I should be dead.

At least, that is what the doctors said.

Obviously, God had other plans.

It was a beautiful June day in Michigan. Warm sunshine and a gentle breeze greeted me as I stepped onto the front porch to check the weather. I was about to go to my friend’s house to discuss our Bible study lesson. Since a lovely day like this shouldn’t be wasted, and she lived just two miles away, I decided to ride my bicycle there.

I live in the country, surrounded by rolling hills covered with trees and farmer’s fields. Just a quarter of a mile east of my home, I pedaled my bike up one of the smaller hills.

I do not remember reaching the top.

At that time, a highway was being built in the neighboring county. Evidently we had a gravel pit east of our home, because throughout each day, a parade of dump trucks rumbled past. Laden with gravel, the loaded trucks lumbered west. Then later, they would travel east, flying by in their empty trucks as they returned for yet another load. 

Neighbors, finished with their breakfast at the lake, drove west, back to their home. They stopped when they saw me sitting next to my bicycle in the middle of the eastbound lane. They asked for my name, which I gave them, and where I lived. I remember pointing in that direction, which I realize now was not particularly helpful.

It is interesting how our brains work. I was able to give my phone number when asked – this was before smartphones, back when we needed to memorize phone numbers – but it never occurred to me to get out of the road. I was able to stand with their help, and we moved to the shoulder.

My poor husband was working third shift at the time, and was sound asleep when he received a call from the neighbors saying they found me in the road. He told me that in his stupor, he wondered what I was doing in the road…

Soon the ambulance came, and I was placed on the most uncomfortable thing I have ever laid on. My memory of that day is spotty, at best. I know my husband was at the hospital with me, and it seemed like we were there a very long time. Thankfully, no bones were broken. It wasn’t until I changed beds that I realized I had been lying on a backboard. No wonder it was so uncomfortable! 

Soon after the accident, I remember there were a couple friends of mine who came to visit. They thought I couldn’t hear them, but one said quietly to the other, “It’s really bad.” That surprised me because I thought I was doing pretty well, all things considered. I realize now that I was speaking extremely slowly. A doctor at the rehab hospital pointed out that I was not using contractions, which slowed things down to a pace my battered brain could handle.

There are at least two reasons why I shouldn’t be here. First, there were those dump trucks, along with other traffic in general. I was in the middle of the east bound lane, just over the crest of the hill. Any vehicle driving that direction would have run over me before they ever saw me. And from what my husband and I could piece together, I was there for at least ten minutes!

Second, every doctor I saw told me I would have died if I had not been wearing a bicycle helmet.

The thing is, I never wore a helmet.

At least, not until that day.

Praise God I was listening to the Holy Spirit! In hindsight, I realized He was the one speaking to me that day. When I walked into our garage, the five helmets hanging on the wall to my left caught my eye. I had walked by them a hundred times before. But on that day, a thought popped into my head: I am always after the kids to wear their helmets. I should probably wear one and be a good example…

Stopping and obeying that message saved my life.

I will be the first to admit that having a TBI does not have a big upside. Almost twenty-five years later, I still don’t have much in the way of short-term memory. That is why I probably won’t remember your name the first few times I meet you. And why I can lose things without even moving. And why I still can’t find the bottle of sunscreen I misplaced over a week ago. But praise God, I have learned that God is NOT limited by my limitations!

God is NOT limited by my limitations!

I mentioned to my sister-in-law that in preparing to teach, I speak a message over and over again until it flows well. She responded, “Oh, you move it from short-term to long-term memory.” Yes! God gave me a work-around without me even realizing it!

Things that some people can do quickly, can take me a long time. For instance, there were eighteen years between knowing I would one day write a book and actually writing “Enough: Finding Contentment in a World of Wanting and Wandering.” But in a way, I was better equipped to write the book because of my poor memory!

Because I am so adept at losing/misplacing/forgetting things, it is necessary for me to have a system for just about everything. I take notes on all things Bible related. A lot of notes. Then I type those notes on to my computer, organized by chapter and book so I can find them later. I follow a similar pattern when reading books I am hoping to learn from. I underline and highlight as I read, then type those notes on to my computer, noting the book and page number they came from.

It was in writing “Enough” that I noticed my note taking began just after my TBI.  Because I typed in what I was learning to help me remember, I now have twenty-one pages of notes on Numbers chapter sixteen alone! Those pages are full of references to the original sources, so I was able to revisit them as well as connect them with other parts of Scripture.

“in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose.”

(Romans 8:28)

I believe either the ER doctor was a woman, or a male doctor married to a quilter. I say this because, instead of cutting straight up the center of my shirt, as they normally do, they cut around the pieced flag I had appliqued on there. My previous post about borders featured a patriotic quilt currently hanging on my dining room wall. In the center of that small quilt is a flag. That flag came from the remains of the shirt I was wearing that fateful day. It is a testimony to God’s goodness, even when that goodness is hard to see.