When I was little, three or four years old, I was hit in the head with a block.
Instead of the injury bleeding out, it bled underneath the skin, causing my head to swell up like a basketball.
I was taken to Crouse Irving-Memorial Hospital in Syracuse where a dr. from Peru drained the blood.
I am not sure of all the details, but I know that the doctors told my parents that I was going to die.
When I didn’t, they said I would be permanently brain damaged.
I wasn’t. (If you talk to my brothers, they would probably argue that point.)
I don’t remember much about the whole thing.
I remember laying in the hospital bed, screaming at the top of my lungs and trying to sit on my hands so the nurse could not stick a needle in my fingertip to draw blood.
I remember the terror of having to stay there by myself, pleading with my mother to stay with me.
I don’t remember it, but an artist from Walt Disney came and sketched a picture of Pinocchio for us:
I never really thought much about it, the miracle of it, until one day a few years ago when I was talking to my mother.
She told me my oldest brother had a similar experience while in Vietnam.
The convoy he was driving in was hit by the enemy, and he was the only one that survived the attack. Even the guy sitting next to him in his truck was killed.
But, for whatever reason, my brother lived to come home.
My brother and I are both blessed to be here today, only thanks to God for his intervention and protection.
It is a great responsibility to know that God has undertaken circumstances to make sure you survive a life-threatening ordeal.
You cannot help but ask ‘WHY?’
And when you realize that there is indeed a reason for God sparing your life, you cannot help but seek out the purpose for your continued survival and live your life to fulfill that purpose.
© Drusilla Mott and https://drusillamott.wordpress.com, 2014