Answers to Prayer

Answers to Prayer

It was October 24, 2005, a mid-day Monday, when my daughter, Molly, called me at work. It seems she and her friend, Laura, had run to Kohl's while the kids were in school, and there they had car problems. The serpentine belt had slipped out of position on Molly's Ford Escort ZX2 rendering it inoperable, so (--because she knew that her dad was on his first day of a weeklong layoff), she quickly called him for help. Knowing that Molly had to make it back to her home before our eldest granddaughter, Lili, stepped off the school bus (a 40 minute drive at best), my husband, Dave, rushed there to meet her.

Dave originally thought he could do all the repairs from under the hood. Then, by the time he arrived he didn't have a moment to do anything but hurry. Molly and Laura already had the hood up and were trying to ease the belt back into position before he got there, but they were having no luck. Quickly, then, he jacked up the car and took the wheel off, then slid underneath the car to push the tension pulley up from below, while Molly and Laura -- working under the hood -- pulled and pulled, trying to stretch it back into place. And they were making progress. Dave decided it needed just one more good tug. And that's when the car slipped off the jack landing squarely on Dave's upper chest, shoulder, and mostly, his FACE!

* * *

When Molly called me her voice was so breathless, shrill, and shattered with emotion that it was almost impossible for me to understand her at all. I finally pieced together that she was at Kohl's and that her car had somehow fallen on someone. So I relayed that much back to her, and asked her to repeat to me slowly exactly who the car had fallen on. Realizing even as I asked the question that there were no good answers, still, I was nowhere near prepared for what I was about to hear: "Dad."

"Your Dad?" I asked in a voice that sounded hysterical and seemed like it was coming from someone else. "Yes", she mournfully groaned. "What part of him, Molly?" I heard myself plead and half sob. She answered, "It came down mostly on his upper chest and head."

My God! A car had fallen on my husband was resting on his chest and head!

I left work immediately, my mind grasping toward sanity and calm. I was trying so hard to steer clear of strong emotional undertow, yet my strong, rational side kept stubbornly interjecting. My thoughts came in spurts, all of them terrifying. I figured my husband just had to be dead or dying, or disfigured and crushed, or paralyzed, or brain damaged. No matter how I turned things over in my mind, life as we knew it just had to be over. The hideous parade of prospects all seemed so staggering! After all, who has a car fall on them only to walk away, then, free and clear? Because I simply could imagine no good outcome, and because I needed all the strength I had just to proceed, I bargained with myself NOT to think; to imagine no further. I decided I'd face whatever I had to face once I got there. Surely that would be soon enough.

I turned to prayer, but all I could muster was drivel in short sputters and spurts: "God, be with Dave!" "Jesus, help my husband!" "Oh God, let him be alright!" My usual eloquence failed me completely; The very best I could do was to muster the barest bones of a plea and hope that somehow that would suffice.

* * *

It had rained that day so all under the car it was damp. Immediately, Dave said he was in a life-and-death struggle just to breathe, as his nose was pressed closed, and his mouth was mostly pinned shut. The car weighed heavily on his chest. Unable to get enough air, he quickly knew an eerie panic, as all he could manage was the shallowest of irregular gasps. His glasses had been molded to him.

Precious seconds slowly ticked by. Molly frantically began trying to work the jack, but the handle had slipped out of position, and she couldn't remember how to re-fit it. She was screaming for help, terrified that she was gonna have to watch her father -- her hero of hero's -- die like that. Laura (she's not quite 5' tall, and thin, maybe 80 lbs.; Molly's much taller -- 5' 9-ish -- but extremely thin -- she's barely 100 lbs.) ran into the store hollering for someone, PLEASE, to call 9-1-1. Two elderly ladies followed her back through the parking lot and together the four of them began trying to hoist the car off of him.

