On Sept. 25, 1999, we hosted the annual church picnic at our home. It was a day filled with fishing, horseback riding, food, and fellowship.
We always ended the day with a hayride. A few minutes prior to everyone leaving for the hayride, my son and a few other young men from the church slipped away to hide in the woods. They were going to jump out and scare everyone.
My husband was driving the tractor, pulling the first trailer of people. When he turned onto Alexander Road, our son jumped out from the woods and started yelling to scare everyone. His foot slid on the loose gravel, and he slid under the trailer. The back tire ran over his right side, crushing the bones in his leg, clamping down on his liver, and puncturing his right lung. Someone saw him lying on the side of the road and ran to a neighbor’s house to call for help.
I had stayed back at the house to keep my grandbaby. My daughter and one of the church deacons came in the back door. Lori said, “Mom, there has been an accident and Bobby is hurt.” The deacon took my arm and escorted me to his truck. We prayed.
When we turned on Alexander Road, I saw our church family on their knees crying, praying, and interceding for my son. It was a blanket of prayer. I ran to Bobby. He tried to tell me something, but it was barely a whisper, so I leaned in. “Mom, no matter what, I’ll be okay.” I knew he would because, at seven years old, he knelt at an altar and gave his life to Christ. Live or die, he would spend eternity in heaven. Bobby was fourteen years old at the time.
I heard the siren of the ambulance as they turned on Alexander Road. They allowed me to ride up front with the driver. She took my hand and said, “I’m a momma, too, and I’m praying.” I heard the paramedic call ahead to the hospital requesting a trauma team. I was thankful Bobby was alive and conscious.
When we got to the hospital, they took me to a holding room where I met my husband. The trauma doctor came in and said, “We are not equipped to handle his injuries, I have done all I can to stabilize him; a Med-flight helicopter is landing now to carry him to Huntsville Hospital.”
When we walked outside, there was the family of God in the parking lot, praying. It was a comforting sight, and I was thankful for the blanket of prayers wrapped around us. They allowed my husband to make the flight with our son. My Uncle escorted me to Huntsville Hospital. Mother was sitting beside me, holding my hand.
I rolled down the window to get some air when I heard the most beautiful singing coming from heaven. “Through many dangers, toils, and snares I have already come, Tis grace that brought me safe thus far, and grace will lead me home.” (Amazing Grace” John Newton, 1779) The words penetrated deep into my heart, and I could breathe. Jesus was singing over me.
When we finally arrived at the hospital, they took me to a holding room where my husband was waiting for me. The surgeon was there with papers for us to sign. Bobby had internal bleeding. They needed to do surgery immediately to save his leg. If they put him to sleep with internal bleeding, he might not wake up. We had to sign a waiver saying that we would not hold the surgeon or the hospital responsible if Bobby died. We signed the papers.
The nurse showed us to a large waiting room. When we walked through the doors, there was our church family. They had come to us in our darkest hour. We were so grateful and thankful for each of them. Most of our family members had arrived also. Many of Bobby’s friends from school were coming in. They were all praying and interceding. They wrapped us in their love and prayers.
I slipped away and found the chapel. The surgery lasted for hours. God heard and answered our prayers. The bleeding had stopped before they started the surgery. The following 72 hours were crucial. Bobby was CRITICAL. He was in a chemically induced coma for five days. Then, they weaned him off the drugs and moved him to a step-down room. After nine days in Huntsville Hospital, he walked out on crutches. After 21 days, he returned to school.
Sometimes, I pause and remember that dreadful night on Alexander Road. I can still see the family of God on bended knees, praying. When I hear an ambulance, I remember the momma driving the ambulance that night who prayed with me all the way to the hospital. When I drive by the hospital in Boaz, I can still see the family of God gathered in the parking lot, praying. When I hear Amazing Grace, I remember that night and how Jesus was sitting at the right hand of the Father, making intercession for Bobby.
When I bend down on my knees to pray, I remember the blanket of prayers that our Father wrapped us in that dreadful night in 1995. The family of God prayed, and my son lived. What would we do without the people of God, the family of faith?
Dana Hill
Lean into Jesus Ministries
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