I don't remember much about the day I had my accident; mainly because, through the grace of God, I was unconscious through most of it. The only information I have of the incident is what has been relayed to me first hand. I don't remember what season it was, but I do remember it was a cold night in Indiana. Armed with my little chihuahua in my backpack, I was riding my moped without wearing a helmet. Apparently, I attempted to drive through a yellow light that has just turned red as I was going through the intersection. A woman driving a mini van on the opposite side of the intersection didn't see me, and proceeded to continue on through the green light after coming off of the highway. I t-boned her on the passenger side of the vehicle. My head hit the window, and I blacked out instantly.
The next thing I remember was sitting in a field with my father, Peter, who had died of cancer several years earlier. The field was on a cliff, and it was overlooking the largest and most beautiful lake I had ever seen. For a while we didn't speak; we enjoyed watching the sunset in the silence and tranquility of the moment. My father looked more peaceful than I had ever remembered him to be. He still wore the same glasses he had worn almost his entire adult life, but only so I would be able to recognize him. He had no need for them where we were, other than for me to know who he was. He looked at me and told me I had a choice. I could stay where we were and be with him and God, or I could go back to where I had been. He told me God still had a lot of work for me to do. But if I chose to stay where I was, that was alright, too. I could stay and be welcomed without anger, disappointment, or malice. I asked him, if I returned, how it would be for me. I didn't want to live in a vegetative state, mentally incapacitated, or paralyzed. Dad said he couldn't tell me how it was going to be for me. But no matter what happened, I would still have the ability to fulfill God's purpose for me and share God's love, mercy and grace with others who desperately needed it. I loved my father very much and missed him terribly. It would have been so easy for me to choose to stay with him and be with God. But in my heart, I knew the right decision to make. From personal experience, I knew what it was like to be redeemed in God's love, mercy and grace from the absolute pit of self-pity, depression, and emotional hell. The only way I knew to thank God for saving me was to honor His request to be His vessel in doing the same for others. I embraced my father, savoring the moment of feeling small again in his loving and protective arms. I whispered that I would see him again, and I made my decision.
The doctor couldn't believe he was talking to me. I hit my head twice; once on the window and once on the pavement. In both instances, I hit my head on the spot where a head can be hit with no lasting or permanent affects. I had no broken bones, or internal injuries. I wasn't paralyzed. The only lasting effect was a few staples in my scalp. I still carry the scar to this day, and I don't mind. It's a permanent reminder of the day the Lord blessed me with a choice. When times are especially hard, it's there to remind me of the decision I made and motivates me to continue moving forward. I am convinced that if I had chosen to stay with my father, I wouldn't have lived through the incident. But that's not the decision I made. I chose to honor God, despite my fear of the consequences of my actions. I chose to live.
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