Mercy On the Mountain

I don’t know how long I lay unconscious on the mountain. When I came to, the first thing I remember was seeing the contrast of so much deep red blood on the glimmering white snow. ‘An animal must have died’, I thought, ‘I wonder where it is? ’ As my brain slowly came out of the fog, it dawned on me, that was my blood, coming from a huge gash on my head. ‘What happened to me?!’ My next memory is hearing the rotary blades of helicopters slicing the air overhead. Then I realized they were looking ... for me.

In December, we traveled to the Los Angeles area to work in correctional facilities and help the homeless on Skid Row. The place we were staying at was surrounded by the beautiful San Gabriel Mountains and, on Christmas Eve morning, I decided to go for a hike. I rose at 5:30 am, laced up my boots, grabbed my backpack, and headed out. I planned to be back by noon to watch the Cowboys’ game with my family. Plus, my mom was making cookies and the window to steal cookie dough was short.

I rode my bike 3 miles and locked it at the trailhead. The sun was just beginning to peak over the distant ridge, chasing away the stars and splashing the sky pink. It was a spectacular day and within the first hour I was down to a T-shirt. I filled my lungs with the intoxicating aroma of pine as the trail wove through a rich forest and across two streams. I cherish being alone with God. When I hike or run, I pray for so many people I meet that are suffering in prisons around the world. I pray for you there, my friend, and ask God to send you grace.

I love listening to the silence. It speaks to me of many things. At other times, I enjoy music as the right song drops a soundtrack to this magnificent “movie” playing around me. When I get to a good Celtic song, it’s me... the female Braveheart, running on the peaks... well, you know... in my head.

As I got higher, snow started to cover the trees adding a special magic to the morning. Also, a certain squirrel may have come face to face with a snowball. Poor sucker. Then came the final ascent. Ah. The summit! I savored the moment and took it all in. A 360 majestic view! Surrounded by so much glory, it was as if the very wind was shouting “God is so close.”

I downed a protein bar and started the descent. I came to a part where it had become very slippery. Taking out my walking sticks, I began to really focus and double down on my footing. This, my brother or sister, is my last memory before I slipped on ice and was knocked unconscious by the fall.

I woke up with no idea what happened. My leg was jammed into a dead tree that had stopped my fall but battered my body. A hiker who came behind told me I had fallen over 200 ft and he'd called in a rescue.

My first thought was that there was no way I needed a helicopter! But when I saw all the blood, I realized I was seriously injured and in a very bad situation. I moved a little, and excruciating pain shot through my body, especially my neck.

Walking With A Broken Neck.

It took two hours for the helicopters to find me, and two more for them to get close, due to the strong updraft winds. A military rescuer repelled down and came to my side. “I hate to tell you this, honey, but the helicopter can’t drop the cable here. We have to walk to another place to be evacuated,” he said.

I just begged God: “Please, have mercy on me, Jesus. Help me.” Brother, He met me in the moment. Despite the searing pain, I got up. Holding my neck, I hiked across the mountain to the rescue spot. It was grueling. I did not know it at the time, but my neck was broken.

We made it to the clearing and the rescuer held me as the cable lifted us off the mountain. The wind whipped away the hat that was used as my bandage and the severed skin blew open, exposing my skull. As a daughter of the Most High, I remember thinking as we swung above the peaks, ‘something significant is going to come out of this.

Finally, the team in the chopper pulled us inside. The sheriff called my father and told him the devastating news. Knowing the grief and shock that was hitting my family killed me. It hurt worse than my physical pain.

They transported me to the trauma center at the nearest hospital. The gash in my head required 40 stitches and staples to close. I had bitten a hole through my lip and had cuts all over my face and in my mouth. There was so much blood in my hair, it turned red and took days to wash out.

I thought gritting through all those stitches was the worst of it. I told myself that the pain in my neck was just from whiplash. ‘I’ll still be home for Christmas and things will be OK.’ But then the doctor walked in after reading the MRI scan and hit me with devastating reality. He sharply told the nurses to stop moving me. I had broken three vertebrae in my neck. A wrong movement in a certain way and I could be paralyzed. Those words whirled in my head then landed in my heart as if in slow motion. ‘Broken...neck… What?! No way. You must have the wrong patient!’ One moment, one wrong step, and my whole reality changed.

As bleak as this situation seemed, I clung to the reality that God is a GOOD Father. He would show me a strategy to deal with this tragedy. He would give me a plan through my pain.

The surgery required to repair my spine would be high-risk and complicated. It was a terrifying moment when the neurosurgeon explained that he would enter through the front of my neck, move aside my vocal cords, and insert screws and a plate in the broken vertebrae.

I lay in the ICU in severe pain. I could not budge or eat for 6 days and was so grateful when they let me have a cup of ice. When they came to get me to go into surgery, I was writing a note to my family, “I love you. I’m so sorry”, thinking ‘This could be the last text I send’. It was a solemn moment.

