I have been procrastinating writing about this. But today’s the day. June 4th. I can’t get to this day of the year or look at this day on the calendar without looking back and recalling. Which is kind of ironic since I can’t remember very much about that day. It was 2012. I was 21. It was a sunny out. My bikini was white, my purse was pink. We met friends at the river. We brought beer. I was scared to jump off the bridge into the water. I don’t remember much else from that day. I don’t remember my friend and I leaving the bridge or hitting that patch of loose gravel. I don’t remember the car rolling three times and ejecting us both. My next memories involve coming to in a hospital bed. My mom was next to me and I asked her what I was doing here and I saw a white board on the wall that said the date and that I’d been in a car accident. I woke up again and again having to ask the same questions and repeat the same conversations because I couldn’t remember any of it. I had a laceration in my side and due to risk of infection it hadn’t yet been stitched up. I remember the pain of them packing it several times a day. I suffered a TBI (traumatic brain injury) and they stitched the large gash on my head closed. I remember not being given a mirror. My clavicle was broken so a plate and screws rejoined it. I remember not being able to lift my arm or do basic things like go to the bathroom, shower, or visit my friend in the ICU. I had facial fractures and road rash covered the majority of my body. I remember the pain when nurses would have to touch it to turn me. Doctors said it was a miracle either of us were alive.
Recovery was long and I am able to remember more of that. I remember the joy of being released from the hospital to go home. I remember the frustrations in therapies (physical-occupational-speech), the freezing cold room where I had laser surgery to help the scarring, and the sadness of losing my job. But most I remember the love of my mom and her being beside me through all of it. She is incredible and has been my rock, my comfort and safe place. It is so evident that her relationship with God and her trust in him is the source of her strength. Her example and guidance led me on the path back to the Father and his loving arms. It’s wild to be able to look back on the hardest point in my life, a specific date on a calendar and see how God used that to bring me here. Living so completely for him. I’ve been brought to this tiny town by the black sea. To so clearly see his protection and pursuit of me. His beloved.
I am in Month 9 of the race in the Republic of Georgia, and we’ve just had another team change. One of the first things we like to do when that happens is take intentional time to share testimonies. This time when I sat and shared with my team (Jenny, Kaylin, Jada, Dan and Connor) I had a huge revelation. I’ve learned my past doesn’t disqualify me from God’s plans for my life. These past 8 months people have shared their hard stories with me. We must hear stories that are difficult to hear (Romans 12:15-18) but we have to tell the stories that are difficult to tell too (Psalm 107:2).
As vulnerable, tiring, or painful it can be to share about the mess or brokenness I’ve experienced in this world. I know that it can speak to someone. Someone who needs to hear they aren’t alone. Someone who is searching for stories of God’s redemption, power, and love. Someone I don’t even know but God knows and loves. The purpose of the gospel is to reach the lonely, neglected, and hurting and if speaking up about God in my life can reach them I can’t keep it to myself. This story after all isn’t about my shame but His redemptive power and love.
