The Champions Among Us

Our three kiddos delight in the story Vern and I tell about when we were dating. Since it is well-documented that people's ability to make good choices drops dramatically after 10PM, we had decided not to see each other after 10PM until we were married. Our close circle of friends knew about this self-imposed curfew and helped us stay accountable to it.  One of our dearest friends at that time was a cop in town, and he would often patrol the street where Vern's house was around 10PM to make sure I was no longer there. Once in a while, I would still be there, and he would shine his spotlight on us in the driveway and "woop" his siren a bit to get us moving along. 

The kids giggle at this story, Vern and I smile, and all of us see an example of how Godly people work together to honor God.

Honor God?

That's right. God intended sex to occur between a man and a woman who are married. Vern and I wanted to make sure we honored God by waiting to have sex until we were married.  It was going to be hard and so we asked some close friends to help us stay accountable to that. Vern and I giggled often that first week after we got married, because it was really weird being together after 10PM!

"Mom, tell the other part of the story!" one of the kiddos urged.

Ok, so then a few months after Vern and I got married, we went to the doctor because I was pregnant. When the doctor's due date estimation included the possibility that Vern and I had sex before we got married, I got HOT MAD.

"That's just not possible! We did NOT have sex before we got married, and your little index card there says I may have gotten pregnant before July 14th." I had stood up in the doctor's office, while both my husband and the obstetrician looked at me with blank stares.

"Mrs. Garling, that's just an estimation."

"Well, your estimation is wrong and I would like you to change it. We worked hard to honor God in that, and I want credit for it. I won't let some little index card take that away from us!"

Vern sat grinning as the doctor changed the index card so that the beginning date of possible conception was July 14th (the day we got married), and I sat down again, quite satisfied.

The kids giggle again, and seem to never tire of this story that shows how we honored God even in our family planning. A story that shows them we live by what we teach them, even when it's hard. Because they are all in that age now where we talk about the boundaries of sex often and I am thankful we have that story to tell them.

So fast forward to this week. A dear friend and family member of ours shared on Facebook that she is pregnant. Many wrote back and congratulated her.

Why didn't I? 

Because in my world, I have a 12 year old daughter who admires this woman. And I had to tell her that this woman--recently divorced with three young boys of her own--is having sex with a man who is not her husband and they are having a baby.  I have to comfort my daughter as she cries through her heartbreak and disappointment that this woman she thought was a great follower of Christ is not what she appeared to be.

Part of me should be glad this happened. It gives me the opportunity to show my daughter that we all make bad choices and cause pain to others--but that God in His mercy and grace loves us despite these terrible ways we disobey him.

But the other part of me is just angry. Can I be transparent here and say that? Angry that I had to tell my daughter this news and watch as her heart broke. Worried that stuff like this will start making that wide road of disobedience look acceptable to her. Frustrated that role models of single Christian women who honor God with their bodies seem rare. If you are one, please stand up and testify to the awesome power of obedience to The Lord.

Fight for that day in the future when your kiddos sit on your couch and giggle as you tell them about making the doctor change the dates on your index card. Because choosing to honor God with your body makes you a champion among us.
 

Eyes Squeezed Shut

Our family went to Disney World in 2013 after I had completed all of my breast cancer treatment and we did this ride called The Rockin’ Roller Coaster. This roller coaster takes you from 0to60MPH in just 2.8 seconds—practically how a pilot in a superjet feels taking off from an aircraft carrier—yes, that speed. 5G’s worth of speed and pressure. 

Well, I’m glad I didn’t know all of that before I got on that ride. My husband Vern was going to ride with Grace who was in 3^rd grade at the time, and I was going to ride with Isaac, who was in 1^st grade and barely pushing 40^th percentile on the growth chart. But he had met the height requirement for the ride, so we were good to go.

I guess some red flags should’ve gone off when 3 ride attendants came to put all of their body weight into Isaac’s seat harness to be sure he was in there GOOD. Because when we started to accelerate, I began to comprehend that I may be arrested for putting my youngest child in extreme danger as we corkscrewed and inverted our way through the ride in the dark.

