The phone rang that Tuesday evening, September 12, 2006, and my heart quickened. Maybe Jim was calling to wish me a happy forty-fifth birthday. That would be just like him. Twenty-six years of marriage and we were still as much in love as we\u2019d been back in high school. Maybe even more.<\/p>\n
Our youngest had just left for college, and we were looking forward to this time together. Camping trips. Weekends at a B and B. Romantic motorcycle rides, me sitting behind Jim, my arms around his waist, leaning against him, feeling his strength.<\/p>\n
I picked up the phone.<\/p>\n
\u201cIs this Lindy Wilson?\u201d a woman asked. \u201cI\u2019m a nurse at Santa Rosa Memorial Hospital. I\u2019m calling about your husband. He\u2019s been in a serious accident.\u201d<\/p>\n
My mind couldn\u2019t process what she was saying. It had been a beautiful late summer day. Jim had ridden his Yamaha Royal Star over the Sierras to a meeting of fellow electric utility superintendents four hours away.<\/p>\n
He\u2019d hated not being home for my birthday. I glanced at the roses he\u2019d left for me to find. \u201cNo, that can\u2019t be\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHis condition is extremely critical,\u201d the nurse said. \u201cYou need to come right away. But do not drive yourself.\u201d<\/p>\n
I couldn\u2019t think. I called our friends Peter and Debbie, heard myself screaming into the phone, my words jumbled. \u201cWe\u2019ll be right over,\u201d Debbie said.<\/p>\n
I collapsed on the couch. God, please don\u2019t take Jim. I can\u2019t live without him. <\/em>I thought of a woman who\u2019d shared her testimony at church recently. Her husband, a police officer, had died in the line of duty. I\u2019d marveled at her strength, her unshakable faith.<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019m not that kind of woman,\u201d I remembered telling Jim after church. \u201cI don\u2019t think I could hold it together if something happened to you.\u201d Secretly I\u2019d hoped I was wrong. But now I knew.<\/p>\n There was a knock at the door. Peter and Debbie. \u201cWe\u2019ll drive you to the hospital,\u201d Debbie said. She found a suitcase and packed it for me. What else did I need? I grabbed my Bible.<\/p>\n The whole four-hour drive to Santa Rosa I sat in the backseat, clutching the Bible while I called the kids, the rest of our family, people from church.<\/p>\n We got to the hospital around midnight. The nurse who\u2019d called met us in the waiting room.<\/p>\n \u201cYour husband is still in surgery,\u201d she told me. \u201cA van crossed into his lane and hit him head-on. He has massive internal injuries, collapsed lungs, a crushed pelvis, a lot of broken bones. We\u2019re doing everything we can, but\u2026I think you should talk with the chaplain.\u201d<\/p>\n The chaplain was able to tell me a little more. Jim had been hit so hard that he flipped over the top of the van, only to have the panic-stricken driver back over him. The chaplain offered consoling prayers, but I knew why he was meeting with me. Jim wasn\u2019t expected to live.<\/p>\n Would I never hear his voice again? Never again feel the warmth of his touch?<\/p>\n At 1:00 A.M. the surgeon came out of the operating room to update me. \u201cAt this point, Jim has about a one-percent chance of survival,\u201d he said. \u201cMost of his organs are failing. We\u2019ve brought him back from cardiac arrest twice. I hope your kids can get here in time.\u201d He rushed back to the O.R.<\/p>\n One percent. <\/em>I tried to pray, but my mind kept going back to that terrifying statistic. I tried to think of the verse I\u2019d heard just that past Sunday, when Jim and I visited my mother\u2019s church. It wouldn\u2019t come to me. Even my Bible felt heavy, my fingers aching from holding onto it so tightly.<\/p>\n Friends trickled into the waiting room. My sister. Our pastor. I told everyone what the surgeon said about Jim\u2019s chances. \u201cOne percent,\u201d I repeated, my voice breaking.