One Split Second

     One decision. That's all it takes to change your entire life and the lives of those around you. An everyday decision that you have made a hundred times can have unintended consequences on a given day. That's what happened a couple of weeks ago. Tim decided to ride the four wheeler with his friends when I wasn't home. He decided to ride up the same hill he's ridden up hundreds of times. This time, he didn't make it. In a split second, an everyday decision turned into a life or death situation.

     The four wheeler crushed his liver, caused internal bleeding, and damaged his lungs. On the outside, he looked okay A few minor scratches, the imprint of the handlebars on his abdomen, but mostly okay. The damage was all inside. The x rays and CT scans showed the scary truth. The doctor's face and tone of voice portrayed the seriousness of what we couldn't see. The helicopter arriving to fly Tim to another hospital drove home how much trouble his body was in. If you have never watched your child being loaded into a helicopter and flying away to a hospital, you can not understand the dread that fills your being. In that moment, when you don't know if you will see them alive again, your heart is a rock in your chest, you can't breathe, you can't think....all you can do is try to fight the terror and drive on auto-pilot to the hospital. And pray. In that moment, when you can't even think of words, you can cry out to the Holy Spirit to give you words, to Jesus to save your baby, to God to be your rock.

     Tim lived. Those are words I never expected to say, never expected there to be a question. But that's our reality. He lived. It was very close. He almost didn't. The first morning in the ICU, one of the ER nurses came to visit and said he just wanted to see Tim, that he'd worried about him all night, and just wasn't sure he'd still be with us that morning. It was sweet of him, but a blow to us. It's hard for your mind to deny the seriousness of the situation when an ER nurse tells you he thought your child would die overnight. Our first morning in a regular room, two of the ICU nurses came to check on him, to be sure he was still improving. They too made comments about how close a call it was and how worried they'd been about him. It touched us that they cared so much.

     The prayers of hundreds pounded on heaven's gate. I got word out as soon as possible, because I wanted, needed people praying. People responded in droves, lifting up prayers for Tim, and for us, pleading for his life, his health, our peace. Those prayers held us up, kept us going, kept me from dissolving into a sobbing fearful doubting mess. God, in his infinite mercy, spared Tim's life and is restoring his health. We will never know how many people lifted a prayer for him. We've heard from dozens of people that he is on their church's prayer list, that their class prayed for him, that their friends have been praying. Many dozens of people have been following his updates on Facebook and passing it along to their friends, people we don't know, who have been praying for him. God's people have been a mighty voice asking for Tim's healing. We could never express our gratitude enough.

     One decision. One split second. That's all it takes to change your life, and those around you. We can't live our lives in fear of making a wrong decision and we can't put our kids in a bubble. We try to make wise decisions, but know that sometimes, things go wrong. Therefore, we must be prepared for eternity. A dear friend told me in the ICU waiting room that even though it wasn't going to come to it, at least we did know Tim's salvation was sure. She was right. It was a comfort to know that if my worst nightmare came to pass, I could be sure Tim's soul would be secure. We aren't promised tomorrow, or the next hour, or the next second. Be very sure your salvation is secured.

     Finally, I know this devotional is a little rambling and disjointed. Writing makes me vulnerable. I never sugar coat things for you. I allow you to see my faults, my weaknesses, my frailty because being authentic is the only way I know to be and the only way I can impact others. Even though Tim is home and improving, I'm still emotional. I've kept myself busy so I don't have to think about what could have been. But sitting down to write, that opens it all up. So I ask you indulgence this week. And I thank each of you for the prayers I know you've spoken on our behalf.