Dave said that for one brief moment his rescue ladies somehow were able to lift the car just high enough for him to be able to get in one good deep breath of air and pull his glasses off, but that mostly it just seemed like things were taking forever. He said he was replaying stories he'd heard of people who died under cars in similar mishaps, and he felt for sure that he was about to become one of them. Too, he was pretty convinced his face was smashed, especially as everything seemed to be oozing and dripping so much moisture. An ambulance was called. More minutes passed. Finally a man in his 40's rushed over, helping the ladies lift. Somehow, then, they were able to lift the car just high enough and long enough for Dave to scoot sideways and free himself.

His rescue ladies, flustered and frightened, immediately began asking Dave if he was okay. Still in the process of taking personal inventory, earnestly he answered, "That depends. How does my face look? " They both said they thought he looked okay;

" What'd you look like before?"

A classically quick-witted Dave responded with great comic relief, "Clark Gable." They both laughed, then wagging their hands in wave-like fashion, they bobbled their heads, and said, "You're fine."

* * *


Molly called me again on my cell phone. Incredulous this time, though still severely shaken, she kept trying to convince and reassure me that somehow her Dad seemed to be in great shape, though he did have a nasty gash on one elbow that would probably require many stitches to close. She kept saying, "He's fine, Mom. Really, I think he's fine." But that didn't even make sense! Repeatedly, I kept insisting that he go straight to the hospital; after all, he could just be in shock. Or what if the severe head trauma symptoms I was expecting were just somewhat delayed? My God: Only moments before he had a car resting on his head for-goodness-sakes! She told me the ambulance was still on it's way. At that point I had retrieved my grand-daughter, Lili, from home, so I'd just bring her along with me. We all agreed to meet at the hospital

* * *

Dave then stubbornly refused the ambulance, telling them that when he was ready he'd just have his daughter take him to the hospital, but first he needed to replace the wheel, tighten the lugs, and clean up his mess, which he did. But then, even when all that was finished, he insisted that Molly take him to Sears first (because, at that point, they were so geographically close) so he could get his glasses repaired. About this time Dave and I spoke via cell phone. Exasperated, I told him he'd just better make it to the hospital before me! Lucky for him, he did.

At Sears, the optical department receptionist asked a very dirty and disheveled Dave what he was there for. When he explained that he had just gotten his new glasses there that were now in dire need of repair, she told him to sign in and just take a seat; that they'd get to him. In the waiting room there was a rather large group of people thumbing through magazines, glancing at their watches, all waiting their turn in line first. An overwrought Molly, then, simply could bear up no longer: "This man just had a car fall on his face and is on his way to the hospital. Isn't there any way you could take him NOW??!!" Needless to say, they did.

As they were leaving Sears, Dave decided that he needed to use the restroom. Then, standing at the sink, he caught sight of himself in the mirror and was embarrassed at how filthy his face was, so he washed-up thoroughly.

As it turns out, this contributed to much confusion once he reached the hospital. The intake nurse in the ER asked what he was there for. He said, "I just had a car fall on me." "Where?", she asked. "Mostly on my face." he answered matter- of -factly. She moved closer, studying him carefully before responding (her voice a bit sing-song; she was probably trying hard to mask her amusement), "You don't look like you just had a car fall on your face." "Well I did!," Dave answered.

Turns out, nobody in the ER readily believed him. After replaying the details before a couple of similarly skeptical nurses, a doctor finally came in, and, after posing a few quick questions himself, began administering a sobriety test. Dave (--a retired policeman) recognized the test immediately and, not knowing whether he should feel more amused or insulted, gently called him on it: "Look, I know what you're doing and I don't need a sobriety test. I haven't been drinking and I don't do drugs. I REALLY DID just have a car fall on my face." The doctor, a bit flustered, tried to assure Dave that they use that test for many different things; that they use it also to check for neurological damage. …Maybe.

Dave was x-rayed and thoroughly evaluated. The wound on his elbow required 14 stitches to close. But other than that, however, he really was fine.

That night, then, as the terrible, terrible panic slowly, slowly subsided, an odd euphoria took it's place and I began to feel giddy with relief, and so very blessed! After all, Dave had received an absolute miracle! He had survived what could have/what should have been a fatal accident, and had done so almost entirely unscathed!