They took a picture of the 4 of us on that ride…Yeah. There was Vern and Grace eyes wide open grinning ear to ear hands in the air doing the happy seat dance.

And then there was me and Isaac. Eyes squeezed shut, mouths in full grimace, holding onto the seat bars with death grip white knuckles.

And honestly, I think that most of us are trying to keep our eyes closed during this crazy 5G ride called LIFE. We don’t really want to see the next corkscrew. We don’t want to see the craziness raging on either side of us. Sometimes we don’t even want to see the person sitting next to us. We are just trying to survive the ride in the dark.

The human eyeball is perhaps one of God’s greatest inventions. It is essential to our daily function (for most of us), yet so delicate that spending too much time looking into a bright light can damage it.

But we need light. Something in our nature craves it. Why is that? Why do we need light?

Well, I think there are three reasons why we do. First, we need light for our safety. So I’m not sure if you guys know this, but none of us were designed to be able to see in the dark. We lack a tapetum lucidum (tah-PEE-dum LU-see-dum)—a tissue layer in the eye that allows for night vision. So when I go on one of my early morning hikes during our family camping trips, I start out long before the sun comes up, which means I have to wear a headlamp so I can see the trail. Yes I look really silly with it on.  But it’s either THAT, or no hike in the early morning—it just wouldn’t be safe because I couldn’t see where I was going without it—I don’t have tapetum lucidum.

Second, we make better decisions in the light. When Vern and I were dating, we had agreed that we wanted to keep our bodies pure for each other until our wedding night. We had read somewhere that people’s ability to control themselves dive bombs at around 10PM—which adult bodies define as “dark” based on a bunch of boring biology. So one of our rules was a 10PM curfew. We had a handful of friends who agreed to help us stay accountable to that, including a policeman, who would regularly patrol down the street in front of Vern’s house at 10PM. If he saw Vern and I still executing our goodbyes, he would woop! His siren and turn his big light on us and use his bullhorn…”step AWAY from the girl, Vern.” Well… the point is our ability to make good choices in the dark is remarkably bad.

Third, our desire to live comes alive in the light. Something happened to me long before I met my husband Vern that brought my whole happy life screeching to a halt. My doctors advised that I should not be left alone as the incident left me suffering from a high level of anxiety and depression—a clear recipe for suicide. So I was sent home to North Dakota and I burrowed under my bed sheets with the lights off. I found comfort in the dark because I didn’t want to live, and in the dark, I didn’t feel the need to try. But the sunlight would stream into the window and I began a long journey of heart ache to get out from underneath those bed sheets. Because the desire to live comes alive in the light.

So I think we crave light because in the light we are safe. We make good decisions. We are able to function better. So it shouldn’t come as a surprise that humans spend a lot of time trying to make brighter longer lasting light bulbs. In fact, the newest light technology boasts a light brightness of 300 lumens per watt that lasts over 12 years. Compare that to the first light bulb, which had a light brightness of 2 lumens per watt and lasted for maybe 3 days. But even the newest technology available in the home is only 60% efficient at creating light.

Why is that? Well, scientists such as myself can come up with all sorts of physical reasons why it’s not possible to achieve 100% efficiency in creating light. But the bottom line is that we don’t understand light well enough to make a light bulb that is 100% efficient.

Still, we need light. We crave light. And even though we do not fully understand light, we work really hard with the hope that one day, we will understand it.

Now if you are a Christian, and I don’t assume that all of you are, and I’m still crazy about you so relax, your heart is already thinking about Jesus. In John 8:12, Jesus says “I am the light.” So to a Christian, Jesus is THE LIGHT. We need Him. We crave Him. Our safety, our ability to make good decisions, and our overall ability to function are dependent on Him.  Because just as Paul says in his letter to the Thessalonians, we are children of the day! We are not meant to live our lives in darkness. 

Personally, I think God intentionally created us without tapetum lucidum tissue in our eyes to make it perfectly clear that we are not meant to live in darkness. 

He had a better idea.

And II Corinthians 4:6 tells us exactly what that idea was:

For God, who said, “Let light shine out of darkness,” made his light [that’s God] shine in our hearts [WHY?] to give us the light of the knowledge [what kind of knowledge?] of God’s glory displayed in the face of Christ.

