The crash left me with several broken bones and other internal injuries. I spent the next two weeks in the hospital and a total of 14 months recovering, doing physical therapy, and trying to get back to some sort of productive routine. I still have pain.
During recovery, I had some interesting talks with God. I thanked him for the pain meds because without them I would have wanted to die. I cried, and I cursed–especially when I was alone, frustrated, and tired of the stupid pain and physical limitations.
In one talk, I asked God for redemption: to work this experience for good in a way that I could see it, in this life. I explained plainly that I was angry with waiting all the time to get to heaven for answers. Do something with this!
Several weeks later, the time came for me to rent a car so that I could shop for another to buy. Only then did I realize how much my body had a mind of its own, as all of my insides began yelling, "You do not want to get behind the wheel of that car! What are you trying to do, kill me? Remember the last time you were driving? Crazy drivers–all around!”
Scattered thoughts and images of what happened and what could happen would tumble through my head and roll through my body as anxiety and nausea anytime I got into a car.
The first time I drove to the grocery store post-crash, my son came with me. It was the only thing I managed to do that day, as just walking caused my muscles to spasm. He coached me all the way there (five minutes), and all the way back (another five minutes).
“That was hell,” I said as I turned off the car in our driveway, shaking and sweating.
“Yeah. Now you know how I feel every day at school.”
I looked at him, astounded. “Oh my God. I am so sorry.”
Right then I remembered my request: Do something with this! And I realized that my recent time of trauma, my slow healing and setbacks, and especially how my insides screamed to stop doing what I wanted and what I needed to do–it all allowed me to better understand my son as he dealt with multiple health issues, including dysautonomia and general anxiety disorder. I understood then, viscerally, how horrible his anxiety could be.
I practice putting my hope in a God who can take everything and work it for good. Too often I don’t get to see in this life just how that happens. But sometimes…sometimes I do. And for that I am thankful. | 
