We are hard-pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair; persecuted, but not abandoned; struck down, but not destroyed.” (2 Corinthians 4:8–9)
My boys walked away with nothing more than severe seatbelt burns and one fractured jaw. Their dad was transferred to a major hospital in Jackson with a broken shoulder, hip, and ribs, and my daughter to a children’s hospital. They told me to rest because of my concussion—but does sitting upright in a stiff chair beside my daughter’s bed until 5 AM count as rest? She was trying so hard to be brave, but the pain was unbearable. Her surgery was scheduled for 7 AM.
I called my pastor, who sent out the alert to many. What a gift it is to be able to call one person and know you are instantly carried on the prayers of many. My adult daughters drove six hours to meet us. With my concussion I barely remember details, but I will never forget the glory of hearing (I couldn’t see well) them step into protect-and-nurture mode, knowing my mind wasn’t running on all cylinders. They made sure their brothers were cared for and even got them to their coaches so they could still make their annual tournament in Ohio. God provides seamlessly, doesn’t He?
When my daughter was rolled into surgery, I was alone in the waiting room—looking for a charger, calling my greatest prayer warrior friend, trying to keep faith. I finally laid halfway across a bench, and just then, an angel in uniform walked up and asked if I needed food. He disappeared and came back with Chick-fil-A—my favorite salad—which tasted like heaven itself. My daughter spent five nights in that hospital, grappling with the fact that after sitting out from all seasons of sports last year due to injury, now she was looking at another?! How does a teen make sense of loss upon loss?! My angel-sister drove six hours to stay with us, making sure every need was met. I will never forget those five nights on that couch. Sleep was almost impossible, and PTSD tried to creep in with hyperarousal, flashbacks, and nightmares. I finally prayed: God, where were You?
In a still, small voice He answered: “Daughter, I had angels packed in your car like cotton balls.” All at once, PTSD lost its grip.
The assurance that flooded my soul in that moment was the most powerful and lasting peace I’ve ever known—the best muscle relaxer, the best anxiety medicine, the best balm for my mind and body. But I had one more question. “God, why did we lose our sweet dog?” Again, He whispered gently: “Sarah, you have your children.”
Ahh. Got it. You are absolutely right. 10-4. No more questions. Thank God all my children are safe and will heal. Please, Lord, just provide a good home for my puppy.
We were two hours from the crash site now, and I had to brace myself that we might never see her again. How many angels were assigned to us over those weeks of summer… don’t start counting yet. There are more.
Part 3 coming soon…
