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I am starting this blog with 'my story', since I found Christ (He always knew where I was).
I was a baptized Lutheran, went the Sunday school route, and was confirmed at 16. I basically never went to church again, until my daughter was born in '73, and then I went long enough to have her baptized.
I moved to Texas in 1980. Still not church going, although I wandered into a couple of Lutheran churches now and then. During the summer of 1998, I had the urge to go to a Catholic church. Don't ask me why. My dad was a non-practicing Catholic, he had married my mom in a Lutheran church. I always enjoyed the 'pomp and circumstance' of the Catholic tradition. I was a CPA, in business for myself. In the morning I would drive past a local Catholic parish, since they have 'services' everyday - I thought I'd stop in some time. I swear...for two weeks I drove past the church...looked at the time schedule...and found some sort of excuse.
During the first week of August, 1998, I combined pleasure with work. I had an accounting client on the Mexican border, who owned a gift shop. My husband and I went there, for me to get the books and for both of us to have alittle vacation. The client had put us up in a local motel - and really took great care of us. We enjoyed the stay. But come Sunday morning...we had to hurry, hurry to get home so we could get back to WORK. We had a good sleep, Saturday night...but Sunday morning we left without breakfast (we didn't have time), without saying good bye and thanks to our clients/friends (no time for that), without my husband having his much needed coffee (for a boring ride). I drove the first two hours. This part of Texas is blah (as is many parts lol). We switched driving...I reclined my seat and fell asleep (no seat belt).
I remember hearing the tires on rocks and pebbles or gravel. I picked my head up and saw my husband asleep. I screamed his name. I remember the look he had on his face when he opened his eyes. I don't know what he saw...I was still reclining...but he turned the wheel quick. From what I have been told, the car rolled about 5 times. It came to a stop on it's roof. My husband was fine, strapped in his seat, hanging upside down. He looked in the car for me....I was gone. He said he crawled out of the window...got up and looked down the street...where he saw me laying in the road.
A helicopter took me to Shannon Memorial Hospital in San Angelo, Texas. I do not remember anything. I woke up briefly when a doctor was stapling my scalp together. I can still remember the 'cha-ching' of the stapler and wondering what the heck they were doing. The next time I woke up...a pastor was looking down at me. I asked him if he was there because I was dieing. He said 'no'....and I closed my eyes again.
I think I woke up days later. My right side was a mess. My right buttock and thigh were literally shredded, I fractured my hip, punctured my liver, broke my right wrist, and my head was a maze of lacerations. I told the nurse that I was Catholic. Again...do not ask me why. I did not even know a Catholic prayer. I had no idea what you called all those different kind of Catholic people.
In this town was a convent, a nun from this convent would visit and pray with me a couple of times a week. She, Sister Jose, was a wonderful old, tiny, lady. Yet she was fiesty. I can remember one day when she came in and saw me crying, she asked me
"Why are you crying."
"I don't know"
"Don't you remember what Christ promised you?"
"What did He promise?"
"He promised He would always be there for you...call Him...yell for Him now."
She was such a wonderful spirit. But besides Sister Jose...I think I now had every denomination of the world coming to see me. I must have been joined in prayer from every prayer book under the sun. I even had one woman come in and ask if she could lay hands on me. I had never heard of this...no less experience it. I asked her if she was Christian...she said yes. I said you can pray anyway you would like.
Everyday I endured two 'debridements', where they scrap and clean your wounds. They ended up removing my right gluteus maximus.....and debriding. I just laid in bed. Day in day out. My husband would come on weekends, sleeping over Saturday evening. I was a morphine addict. They shot me up with it just to keep me quiet. My husband was scared to say anything, because he didn't want them to mistreat me Monday through Friday when he wasn't there. But he says that I was 'crazy'. He says the weird things I would do and say. I didn't know if it was day or night. And I would cry when he would leave. But aren't you supposed to be able to trust a hospital and a doctor?
I think I will stop here for now. Please do not be 'disheartened' because I am Catholic. I know alot of people do not understand Catholicism - some people (especially in the southern part of the country) perceive us as idol worshippers, that we do not worship God and Christ. I am here maybe to help someone learn. My blog...my story....my testimony is no where near complete. I survived an accident that everyone said should have killed me. I am surviving treatment, that should have killed me. But it was not my time. God had more in store for me. Sometimes (most of the time), I dreaded what was around the corner. But tomorrow I will tell you of one more amazing miracle...that even the angel of a doctor who saved me could not believe.
Until tomorrow....may God bless who ever comes upon this story. If you are having difficulties...let go and let God. |
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Posted by carolv723 on 2008-04-30 00:18:12 | Rating: | Views: 68
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I just got to read this today...I think it helps getting it out...I want to add the song stand in the rain...that is how I feel today...read today for me...it is pouring on me...but God is still faithful...hugs, cheryl
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Posted by Icareforyou
on 2008-05-01 15:57:22
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