It was the perfect idea. The ultimate light –His light--God's light--would live in us. Not 2 or even 300 lumens per watt—but the 100% efficient ultimate light source of The Lord Jesus at our disposal for free.

So the question is…what kind of source are YOU tapping into? A little light bulb that will last for a time? Or Jesus Himself who will last for eternity? You must choose. For you were not created with a tapetum lucidum in your eye--you require a light source. One choice may help you survive your time on this planet. But the other will surely cause you to live beyond survival and actually thrive.

Thrive on a roller coaster with 5G's of speed and pressure? Yes. Exactly. With the right light. 

Come on, Baby--LEAN!!

I was giggling and terrified at the same time.

Vern and I were demonstrating a trust exercise to the 6th graders at Bible study last night. We had pushed against each others hands and walked our feet out further and further until all that was holding us up was the pressure we had on each other's hands.

"Come on, Baby--LEAN!!" my husband Vern said coaxingly. He apparently thought we could walk out a lot further than we already were.

Now you might think that I am an adventurous type of person. I love to camp and ride horses, and I am married to a Texas rodeo cowboy after all...but you would be wrong in thinking that about me.

Because I was fighting my body's panic as I stared at the short distance already between my nose and the floor. To disengage from leaning against Vern meant I would fall to the floor right on my face, which would really hurt. But I was not too excited about increasing the distance between our feet either as the probability of falling became increasingly apparent. This was an adventure I was not sure I should have signed up for.

I dragged my eyes off the ground and looked at Vern. Determination mixed with playfulness skidded across his face. So typical of my man. In his element now. Doing something off the charts with that ridiculous grin on his face that I can't resist. So keeping my eyes locked on his, together we took a few more steps out.

It was daring and extreme and I could hardly believe how far we had gone!

Then, keeping our eyes on each other and pressure on each others' hands, we started to close the distance and finally stood back up straight to a chorus of thunderous applause from the 6th graders.

Kids were eager to try it themselves and the discussion afterwards about who we put our trust in was filled with passion and excitement. Because in a topic like this, Jesus will always steal the show.

But if we are going to be transparent about it, I think I got more out of that lesson than the kiddos did. 

You see, Vern and I have had our struggles in this life that have left us worn out and fed up with ourselves and each other. One step away from face planting to the floor.

Some of you know exactly what I am talking about.

But in that moment when he coaxed me to lean on him harder and our eyes locked--it confirmed for me what I already knew. Vern is trustworthy. He is strong. He is encouraging. He can take it when I lean into him.

And when I focus on those traits of his, I find myself leaning hard into him and as a team we do some pretty darn incredible things.

So Ladies, tonight when the kiddos go to bed, put aside your fed up worn out self. Take your husband to the nearest large expanse of floor in your house. Put your palms together and start walking those feet out. Ask God to remind you of the strong qualities your spouse has so that you will lean harder into that man.

He can take it. But more than that. He will thrive on your trust in him because that is how he was designed by The Creator. 

Together you can do incredible things! So come on, Baby!  LEAN!!

Off-Roading Garling Style Part 6: Scars and Final Thoughts

“Can you still see it?” Vern asked me as I absentmindedly checked for stray hairs I may have missed during his haircut.

“Hmmm?” I hadn’t really been listening, I was so caught up in just cutting his hair. I seem to cherish these simple moments more now since the wreck.

“The scar on the back of my head. Can you still see it?”

I ran my finger along the 4 inch scar at the back of his head, remembering days not so long ago when it was nearly twice that length and raised up off his scalp in a ridge that would oftentimes spontaneously open up and ooze some sort of left over Oklahoma dirt crud that had been ground into his skull during those barrel rolls with our camper last year.

“Yep. It’s still there, but not so obvious anymore.”

I was pleased that it was well-healed now and less likely to do the crud oozing thing anymore. But Vern was disappointed, which made me laugh for a minute. What is it with men and their devotion to scars? Or maybe it’s just my man who loves his scars?

“I hope I get to keep these scars in heaven.” He said with a sigh.

