Learning about God: A Personal Story
Part 1 of 6
Editor’s Note — This year marks the 20th anniversary of the death of my wife, Eleanor, who died from injuries suffered in an automobile accident in South Africa as described in the editorial below. For all of those 20 years I have tried to support people walking the grief journey as I was supported in that crisis time.
In 1998 and 1999, I shared a few initial thoughts from that experience through this column. However, it is only in the last few months that I have been able to write something I can share with others about the many crises of that experience and what I learned about God in the midst of grief.
This week’s editorial is the first of a six-part series. The following five pieces will be shared as weekly articles elsewhere in the paper.
I pray they will be helpful to others walking the grief journey.
Did I die?” I asked to no one in particular.
The last thing I remembered was riding in a taxi through dark downtown streets well before the Saturday morning sun broke. We were on our way to the airport after leading training sessions for Baptist communicators as part of a Baptist World Alliance meeting in Durban, South Africa.
Now all around me was light, bright white light. I could make out two fussy dark objects that seemed to be moving toward me and muffled sounds like voices that I could not make out. I was confused. I felt no pain and my senses were not working properly.
“You have been in an accident,” said a voice above the two dark objects approaching me. “We are waiting for an ambulance.”
The voice belonged to a Durban policeman. So did the two dark objects. They were his legs. The bright light came from the morning sun, now well above the waters of the Indian Ocean. In short South African English sentences the policeman explained the taxi had been broadsided by a speeding car and that Eleanor, my wife, and I had both been thrown from the car. I had been propped up against a light pole but Eleanor still lay among the debris on the street.
Everything was dark again
I looked toward where he pointed and only glimpsed the caved-in Toyota SUV in which we had been riding. Then everything was dark again.
How long before I came to I do not know. This time I was lying on a hospital gurney. People were buzzing around. Years before I had worked as an emergency room chaplain for a metropolitan hospital and instinctively knew I was in an emergency room.
When I spoke nurses immediately responded. This time my first question was about Eleanor. She was lying on a gurney next to me. I reached toward her and she reached toward me. Our hands touched.
Our first words came out almost simultaneously. “I love you.” We assured each other we were OK and that all would be well. Then darkness.
The next time I regained consciousness Eleanor and I had been moved to a treatment area of the emergency room.
Leaders of Baptist World Alliance came in but only for moments. I remember Jimmy Draper, former Southern Baptist Convention (SBC) president and then president of LifeWay Christian Resources, asking how to contact family members back in the United States. I was in and out of consciousness a number of times, never conscious for very long.
What I did not know until much later was the hospital refused to admit Eleanor and me until a $5,000 down payment on our treatment had been made. Draper refused to allow the hospital to ask me for payment given my injured condition and put the total amount on his own credit card.
The last thing I remember from the day of the accident is hearing that Eleanor was in surgery and I would have surgery after her.
The next morning, a Sunday, I awoke in a six-bed ward. This time I did have pain and my other senses were working — at least a little. I quickly recognized I had no clothes and was covered only by a bed sheet. It would be Tuesday before the hospital would find the bottom half of a pajama set I could wear. No one seemed to know what had happened to our luggage.
Late Monday evening a Christian shopkeeper of Indian heritage from whom we had purchased souvenirs came to see me on the ward. I was surprised at his thoughtfulness. He left to visit Eleanor who was on another ward. A few minutes later he was back. He told me that Eleanor had asked him to tell me that she loved me and always would.
That was the last message I got from her. She went into a coma that evening from which she never awoke. We had not seen each other since holding hands in the emergency room and saying, “I love you.” We had both been restricted to our beds. Later I learned Eleanor had a premonition of her death and told a nurse she “was not going to make it.” I always wondered if Eleanor knew the shopkeeper was bearing her final message.
On Tuesday I was moved to a private room and twice during the day allowed to go to the intensive care area for a few minutes at a time. I was told to tell Eleanor goodbye because she could die at any moment. Those were precious minutes. I tried to extend my stays but was always taken back to my room in a wheelchair.
Tuesday evening after visiting hours, a nurse came in and asked to pray with me. Later I learned she was a Zulu, which is the largest ethnic group in South Africa. I tried to be polite but was not overly enthusiastic. My physical, emotional, mental and spiritual trauma was extreme. The nurse shared several psalms with me and then began to pray. Honestly, I have never experienced anything like that before or since. With a passion I have seldom experienced, she interceded for Eleanor, for me, for our family and for the medical team. Her prayer was filled with praise and anguish, with hope and confidence, with intimacy and otherness.
I don’t remember much of what she prayed that night or on Wednesday when she returned to read Scripture and pray, but I remember the sense of God’s presence in the midst of her prayer. Like the biblical story of the lame man lowered through the roof by four friends (Mark 2), she laid me before the feet of Jesus.
When I could not help myself, others carried me. Southern Baptist missionaries whom I had never met came to see me. When my children arrived in Durban later that week, the missionaries cared for them and guided them through the red tape of claiming our luggage from the police and other details. I even had a visit from a local Rotarian who had been contacted by a member of my Birmingham Rotary Club and came to offer help while I was in the hospital and afterwards, if needed.
And there were others. Many, many others who helped in unexpected ways. But perhaps the point is clear. God ministered to Eleanor and me in unexpected ways. He used a SBC executive who knew of me but did not know me. He used an Indian Christian shopkeeper and a Zulu nurse. He used missionaries and others to remind me a child of God is never alone — not even on the other side of the world.
Most importantly, God never left me, not even in the midst of chaos and despair. He will never leave you either. He promised, “I am with you always,” and you can trust the promises of God.
Share with others: