Miracles

(This picture is of the car we were in when we were hit head-on by a drunk

driver in a stolen car.)

This time of year brings with it the anniversaries of some of my most life-altering experiences. Every year during this time, I'm reminded of these events, the miracles surrounding them and what they mean to me.

It's been sixteen years now since we were in that car accident. Bruce, who was 3 years old, is now serving a mission. He's a good-looking young man. You'd never know he had 182 stitches in his cute little face. After the impact, while we were waiting for help, I couldn't see him. He sat behind me in the car, crying, saying he was dying. I was pinned in my seat by the dashboard and couldn't see the horrific damage that had been done to my sweet little boy. I kept telling him he'd be okay and I loved him. But I was scared. I didn't know how bad he was injured. That metal window frame and all the broken glass from that back passenger window had really hurt him.

I was in the front passenger seat, concerned about everyone else in the car and worried that I was paralyzed. My lower back was on fire and I couldn't move my legs at all. I didn't know if it was because they were trapped or if it was because of my injuries. My pelvis was fractured in four places and my elbow was crushed. I spent the first 24 hours in the ICU because I was bleeding internally. The pain was shocking.

I don't share these things for sympathy. I tell you them because of the miracle I watched happen after the wreck. The miracle of healing. I watched my little boy's mangled face change from huge gaping wounds to angry red lines to light pink lines to white lines to almost invisible lines.

I watched my legs. The weeks after the wreck were like slowly turning a kaleidoscope as the rivers of bruises all over my legs changed from almost black to purple and blue then green and yellow, before they disappeared altogether. The legs I couldn't even lift up gradually became strong again. We were a sad and broken mess and although we still carry scars, with time, we experienced the miracle of healing.

On April 26, 1985, my sixteen-year-old brother Bruce was killed in a car accident. That event changed my life. I knew sorrow in a way I never had before. My heart ached with a crushing, physical pain. I watched my family, especially my parents, suffer almost crippling anguish. But miracles happened. The miracle of family, friends and love. There are still scars on our hearts, but once again we experienced the miracle of healing.

Today we celebrate Easter, the Savior's death and resurrection and atonement. The miracle of all miracles. Because of this miracle, my brother lives. Because of this miracle, we all live. This miracle brings us peace and comfort. This miracle allows me to be forgiven. This is the ultimate miracle of healing.

Wikipedia calls a miracle a surprising and welcome event that is not explicable by natural or scientific laws and is considered to be divine.

These are just a few of the miracles that strengthen my faith and make it solid. I don't know the science behind the creation or the resurrection. I don't know how God hears my prayers at the same time that so many others are also praying. I don't know how He heals us when doctors aren't sure it's possible. I don't understand exactly how He orchestrates the answers to my prayers. I don't have to know all these things to know that He lives, that He's there and that He loves each of us.

I'm grateful for the miracle of Easter.

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