<\/p>\n Our pastor put his hand on my shoulder. \u201cGod doesn\u2019t deal in percentages,\u201d he said. \u201cYou\u2019ve got to trust him all the way, one hundred percent.\u201d<\/p>\n Our two daughters and our son arrived. \u201cHow\u2019s Dad?\u201d they asked. \u201cWhen can we see him?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cHe\u2019s still in surgery,\u201d I said. \u201cIt doesn\u2019t look good.\u201d I wanted to be strong for our kids, but I couldn\u2019t hold back my tears.<\/p>\n A nurse came up to us. I braced myself.<\/p>\n \u201cHe\u2019s still hanging on,\u201d she said. \u201cKeep praying.\u201d<\/p>\n I nodded through my tears. By now the waiting room was filled with friends and family. \u201cEveryone\u2019s praying for Jim,\u201d Debbie said. \u201cAnd for you. There are prayer chains going all over the country. Anything you need, we\u2019re here.\u201d<\/p>\n Finally, at 5:00 A.M., a nurse took me through a sliding-glass door into the intensive care unit, to a bed surrounded by nurses checking monitors and IVs. The man in the bed had so many tubes and wires connected to him. His body was huge, bloated, nothing like my trim, fit husband. \u201cThat\u2019s not Jim,\u201d I said, confused.<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019m afraid it is,\u201d the nurse said. \u201cHe lost a lot of blood. We had to give him seventeen liters of fluid just to keep him alive. We were so busy trying to stop the bleeding, we didn\u2019t have time to clean him up.\u201d<\/p>\n I crept to the side of Jim\u2019s bed. Shards of glass were embedded in his face and arms. There were tire marks across his chest. His right leg was still visibly fractured. The nurse explained that their priority had been the life-threatening injuries. The other ones could wait.<\/p>\n I knew he had to be suffering. It hurt just to look at him. \u201cI love you, Jim,\u201d I whispered. \u201cHold on tight. Hold on to God, to our love.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWe\u2019ve put him in a coma,\u201d the nurse said. \u201cThe pain would be too intense otherwise, and he\u2019s still extremely weak. We\u2019re replacing fluids, just taking it minute by minute.\u201d<\/p>\n I stayed by Jim\u2019s bedside, praying. Listening to the beep of the monitors, the whoosh of the ventilator, the sounds of nurses hanging new IV bags. Searching my husband\u2019s face for a flicker of awareness. At some point, the kids were allowed in the ICU for a short while. Other family members, friends. Our pastor.<\/p>\n Time seemed to stand still. I wasn\u2019t sure if it was day or night. I could barely keep my eyes open. Can\u2019t fall asleep, <\/em>I thought groggily. Jim needs me.<\/em><\/p>\n Finally my daughter Katie came in and said, \u201cWe\u2019re getting rooms at a motel. There are people here who can sit with Dad. But we\u2019ve got to get some sleep. You especially. You\u2019ve been up for almost forty-eight hours.\u201d<\/p>\n She took me by the hand and led me out to her car. At the motel, I took a shower. It was the first time in two days I\u2019d been alone. Water rained down on me. I leaned against the cold tile wall and sobbed uncontrollably. I couldn\u2019t take this anymore. I wasn\u2019t strong enough. Why couldn\u2019t God see that?<\/p>\n I got out of the shower, slipped into a nightgown my friend had packed for me and lay on the bed, drained. My sister sat beside me, holding my hand until I drifted off.<\/p>\n I opened my eyes and sat up in bed. Everyone else\u2014my sister, my daughters\u2014 was sound asleep, but the room was filled with light. Not bright. Soft and hazy, like a kind of fog. But not disorienting. Oddly comforting. The light enveloped me, an almost physical presence infusing me with a peace I\u2019d never known.<\/p>\n Trust me. It\u2019s going to be okay. <\/em>It wasn\u2019t a voice, but the message couldn\u2019t have been clearer. God held us in his arms. He was looking after Jim, and he would see me through, no matter what happened.