Today is my thirty-sixth birthday. I celebrate this day every year though most people do not remember the significance of this date for me. I was born in June, but I should have died in the early morning hours of September 8, 1985. The only explanation for my continuing to exist on this side of heaven is God.
I was eighteen and had just completed two weeks of college volleyball workouts at the local community college. I had stayed out way too late, and because I did not feel safe at my friend’s house because of his roommate I chose to drive home when it was very late and I was tired. I thought I could dig deep and make it home. I was wrong.
It took about eight months to remember, but I do remember going to sleep. I put the palms of my hands together, laid them against my cheek, and as I laid down toward the passenger’s seat I thought, I will just sleep until the bridge then I will wake up and drive the rest of the way home. My foot relaxed onto the gas pedal and I flew down the coastal highway in the pre-dawn hours.
The truck made it about two miles down the road before crossing all lanes and hitting one of those side bumps meant to help cars bounce back onto the
road, but at the angle I hit, I took flight instead. At 5:55 a.m. Sunday, September 8, 1985, I hit a tree at an estimated eighty-five miles per hour. My foot remained on the gas pedal and the truck did not stop until the transmission was torn out. The miracles began immediately.
In the darkness of an early Sunday morning, a businessman I will never know was driving into town for meetings the next day. There was very little expectation of cars being on the road at that time of day. Yet this man was driving into town the day before his meeting in the pre-dawn hours of a Sunday morning. This makes no sense. He saw lights down in a ditch and thought he should check it out. He found me in a mangled car and realized he had just passed a weigh station (pre-cell phone era) and he went back to call for help. This leads to the second miracle.
In the eighteen years I lived in the area I had never seen this particular weigh station open or in use. I have asked many people from the area for thirty-six years if they have ever seen it open. The answer is always no. This early Sunday morning, the weigh station was open. The man was able to call for help and everyone came out to rescue me.
When I hit the tree, the left front fender came up through the floorboards and into the driver’s seat. The steering wheel was behind the driver’s side headrest, and I had pushed the stereo out through the floorboards with my face. There was one tiny pocket on the passenger’s side that most of me landed in. The paramedics took one look at me and were sure – no exaggeration – I would die before they got me out of the vehicle.
They got the jaws of life out because I had the doors locked and the truck was bent and twisted in such a way there was no other way to remove me. They air-splinted my left leg and left arm and got me into the ambulance. They were sure I would die in the ambulance but there were more miracles to come. 
The best surgeons for the jobs I needed were all on call that weekend. One was a well-known plastic surgeon. He would later tell me I had a hole in my forehead the size of a quarter and he did not know how he was going to sew it up. He said he started sewing and it just came together. He could not explain it. He put a total of 127 stitches in my face. He was renowned in his field and I was blessed to have him work on me because he was losing his eyesight and was retiring soon. I was one of his last surgeries. Ten years later at my high school reunion, I heard many people who never knew about my accident tell me I looked just the same. They had no idea how much it meant to me to hear it.
I also underwent exploratory surgery to find a hole in my lung and my diaphragm. My left knee had a compound dislocation, which in plain English means (skip this next part if you are squeamish) my skin was torn open, all my ligaments and tendons were severed and or missing, and my knee cap was behind my leg when they found me. My left arm was broken in three places above the elbow and my right foot was broken. The best orthopedic surgeon happened to be on call and he, too, was used in this process of miracles.
When I met him later, he said they took ligaments and made tendons and vice versa. “We used what we could find and we don’t know if you are ever going to walk on that leg again.” They also put a metal plate and screws in my arm and had to mess with the nerve that controls hand movement. They did not know if my hand would work or not or at what level if it did work. He said when they were done fixing my left knee and arm, they noticed my right foot was swollen and bruised. Yep, it was broken, too. I woke up with a plaster cast from my knee down on my right leg, my left leg was fully encased, and my left arm was hanging above my head in a brace with bandages. My left eye was swollen out past my nose and I did not want a mirror any time soon.
One more miracle was, somehow immediately after surgery I heard a conversation between my mom and the nurse. Being heavily medicated I confused what I heard. The nurse said “wheelchair”, and I thought I was paralyzed. I was so heavily sedated I could not wake up to ask, plus the meds were so strong I could not sense my body which only confirmed to me I was paralyzed. Yet, this was a gift from God to me. In my mind, I imagined being elderly and taking my first steps. I was determined to walk again and I was ready to do whatever it took. When I woke up and they cleared up my confusion I was so happy I was not paralyzed my attitude was very positive. The nurse had meant I had so many broken things I would not be able to use crutches. They were amazed by my sunny disposition. I was in a wheelchair for about three months, on crutches for a couple of more months and I walked on that knee for twenty-nine years before getting an artificial knee. God is very good. Also, I had a few slow fingers for a long while but they came back to the point I later took piano lessons and I am able to fulfill my dream to write.
A few more miracles. Sometime between hitting the tree Sunday morning and waking up Monday evening I had an encounter with God the Father. Some ask how I know to Whom I was speaking. I will tell you when you are in His presence, you don’t need to ask for His identification. You just know.
Yes, it was the white light moment spoken by others with near-death experiences. It was not the light at the end of the tunnel. It was Him. He is light and He is love. He also meets us where we are which explains His opening line. He said, “So, do you still want to die?” I had considered suicide off and on from about the age of seven. Through my teen years every time I began to head in that direction, I would get a picture of my dad in my mind. He had already lost one daughter and I was his only blood-related child left to him. Somehow, at that moment, in the Light, I understood my dad as though I were inside his mind. I understood the impact it would have on him.
Knowing this, I responded emphatically, “No, I can’t do that to my Daddy.”
He said, “That’s right. You are going to go back and you are going to go through a few more things and then I am going to use you.”
I was thrilled. God had a plan for me! I agreed wholeheartedly and was excited to go back and proclaim His goodness. Somehow, I missed the “go through a few more things”. I just had a mandate from Father God and I was thrilled to serve Him. I didn’t know “a few more things” was going to last seven years, but I will share that testimony on the 25th of this month.
The final miracles I will testify to on this, my thirty-sixth birthday, are these. My parents were told I would be in ICU for four days and in the hospital for four weeks. I woke up and was out of ICU in eighteen hours. I was out of the hospital in twelve days. There is no real explanation. This is why staff from all four floors of the hospital kept coming to meet me. There was no denying the miracle(s).
Okay, I thought of one more miracle. I was eighteen and I did not believe I was loved. When this accident happened, I had so many visitors the hospital staff had to begin turning people away so I could rest and recover. My room was overflowing with cards and flowers and I was overwhelmed by the thought that I really was loved. I was eighteen and it was the first time I knew I was loved. That might have been the best miracle of all. I did not consider suicide again for seven years, but again that testimony is for the anniversary I celebrate on September 25th.
Sunday, September 8, 1985, at 5:55 a.m., is etched in my mind. I will never forget and I will always celebrate the goodness of God on this day. Today I celebrate with you as I testify of Him.
And they overcame him by the blood of the Lamb
and by the word of their testimony,
and they did not love their lives to the death.
Revelation 12:11