Eleven years ago my youngest son, Lance, had a horrendous automobile crash, flipping over a freeway embankment so fast his car burned and blew up. He was thrown out of the car, and when he was finally found, his body had struck so many trees that every bone in his body was broken or dislocated. He was taken by helicopter to an emergency hospital, and during that time two fist-sized holes were drilled into his head to reduce the pressure on his brain.

I was a good two-hour drive away when I got the call. My two cousins immediately got me into a car and tried to keep me calm until we reached the hospital.

When I arrived at the emergency ward, I was told I could not see my son until a doctor could see me. I waited in the waiting room for over a half hour before going back to his bed without permission. He was not hooked up to any machine, nor was anyone paying him any attention. He was in a far corner of the room, alone, while every other area of the room was a flurry of activity. He was unconscious and had a gauze-like blanket tossed carelessly over him. His body was blue and swollen, and as I reached out to touch him, it felt as cold as ice. I tried to lift his hand, but even with both of my hands I was unable to move his even a fraction. Finally, I pried his fingers apart and was able to hold onto one finger while I reined in my terror and started talking.

Although I didn't know what to say, words kept coming on their own. I told him his mom, father, and cousins were there and that we all loved him. I told him I needed him. I kept repeating the same things over and over.

He had no noticeable pulse. I knew he had to be dead, but I couldn't accept it. I just continued talking, trying to revive my son.

Suddenly after about an hour, I heard a kind of energy or ticking sound that seemed at first to be far away and quickly got closer and closer.

The ticking sound was followed by a gust of icy air, and I heard my son's voice. It was loud and did not come directly from his body but maybe four or five feet away from his bed.

Lance in the hospital.
"Mom! You're here! You're always here, Mom. I love you, Mom." Suddenly I could breathe again. Everyone in the emergency area who heard the voice came running. I stood there almost crying with joy and humility because I'd gotten to see God.

Lance needed complete facial reconstruction. He had a pierced inner eardrum and possible brain damage. He also had a badly injured kneecap that eventually had to be replaced. The biggest fear that his spine might be disconnected. Quickly the tests proved it was about as close to being disconnected as possible and not be so. There was a two-year recovery necessary for this young man, who was just 20 at the time.

My husband and I were in the process of ending a 24-year marriage. A week previously I had had mouth surgery, with several tooth implants removed, leaving my jawbone severely weakened. After many telephone calls to my husband, he finally arrived at the hospital. He had to be driven by his brother, because the day before he had broken his tibia and was unable to walk. While I was wheeling him in to see our son, he suddenly put the brakes on the wheelchair--and the pressure of my pushing against it caused my jawbone to break.

When my son’s two-week hospital stay ended, I took him home, only to discover his behavior had changed drastically. His father had moved out, and we were alone. Lance sometimes wandered the streets late at night, was generally confused and angry—and even talked of burning down the empty houses at the end of the street. I contacted a doctor who specialized in brain injuries and placed Lance into a group home to be observed for four more months. Once a week I continued to drive him back to the hospital for follow-ups on his many surgeries.

My broken jaw made it impossible for me to eat solid foods, and soon my weight dipped from 110 down to 70 pounds. I was physically and emotionally distressed, doing only what was necessary and always in a haze.

Lance today.
The only thing that allowed me to go on during this time was being able to vividly recall the sounds and feelings of the miracle in the emergency ward, which I know was God’s presence. Even now, eleven years later, it is as clear to me as it was then. My doubts were permanently removed.

Lance has no memory of anything that happened until he was well into recovery at the hospital. Today, at 31, he is married and attends college while working a part-time job. He is studying to become a vet technician and may eventually become a veterinarian. He loves animals and wants to help them survive and thrive.

His miracle was the healing of his body, but my miracle was much greater than a mere body, it was a cleansing of my soul.

Join the Discussion
comments powered by Disqus