<\/p>\n Later that morning I went back to the ICU. Jim lay in bed, comatose, eyes closed, condition unchanged. I pulled a chair up to his bedside and opened my Bible. But I couldn\u2019t think of anything I should read. Or say. Instead I took his hand and began to sing, \u201cAmazing grace, how sweet the sound\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n I looked at Jim\u2019s face. There was moisture forming around his eyelids. I leaned closer.<\/p>\n Tears.<\/p>\n He can hear me!<\/em><\/p>\n I kept singing as tears trickled down Jim\u2019s face, each droplet a tiny miracle. That was what God dealt in\u2014miracles, not percentages.<\/p>\n I didn\u2019t even see the nurse come in. \u201cIf you want to choose a Scripture verse to hang over your husband\u2019s bed, I can print it out,\u201d she offered. I stared at my Bible, flustered.<\/p>\n \u201cYou don\u2019t have to decide now,\u201d she said. \u201cI can do it anytime.\u201d<\/p>\n I flipped through my Bible and eventually came to Isaiah 40:31. It wasn\u2019t Jim\u2019s favorite Scripture, but the words seemed fitting for him now: \u201cThose who hope in the Lord will renew their strength. They will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and not grow weary, they will walk and not be faint.\u201d<\/p>\n I wanted Jim to walk again, to run, to be renewed.<\/p>\n That verse stayed posted over Jim\u2019s bed the rest of his hospital stay. Eleven months and 20 surgeries after his accident, he was able to come home. In that time, I took on the roles of caregiver and advocate, discovering a fortitude and boldness I never knew I had in me. And Jim and I grew closer than ever.<\/p>\n Our pastor asked us to share our experience with our congregation. That Sunday Jim walked into the sanctuary with me\u2014he was using a walker, but he walked! We went up front and started telling our story.<\/p>\n I saw the wonder in people\u2019s eyes, even before we got to the most mysterious part. I looked at the bulletin in my hand.<\/p>\n I\u2019d come across it while we were getting ready for our talk. It was the bulletin from the week before Jim\u2019s accident, when we\u2019d visited my mother\u2019s church. The key verse for that day\u2019s sermon was printed on it.<\/p>\n Isaiah 40:31. The verse I thought I\u2019d picked out for Jim in the hospital. But it had been chosen as much for me\u2014by God, who was preparing us for the ordeal that was to come, renewing our strength before we even knew we would need it.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" The phone rang that Tuesday evening, September 12, 2006, and my heart quickened. Maybe Jim was calling to wish me a happy forty-fifth birthday. That would be just like him. Twenty-six years of marriage and we were still as much in love as we\u2019d been back in high school. Maybe even more. Our youngest had […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":28440,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"ep_exclude_from_search":false,"footnotes":"","_wpscppro_dont_share_socialmedia":false,"_wpscppro_custom_social_share_image":0,"_facebook_share_type":"","_twitter_share_type":"","_linkedin_share_type":"","_pinterest_share_type":"","_linkedin_share_type_page":"","_instagram_share_type":"","_medium_share_type":"","_threads_share_type":"","_google_business_share_type":"","_bluesky_share_type":"","_mastodon_share_type":"","_selected_social_profile":[],"_wpsp_enable_custom_social_template":false,"_wpsp_social_scheduling":{"enabled":false,"datetime":null,"platforms":[],"status":"template_only","dateOption":"today","timeOption":"now","customDays":"","customHours":"","customDate":"","customTime":"","schedulingType":"absolute"},"_wpsp_active_default_template":true},"categories":[173],"tags":[44,51,80,204],"ppma_author":[1456],"class_list":["post-19535","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-marriage","tag-courage","tag-inspirational-stories","tag-stories-of-hope","tag-survival-stories"],"acf":[],"yoast_head":"\n