And in that moment, I finally understood at least this one thing about the critter God had given to me as a husband. Vern’s scars are proof to him that he is stronger than what tries to kill him. And that knowledge gives him the courage he needs to rise up and be the warrior God intended for him to be.

Scars don’t do that for me. I carry most of my scars deep inside where nobody can see them. Scars of grief. Hurt. Regret. Loss.

To be completely transparent with you, I have to say that there are many scars I’ve got lurking about inside. And I think, sweet ones, if you are honest with yourselves, you would admit you have many scars too. Perhaps someone precious to you has died. Or a friendship that should never have ended went up with a “poof”. Maybe you were betrayed by a fellow Christian and it left you confused and hurt. Or you have set up housekeeping in a pit of depression and lost all hope that you will ever get out of there. Pieces of your heart scattered to the wind.

And then you convince yourselves (or at least I do) that those scars have all healed nicely. And then something happens to remind you of that scar, and it starts slowly oozing crud again.

What do you do?

Well, I’ll tell you what I do. First, I cry a little. Well, maybe a lot. Because I’m a girl and that’s what we do first off.

But the next step—now don’t miss this one—the very next step is that I go to The One who knows all about scars. I go to Jesus. I dump the whole load on Him. I just keep throwing those oozing scars at His feet and He pours His grace over them every single day for as long as I need Him to do it. Because He specializes in healing Wounds of the Heart.

And then one day you realize that those scars don’t ooze much anymore.

And then one day you realize that Jesus turned the scar into a shield against the things of this world that strain to beat you down and steal your joy.

And then one day you discover that you encourage others by telling them about that scar.

And you find yourself stumbling to your feet, determination flaring from your eyes, and a sly grin on your face that tells the world you have found your purpose, and it’s not to stand in a corner hiding from battles.

Your purpose is to rise up and be the warrior that God intended for you to be.

And it was those oozing scars laid at Jesus’ feet that got you to understand who you are. A child of The King. Loved by Him beyond all comprehension. A Warrior for Christ.

So rise up now! Take your place! The scars—both the healed ones and the oozing ones--are part of who you are!

Scars are most certainly a distinct feature of The One who died for us. By His wounds we are healed (Isaiah 53:5b). So find your way to the great physician. Ask Him to heal you and find your place among those who were lost but are now found. It is time.

Off-Roading Garling Style Part 5: Letting Go of Family

I was cleaning up my mess after making pecan pies to give away to friends for their Thanksgiving celebrations when my nightmares invaded my waking thought once again.  I closed my eyes and gripped the edge of the sink, grinding my teeth to keep from crying.

I was so tired of this dream.

It's after the wreck, and I am sitting on the ground between the truck and the camper cradling Matt's dead body in my arms, as I rock back and forth sobbing uncontrollably.  And then as the scene replays, it's Grace's dead body I'm holding instead.  And a third time with Isaac's dead body.  A fourth time with both Matt and Grace being dead.  A fifth time with Matt and Isaac.  A sixth time with Grace and Isaac.

It's actually a fairly elegant nightmare honestly because of the perfect pattern of the replay.   It's curious to me how I apply good math even to my worst nightmare.

And devastating to me that in all six replays, Vern is dead. 

I glanced up from the kitchen sink, drinking in the scene of all three kiddos eating supper at the table as I prepare my heart for the task at hand.

To once again let go of my family.

I have let go of so many things in my life just like you have.  You can name those things just as easily as I can name them for myself.  Things that have torn up your heart in ways that you thought you could never recover from.

Like when I was diagnosed with breast cancer in 2012.  But in that year of treatments, I learned a precious lesson.  I learned that I could trust Jesus with my life. 

But now, after the wreck, these nightmares make me realize that I am having a hard time trusting Him with the lives of my family.

I must come to understand that He cares for them even more than I do myself.  It's a tough thing to grasp.  Particularly after a horrible event occurs because I must choose to believe He is still looking out for their best interests too.

But I know in my heart that I must let them go and give them to God. Because only then can I really do what they need from me most. Which is simply to love them through those tough times and point them back to God.