Then, as each of our four adult children joined us in the hospital ER, I got to watch as all kinds of other smaller miracles gently unfolded all around me. Two of my kids that are pretty much polar opposites, and who, very often, are not on speaking terms, were belly-laughing together over the silly, slapstick telling and retelling of details, themselves almost glowing, feeling visibly blessed and grateful, totally caught up in the enjoying of each other's (and our) company.

Another two who's relationship is all-to-often marred by the strain of competition, called each other to verify "the facts," (as what I had told the one seemed nonsensical; and the other was right there with us). They talked for a very long time, sometimes laughing hard and silly, other times in more somber, comforting tones. I found myself absolutely marveling as each of our kids in turn helped us to rewrite this most horrendous of tragedies into a very serious, yet sometimes silly, full-family celebration.

* * *

Okay, here's the thing: I'm very much a praying person, and every single day I pray for each of my family members by name. I pray for their health and safety first, and for their personal intentions -- their desires, goals, needs, interests, all that vary with time. I pray them wisdom in their decisions. I pray peace and happiness in their homes. More than anything, I pray for their faith and their salvation. And, then, because I've watched so many families split and grow apart as children become adults and make decisions -- both good and bad -- that result in each assuming lives very much of their own making, I pray for real closeness within OUR family between all our adult children.

Thus, it grieves me terribly as often as I begin to see rifts or splits in MY family, between MY kids, as, with all my heart, I long for us to be different; for everyone raised under this umbrella to quietly do the work, and to tend the repairs enough that we all remain close. --To build bridges -- a lot of bridges. To be support for one another. And, because everyone grows at their own pace) to be patient and tolerant of differences -- especially in areas of politics, religion, even morality and priority choices -- whether these be large or small.

So when things don't seem to be going that way, it just shakes me to my core. And because time has taught me that any coaxing or advise on my part is usually unwelcome, instead I've learned to funnel my fears into prayer, and then, with great patience paired with great hope, to just wait. And wait. And wait.

I even have this prayer mantra that gets me through the toughest and most trying parts of each day. I close my eyes, hunker-down on the inside, center myself in God's presence, and, with all my strength prayerfully repeat the phrase, "Loving people is HARD!" because it is! It's WORK! And it's the hardest work I've ever done. But maybe that's just how it's supposed to be. At any rate, this works for me; it's holds me to task as often as I'm tempted to rant or despair.

So, let me tell you, it gets real discouraging for me when -- as time slowly passes; as days turn to weeks, then to months, then to years -- I watch all my work and pleading before the Lord seem to produce zero fruit: When stubbornness stubbornly persists; every single time harsh words fly; when hardened attitudes and false fronts continue to mask fears of rejection, or the kind of defensiveness that happens when you know you're wrong; when the ones I love remain stuck in the same going-nowhere cycles, or especially in the same sins; and as often as pride outweighs love as our family's chief barometer of well-being.

Yet experience has taught me, too, just to keep praying, to keep waiting. More often than not, I've found, that graces do come.

October 24th was one of those days when I sat in wonder and awe and silently watched as miracles and graces -- like the tiniest of shimmering fairies -- lit gently all around me. When I could see with my own eyes evidences of prayers being answered. When I could feel the strong stirring of hope, as it simmered and bubbled warm within, and when love shone again as brilliant, as radiant as sunbeams streaming down from heaven to earth, eclipsing even the cloudiest sky.

Dave's near-miss accident reaffirmed for me that, DEEP DOWN, we all really do need and absolutely treasure each other, and that, somehow, we always seem to be here for each other, no matter what. Because of that, I think our family really is very, VERY blessed.

Regarding any new discouragements plus the myriad assortment of those that, I'm sure, await, alas, we are all, at best, imperfect people, trapped in this imperfect world. Yet, continually I see abundant reasons for hope.

So I guess I'll just keep praying.