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Posted: October 1st, 2007 at 1:51am By: Rev. Kristi Denham
I was 19 years old. I had been "born again" for one whole week. I spent my days finding ways to talk about my newfound faith with anyone who dared to make eye contact with my broadly smiling face. I was aggressive, obnoxious, and most of my old friends were already avoiding me.
It was Saturday night, a week to the day after my encounter with a Jesus freak, "high on God," who touched off this firestorm of spiritual transformation. I had a date with a young Harvard student I'd met earlier that summer. I spent the evening passionately explaining my new religious understandings and why they meant I was no longer interested in getting high or getting naked. He was fascinated and unconvinced.
We were finally on our way home at 2 a.m., taking Highway 84, a narrow two-lane road between Livermore and Fremont. We rounded a turn and suddenly saw two headlights coming straight at us on the wrong side of the road. There were high embankments on both sides. My date tried to move into the other lane to avoid the crash.
Everything went into slow motion. He said, "Hold on, babe." I was sitting next to him in the middle of the front seat (what we affectionately called "the suicide seat"), not wearing a seat belt. My date grasped the steering wheel and tried to make a hard left to get out of the way.
I heard a voice, clear as day in my head, whisper, "Relax, you're gonna be fine." So I relaxed. Completely.
The two cars struck nearly head on at the left front corners of both full-sized vehicles. I learned later that both were totaled.
I plunged forward, hit the windshield with my face and rolled as if through a wave of metal, hitting the dashboard with my shoulders, my ribs and my knees. Now I was lying on the front seat of what was left of the car, spitting out glass, counting my teeth with my tongue and saying that good ol' Lords Prayer while I waited for the paramedics.
As I lay there, taking inventory of my body, I sensed that there was damage to five bones. My date wanted to know if I was OK and kept encouraging me to get up. I insisted on waiting for the ambulance.
My date, I learned later, had a mild concussion but no other injuries. The drunk who hit us scraped his knee.
Once I was with the paramedics, they asked where I hurt. I told them about each break. They were kind but skeptical.
At the hospital, a few miles away, the X-ray technician asked the same question. Again I told him exactly where I was broken: my upper right arm, my left shoulder, two ribs and my right knee. Then I passed out.
Later I learned that shock usually sets in immediately after a traumatic accident, that patients seldom know exactly where they are injured or how seriously.
Not only had I been aware of each broken bone, but the orthopedic surgeon who read the X-rays and prepared my treatment told me that he had never seen breaks quite like these.
Usually the stress of a collision causes muscles to constrict and every break is compounded by trauma. None of my bones, although broken clean through, had moved at all. I had taken that voice in my head to heart. I had relaxed, completely.
A cast was put on my leg and my arm. My ribs were wrapped. The doctor designed a unique form of portable traction to keep my arm and shoulder in position. I had to sleep sitting up for the next six weeks to give the bones the best support in healing.
God slowed me down. I began to study scripture and the tenets of my newfound faith. I developed a tiny bit of humility. I was fully recovered by my first week of a new school.
I had transferred to the University of California at Davis. There I discovered Campus Crusade for Christ.
I continued my climb of a traditional Christian sacred mountain. But the bright cross of salvation I expected to reach became a hanging tree of judgment and condemnation. The shadow side of absolute faith was to haunt the next steps on my journey.
(To be continued.)
— — —
Rev. Kristi Denham is pastor of the Congregational Church of Belmont, California (United Church of Christ). Her email address is {email RevKristi@aol.com}RevKristi@aol.com{/email}. © Copyright 2007 by Kristi Denham.
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I was 19 years old. I had been "born again" for one whole week. I spent my days finding ways to talk about my newfound faith with anyone who dared to make eye contact with my broadly smiling face. I was aggressive, obnoxious, and most of my old friends were already avoiding me.
It was Saturday night, a week to the day after my encounter with a Jesus freak, "high on God," who touched off this firestorm of spiritual transformation. I had a date with a young Harvard student I'd met earlier that summer. I spent the evening passionately explaining my new religious understandings and why they meant I was no longer interested in getting high or getting naked. He was fascinated and unconvinced.
We were finally on our way home at 2 a.m., taking Highway 84, a narrow two-lane road between Livermore and Fremont. We rounded a turn and suddenly saw two headlights coming straight at us on the wrong side of the road. There were high embankments on both sides. My date tried to move into the other lane to avoid the crash.
Everything went into slow motion. He said, "Hold on, babe." I was sitting next to him in the middle of the front seat (what we affectionately called "the suicide seat"), not wearing a seat belt. My date grasped the steering wheel and tried to make a hard left to get out of the way.
I heard a voice, clear as day in my head, whisper, "Relax, you're gonna be fine." So I relaxed. Completely.
The two cars struck nearly head on at the left front corners of both full-sized vehicles. I learned later that both were totaled.
I plunged forward, hit the windshield with my face and rolled as if through a wave of metal, hitting the dashboard with my shoulders, my ribs and my knees. Now I was lying on the front seat of what was left of the car, spitting out glass, counting my teeth with my tongue and saying that good ol' Lords Prayer while I waited for the paramedics.
As I lay there, taking inventory of my body, I sensed that there was damage to five bones. My date wanted to know if I was OK and kept encouraging me to get up. I insisted on waiting for the ambulance.
My date, I learned later, had a mild concussion but no other injuries. The drunk who hit us scraped his knee.
Once I was with the paramedics, they asked where I hurt. I told them about each break. They were kind but skeptical.
At the hospital, a few miles away, the X-ray technician asked the same question. Again I told him exactly where I was broken: my upper right arm, my left shoulder, two ribs and my right knee. Then I passed out.
Later I learned that shock usually sets in immediately after a traumatic accident, that patients seldom know exactly where they are injured or how seriously.
Not only had I been aware of each broken bone, but the orthopedic surgeon who read the X-rays and prepared my treatment told me that he had never seen breaks quite like these.
Usually the stress of a collision causes muscles to constrict and every break is compounded by trauma. None of my bones, although broken clean through, had moved at all. I had taken that voice in my head to heart. I had relaxed, completely.
A cast was put on my leg and my arm. My ribs were wrapped. The doctor designed a unique form of portable traction to keep my arm and shoulder in position. I had to sleep sitting up for the next six weeks to give the bones the best support in healing.
God slowed me down. I began to study scripture and the tenets of my newfound faith. I developed a tiny bit of humility. I was fully recovered by my first week of a new school.
I had transferred to the University of California at Davis. There I discovered Campus Crusade for Christ.
I continued my climb of a traditional Christian sacred mountain. But the bright cross of salvation I expected to reach became a hanging tree of judgment and condemnation. The shadow side of absolute faith was to haunt the next steps on my journey.
(To be continued.)
— — —
Rev. Kristi Denham is pastor of the Congregational Church of Belmont, California (United Church of Christ). Her email address is {email RevKristi@aol.com}RevKristi@aol.com{/email}. © Copyright 2007 by Kristi Denham.
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