Because Beloved, He is the answer to all their tough stuff, not me.

"Mom", Isaac said crawling into my lap after a shower, his hair still damp, "God saved us, didn't He?"

"Yes, Baby, He did. Just to show you how much He loves you even when things seem so bad."

Those blue eyes looked into mine, absorbing that thought.

"God fights for me." He said with his chest all puffed up.

"Yes, Baby, He sure does.  And He will never stop doing that."

And then Matt and Grace were piling onto my lap, the combined giggles of the redeemed leaving no room for the nightmare. 

Look to the LORD and to his strength. Always look to him. 1 Chronicles 16:11

If you do not know Jesus as your savior, I suggest you seek Him out.  You just never know when your time is up on this earth.

Website for views of the wreck that made the news:
http://kfor.com/2014/07/11/traffic-alert-emergency-crews-on-scene-of-rv-accident-on-i-35/

Off-Roading Garling Style Part 4: What Texans Do In the Dark

Isaac stopped buckling his seatbelt, staring wide eyed at his grandmother.

"Grandma," Isaac looked worriedly at his grandma, "What if we have another wreck?"

Vern's folks, Ralph and Carol, had been the first to arrive in Guthrie.  They had left their house in Irving around 5 and forced their way through the agonizing rush hour traffic in Dallas, arriving in Guthrie around 9PM.  After picking up the kids, they were about to take the trip home in the dark.  

"Baby, God is going to take care of us on the ride home.  Just like He did when that semi truck hit you earlier today." Isaac seemed satisfied with that answer, and after having a time of prayer with his grandparents, Matt and Grace, he settled down for the 4 hour drive to Ovilla.

I hadn't gotten to say "goodbye" to the kids before they left Guthrie and headed home.  My new friend Stephanie, who had seen the entire wreck take place as she was heading home from work, had come to the hospital with her husband and took us to their home to have supper and wait while Vern's folks and a few close church friends made their way to Guthrie to pick us up.  Stephanie and I were at the local drug store getting Vern's medications when Ralph and Carol arrived at her house in Guthrie.  Everyone felt it was best to not wait for us to return and instead get the kiddos home as quickly as possible. But I called Carol and had her give the phone to each of the kids so that I could talk to them as they were headed home, just to reassure them (and me) that we were all still okay.

With the kids safely on their way back home with Vern's folks, the rest of us headed over to the wrecking yard in the dark to pull everything out that was salvageable--because most everything we needed on a day to day basis was in that camper.  But the emotional relief of gathering our things and taking them home was also just as necessary.

As we walked into the gate where the truck was we all stopped in our tracks, jaws dropping to the ground.  It was the first time our friends had seen it, and there was something about seeing what a beating it had taken that spoke volumes about God's awesomeness, faithfulness and protection. As Monja cried softly, she turned to Vern and Kai and said, "Who wouldn't believe in God after seeing this--knowing you had all walked away with your lives?"

So three trucks (The McKnight's, The Farda's and our suburban--Monja and her son Kai had driven that up) loaded up what had once fit into our camper and headed back home in the dark. Vern and Denny rode with The McKnight's, Michael's truck was too stuffed to hold anyone but himself, and I rode in our suburban with Monja driving and Kai in the back.

It had been less than 10 hours since the wreck had occurred and Vern was already in his element, even urging the clerk at the gas station to get right with Jesus because you never know when it's your last day. Even a fresh witness can occur in the dark.

What else do Texans do in the dark?  I'll tell you.

1. They put all of their Friday night plans aside and drive through rush hour Dallas traffic to get to their friends and family in need.
2. They coordinate a plan because the family they are helping is in no shape to make decisions.
3. They cry and laugh with you over the tragedy and miracle of the situation.
4. They spend two hours pulling your stuff out of the wreckage with you, with only a few teases about some personal items.
5. They find your scripture ring in the wreckage that has countless index cards on it with verses that are precious to you that you carry with you everywhere, and hand it to you because they know it will bring you comfort.
6. They get back on the road, bone tired and emotionally drained (and loaded up on Sunkist) to get you home as quickly as possible because that's what you need them to do for you.
7. And they don't try to persuade you to go with another plan.
8. They giggle with you because you swear you saw a 4 foot beaver in the road.  (Hint:  only the Texan on massive pain medication saw THAT.)
9. They let you run through the events of the wreck over and over and urge you to rest while they drive you back home.
10. They unload one truck before heading to their homes.  Or just take your packed suburban home with them to keep you from being tempted to start unloading that without their help.