Hours later, when I came out of the operating room, my family told me that I smiled and made a heart with my hands. “Did it go ok?” I mumbled. They said the surgeon was ecstatic that the cutting-edge surgery, the first he had performed of this type, went flawlessly.

A few days after, the nurse helped me take my first steps. I realized I had also torn ligaments in my leg, but that pain was swallowed up by the deep joy of realizing I made it. I could feel my legs. I was not paralyzed. I was alive!

Solutions To The Unbearable

That was one big thought that just kept hitting me with perspective: I WAS ALIVE! The head nurse was really sweet. She had been formerly incarcerated for 6 years and we really connected. She told me that a few days after my accident, others had tragically perished near the same treacherous area. As terrible as my situation was... I could have died. Not a day goes by where I do not relish taking a deep breath through my nose. Before surgery, I could not, as the shock had caused the nasal passage to lock up. Amazing how “ordinary” things can become mega-blessings when we shift our perspective.

When my brother came to visit me, he told me he had written to many of you about what happened. He said he received back waves of love and prayer and that some of you even fasted for me. It just brought me to tears. You guys are really special and I deeply thank you. I will never forget what you did for me.

NBC Nightly News called my survival the ‘Miracle on the Mountain’. I call it Mercy. Mercy in the moment. Mercy on that Mountain. In the midst of this absolute nightmare, God met me there and brought me into His place.

On my neck brace, I took a sharpie and wrote “John 14.” Jesus says that HE will come to US and make a “home” WITH us (v23). Brother, this is where I went. A “place” within that turbulent helicopter ride, terrifying hospital stay, the dreaded news from the doctor, intense pain, a fractured spine... in that place, my place, your place, we can find His place. It’s real.

He can turn our worst moments into the catalyst from which a deeper dimension of life is born.

I’m just telling you what I have, my precious friend, and what you can have, because He loves us the same. Throughout my life, I worked to build this inner place by fellowship and communication with the Father and the Son. Engaging my heart to learn His heart and access His solutions to the unbearable. In this tragedy I gained an even deeper strategy of how to find His place in such physical torment.

Laying in the hospital, the lights, noise, and pain made it impossible to sleep. So, as I watched the rain slide down the window, I would read in John and let those precious promises replace my fear. Trying to sort out all the things I could have, wish I would have, and didn’t do, just ends nowhere good and triggers bad dreams. I chose instead to rest in My Father’s house and lock all that out. No matter how far we fall after that “one wrong step,” He is there at the bottom to catch us (Dt.33:27).

My dad calls the scar on my head a “Tiara” because suffering produces character and character is a crown.103,105 I am guessing you too might have a scar. So, my fellow outcast, let’s wear our scars with honor. Let’s use them as specific tools to break down old walls and build a new home in the presence of the Father. ONE day there is better than a thousand anywhere else (Ps.84:1-10). Circumstances may determine where we are, but we can never let them determine who we are.

By the way, if you saw our last magazine or video and are wondering if I am the same girl who has a rod in her leg after shattering it, that would be a yes. Let’s just say, I rejoice in the fact that God deliberately chooses broken things.

To whatever level I end up being able to go for a walk or run again, I’ll be out there with the sunrise, praying for you; that on every mountain you face, you would forever find His mercy. I’ll never forget the moment the rescue crew hauled me into the helicopter. The pilot looked back at me and smiled as the team cheered, “We got her! She is going to make it.” So are you, my brother! So are you!

Rise to Your Fall

When tragedy hits us, we can fall under it or rise to meet it. We each have scars and a backstory for all of them. Our “fall” is personal, and so is our rise. God is a magnificent Potter who sculpts us to meet the specific demands of our fall and comes to our side in every aspect of our rise. In suffering and failure, there are constant opportunities where we can choose the positive or negative. Our response determines OUR rise. Imagine a builder who has all the heavy and expensive materials to build a bridge. He could fall under the great burden of the demands and grief of having to do so much work. Instead, he chooses to recognize the positive of already having the materials and begins to build.

Build your rise, my brother. You’ve been through so much. Don’t waste your suffering. Turn it over to the Master of tragedy. Let Him use it to help you fashion a deep heart. Instead of hiding our pain, let’s use it to reach someone else in theirs. Like the Nazarene, Who showed His scars to reach doubting Thomas. So much can be drawn from affliction if we believe that God will meet us with redemption. Our rise can surpass our fall to such an extent that Paul could actually say, “I take pleasure in weaknesses... in catastrophes...” (2Cor.12:10). “... Though I fall I will rise...” Micah.7:8

When life is shattered and the pieces scattered, we look back and wonder what really mattered. ‘It only took a second to fall apart, now where do I start, to find all the pieces and rebuild my heart?’ But, my friend, no matter what happened or where you are, if you are hurting or have gone too far, there is real hope waiting on the other side of the scar. A solution not token, a promise spoken, of a beautiful future found only when you are... Broken.