog and had to lay down for a nap. I knew he’d landed, but he wasn’t to me yet. In the aftermath trauma of my accident, all I could see as I napped there was the nightmare scenario of him being in a similar accident, and the horrifying image of what my life would be without him. Then I saw in our linked email the Uber receipt, and such a wave of relied and gratitude washed over me. That receipt meant he was safe. The next day we started a several-day journey home by car because I was not cleared to fly with my lung. And even that was a gift, because it afforded time to read and cry through various Psalms, saying them out loud again and again, declaring that the Truth is true, even when I’m hurting and my life has turned upside down. It afforded time to process and to worship to the full extent my lungs would let me, filling them up with breath let out in praise.

I’m blown away by the Church.  I’m blown away.  I don’t know how to put it into words fully.  Every need has been so beautifully cared for – even the desires that I would never even think to voice as needs.  Since I’ve been home, we’ve had both groceries and meals provided, clothes washed, our house cleaned, money given, our kids watched, and today our yard worked on.  The Church is beautiful when she functions in unity this way, rising up to care for the weaker parts when they are in need, trusting that when those weaker parts are strong again, they will serve others parts in need.  One body, working together and loving one another through the tough stuff – spurring each other onwards in good work, and in unison saying “Amen” to every promise of God.

It’s been a struggle since I’ve been home between fatigue and back pain and trying to process what I went through. I’ve struggled a lot with the Why. Why did this happen? I’ve studied out Job. I’m studying Acts. I’ve studied out what the Epistles have to say on trials, hardships, and suffering. But I keep coming back to the why and testing my thoughts against Truth. What I’ve been settling into is that as I follow Him, I will face trouble. It’s promised throughout the New Testament. We are told to rejoice in those times, and that it produces perseverance and hope that will not disappoint. We are told that it’s refining and strengthening our faith. And I know that as I’m working towards the other side of this, my “Yes” is so much stronger. I’m standing saying “Yes. I will face hardships in my pursuit of You and being used by You. And it is well with my soul. I trust You and Your heart and intentions towards me, and I put myself in Your hands. Yes. I will follow you, trials and all.”

So I just want to say thank you. I’m still working through it. I’m seeing an orthopedic surgeon, physical therapist, and pulmonologist. I’m seeking out spiritual counsel. I’ve still been unable to lift the kids or mentally able to handle the stimuli of watching them alone as I’ve quickly gotten weakened or hit with strong headaches, which is of course a lot on Tim. I’m working through what it looks like to pick up my roles again as I heal but also letting myself heal and giving myself grace for that process. Thank you for your prayers that have continued to lift me and the practical ways you’ve aided our family in this time. Your encouragements have helped us through the dark night of this, and has helped strengthen me in the war-cry of my “yes!” So, for all of you who have prayed for that heart journey,

I want to encourage you that I have not laid down that yes, even through the wrestle, and we are here and we are in it. We will carry this banner of love with you, Church, to the hurting and dying of this world. We won’t lay down our yes., Thank you for holding up our arms in the battle.

This was the first worship song that began to cut through the trauma and bring me close to the Father in my pain. This song has been my song in the healing so I thought I’d share it.

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