Everyone was gone as the sun started peaking its head over the horizon.  We checked on the kids to be sure they were sleeping OK, then headed for the showers.  Rivers of red Oklahoma dirt drifted to the drain, and I was so glad to see it go.

 But we saw a lot more Oklahoma red dirt that day.

About 5 hours after arriving at home, the doorbell rang.  JD and Lauren Shields set up wash stations on the front and back porches to wash the red dirt off of all our camper inventory. Stephanie and Tommy McKnight had caught some quick winks after their long drive to Guthrie and back again to Ovilla in the dark and came to the house to help unload the last truck and coordinate the day for us as we were in no shape to do it ourselves.  I remember Vern was on the couch dozing off and on as the pain from his head wound and his cut up hands started to really hit him.  I was stiffening up pretty good by then too and the bruise on my shoulder/chest had deepened to a dark purple. I was so thankful that we were not driving anymore that day. I was trying to help get things put away after the red dirt had been washed off, and Tommy would get frustrated with me because I wouldn't sit down. Rhett Shields took a bath in the front porch tub--hard for a little guy to resist all that water and he made us all laugh! Monja Kiefer had taken our suburban home with her loaded down with most of the clothes, and spent the weekend washing and drying those. Kai Kiefer cleaned my truck inside and out--best detail job I've ever had. Renee Cole had the forethought to realize all of our food was lost in the wreck, and in the dark hours of the night, had restocked our kitchen with all the perfect things she knows our kiddos love to eat. Leah Farda came later that afternoon to help finish up and also ran some errands for me as we were in no shape to drive.  She was there to comfort me when I had my first nightmare. Brandy Conklin had already started a Meal Calendar and brought us supper that night.

Tommy McKnight came and picked us up for church the next morning.  By then, our church family knew what had happened, and I'm not sure who was more shocked--them because we were at church already less than 2 days after the wreck, or us because our church family was shocked we were at church.  

Vern kept saying that there was nowhere else he would rather be after experiencing such a miracle than there in church to worship God.

Because whether it's in the dark or in the light, we choose to worship God.

I will sing of Your strength, in the morning I will sing of Your love; for You are my fortress, my refuge in times of trouble.  Psalm 59:16

Off-Roading Garling Style Part 3: We are His

I squinted against the hot Oklahoma sun in the doorway of the ambulance as the tow truck driver hooked our 7.3L diesel Excursion which we had fondly named "Max" to the tow line.   The gear wined as it pulled Max off his side back onto all 4 wheels.

I was so nauseated at the site of it, I nearly threw up.  You see, while the truck was on its side, you couldn't really tell the damage that had been done to the driver's corner of the truck.  But with Max back on all fours...well.  Off-roading Garling style had turned our truck into a convertible. And Vern had clearly gotten the worst of it as we had barrel rolled through that ditch.

I leaned against the doorway of the ambulance and squeezed my eyes shut knowing that the scene before me would be burned in my memory forever.

One of the Guthrie firefighters stood in front of the truck, his hands on his hips staring at the damage. I took his picture because it was easier to focus on what he might be thinking than to deal with the thoughts racing through my head.  Thoughts of how I could be cradling our hurt or dead kiddos in my arms.  Thoughts of how we could be rushing to the ER.  Thoughts of how I could be planning funerals for one or all of them.  Thoughts of how I could have been spending the rest of my life on Earth without Vern or the kids.

"Is everybody buckled in?" I croaked as I took my seat in the ambulance.  The kids were, but the EMT had forgotten to strap Vern into the gurney.  So he got Vern buckled in as the ambulance slowly merged with traffic heading to the hospital.  I sat there, drinking in what each of my guys looked like and the sound of their voices.  We were hot and exhausted with tears making clean streaks through all that red Oklahoma dirt on our faces.  But the lot of them had never looked so sweet to me and I thanked The Lord that we did not need those ambulance sirens on. 

