The Crash

She knew something had to be said. Had to be done. Something had to happen to shake up the sameness with which she met each day. She was bored. She was disinterested. She was going to find herself in trouble soon, if she didn’t first find something purposeful to do with her life. That’s when she’d read the words from that classic book, My Utmost for His Highest.

“If you do not break the moorings, God will have to break them by a storm and send you out. Launch all on God, go out on the great swelling tide of His purpose, and you will get your eyes open (June 8 reading).”

“What was she missing?” she wondered. “What tide? What swelling? What purpose? What was she missing?”

The black.

Blurry vision. Pain. Someone was talking, but she couldn’t answer. Couldn’t think. Sounds. All around her, motion. She was being questioned, but by whom?

Moments passed. How many? Who could tell?

Touching. Hands moving over her body, attempting to find broken bones. Consciousness, then sleep again. A sharp pinch, or was it a poke? Metal sliding under skin.

Hands, again. Hands moving slowly, while consciousness tried again. Clothes ripping, or torn, or shredded…

“Can you move? Do you feel any pain? Can you tell us your name?”

Questions swirling around like bats in fog. Hard. Hard to understand. Harder, still, to respond. She couldn’t.

Black again, then light rising. “How long? How long had it been?”

White rectangle on black. Stiff. So close, but her arms wouldn’t rise to the occasion. Prayers? Tears? Family? Angels?!

A warm sensation came over her, enveloped her. She slept once more.

Advertisements