They put Vern in one room, and sat me down at the check-in desk.  The kids sat on the floor at my feet, their unspoken need to be near a parent being met as best I could at that moment.  The clerk kept passing me papers to sign.  One for Vern.  One for me.  One for Matt.  One for Grace.  One for Isaac.  And each time I signed my name on those forms, my hands trembled with the overwhelming and sobering realization that I was signing them all in because we were all alive.  

Perhaps a better person would be dancing in the triage room with that realization.  Or at least smiling.  Instead, I was perfectly still, tears welling to the surface that had come from somewhere so deep that I just didn't have the strength to deal with them.  So I buried those tears back in the depths where they had risen and walked wearily with the kids back to our room in the ER.

I sat on the bed, and the kids piled on with me.  Isaac in my lap, softly crying.  Grace's head buried in my shoulder as she sobbed.  Matt sitting behind me, holding my hand.  And all the while I was whispering to them tenderly about the deep and wide love that Jesus had shown us that day.

Because we should all be dead.  Irretrievably gone.  No last meaningful "I love you"'s.  No final hugs or kisses.  Just our North Dakota and Texas parents planning funerals for their babies and their babies' babies. 

"You kids need something to drink?  There are sodas and juice boxes in the fridge, why don't you go help yourself and I'll get you some cups with ice?"  The nurse shuffled them off to the fridge, and I snuck out to go see Vern who was two doors down from us.  

It was the first time we had been alone just the two of us since the wreck.  We had no words for each other. Only waves of tears as we held each other in deep relief. I closed my eyes, and buried my face into his chest, breathing in deep the familiar smell of my man and marveling at how thankful I was to even be hearing his heart beat. The doctor came in and told us that the CT scan looked fine.  They would now work on Vern's wounds.  Dirt and grass had been ground into Vern's head wound that was over six inches long, and the nurses would work to get it cleaned out with liters of saline while the doctor stitched up Vern's filleted finger.  For the next two hours, I wore a small path in the tile floor between those two rooms. The kids were desperate to see their dad, but settled for a quick peak at him through the glass door.

Then they were sitting in our ER room huddled together watching TV and laughing while they drank their sodas and juice. I drank in the scene as if I had never seen them having a good time before and promised myself to never take another moment with them for granted.

"We are yours, Lord."  I whispered. 

"You ARE mine, Nancy."  That voice of the Holy Spirit was familiar to me, and I shut my eyes savoring the moment and opening my heart to the new understanding of what that meant.  I belonged to The Lord even in a storm of hot Oklahoma red dirt while buckled into a truck that was barrel rolling through a ditch.  My life was His.  My family's lives were His. And I realized that I had only scratched the surface of what that really means to belong to THE ONE TRUE GOD whose love for His children is deeper, higher, longer and wider than anything we can possibly understand.

Vern's wounds were the worst, but Grace had a seat belt burn at her waist that was worrisome because it could have damaged her internal organs.  Two belly checks and an X-ray later, she was discharged. I signed her papers in complete disbelief that she had been released.  Matt had a swollen right eye that he was quite fascinated with, but was also discharged.  The ER doc checked out Isaac, but he didn't have a scratch on him and so I was signing discharge papers for him as well. I had a black-purple bruise that covered my entire right shoulder, glass in my feet and a swollen left jaw. My hands trembled when the nurse gave me the clipboard to sign for my discharge instructions. Then the ER doc came in and said Vern was ready to be discharged as well.

We had been snatched from the jaws of death by our Jesus.  Our rescue had been perfectly orchestrated without us lifting even one finger.  And as Vern gathered us all into his arms there in that waiting room as the warm sun streamed in from the sky light above, we were grinning.  Because our Jesus had excelled that day beyond all earthly expectations and we had front row seats to the whole thing.

And He wasn't even done.

Only three hours had passed since the wreck.

And I pray that you and all God’s holy people will have the power to understand the greatness of Christ’s love—how wide, how long, how high, and how deep that love is.  Ephesians 3:18