On April 20, I felt a force greater than my words can illustrate. I was laughing and having a good time as a passenger in a Ford F150 pickup when this force was thrust upon me. A Ford F350 hit the side of the pickup and the rest is just what people told me later. Both trucks were totaled that night. The passenger compartment where I sat is now half of its original size.

I was rushed to the hospital with a great pain in my neck, which I thought would be gone in a couple of hours. After many doctors looked me up and down, they finally determined that the C2 vertebra was broken, so my “hours” turned into months. Three months to be exact, in what they call a “halo”. A set of metal rods connected to a circle that is just a little bigger than ones head. The circle then has four screws that push against one’s head, with a force of 8 pounds per inch, keeping it in the same position for the said three months. The other ends of the rods are attached to a plastic vest, which is strapped to your chest. The inside of the vest is lined with sheep wool.

On April 23, I felt a force so great that the description comes easily; I fear I may find myself writing forever. You see, the 20th was a Thursday, so by Sunday, my family of rebirth and birth poured out their prayers and love for me in such abundance a feeling of joy at being alive swept me up. My sore and broken body started a long summer of healing, with a gift of love more powerful than all the Ford 350s they can make. People of many faiths and far off places started praying for my well-being. Just the thought of a community of believers so great awes the recipient – the effect is one of overwhelming content. The number of visitors and gifts to the house where I was staying was without a doubt one of the driving forces of my recovery.

I am not a quiet or relaxed man. Being on the receiving end of help has always been challenging, so sitting and mending has been brutal. I have learned to look at people and God’s creation with a stationary view. I found a bird nest right next to my deck, because my chair faced that tree. The nest has been there all spring and baby birds were born just the other day. I would have missed that. God granted me the time to be still and listen and watch the world he created from a view I would never have seen. In a way it is funny to be the one with this metal holding my head still, and to be capable of being the first to notice something in a crowd. I have found myself now belonging to a club of halo-wearers who come up to me and share their stories and encouragement. Every one of them has told me how patience is a learned virtue for some. It has been for me.

I found myself lying on an emergency room table, ready for some doctor to come in and say, “Go home.” What I heard instead was, “The difference between Christopher Reeves and you is pure luck.” It was then that I got scared really fast.

Looking at the ceiling and having the feeling I might not be able to play with my sons was the first thing in my brain. Thinking fast about the rest of life, and being anxious to tell anyone about this (since being strong has always been my persona) terrified me as well. Laughing and talking of the lighter side of things is how we coped that night, all the while tears were slowly rolling down the side of my face.

Silent prayers for me and my family went up, and were answered. My faith has always been pulled forward for me by my mother, Barbara, and father, Jack. They live as if each day is the day for which God placed them here. My mother finds God in all things, at all times. This was no exception. She was the first to tell me, “God is not through with you yet.”

My accident has allowed me to pay more attention to the fact that finding the time to be still is virtually impossible in today’s fast-paced life. Even as I wear this fur vest in the Alabama summertime, where heat needs no help, God is teaching me.

Being still is what I have found to be the most comforting. Comforting in more than the physical way, but in the stillness of the psalm where we are want to be still and listen for God. I find myself sitting and listening for the Word everywhere. In days of old, I would have been too busy to listen with a sincere ear.

Nature talks to us all the time, yet people speak to each other and never hear the things that they say. Often I find myself listening to those around me who are hard to see because the halo keeps me from turning my head. I can hear the kindness in their voices, the anger they feel, and the pain they cause others without thinking. I have heard the preacher with a new ear and have been lucky to read scripture aloud for the congregation from a position that no one could wish.

When Sundays came, I was driven to church by somebody who was just glad to do it simply for the act of doing. My church family has come alive for me as it never has before. Sundays for me now are filled with the voices of encouragement, love, and joy for the fact of still being on this earth. The sheer power of the Holy Spirit that fills me as I sit and listen, not wandering and looking for who is there today, is too beautiful to understand. I feel more connected to the church each time I walk through the halls and see the smiles, which have always been there but now mean more to me.

This summer has taught me that I can watch my two sons’ baseball games, sweating and hot and loving it. It has brought me closer to the belief that God is not done with me yet. My good friend, whose truck we were in that night in April – who when the truck had found its final sideways resting place held the windshield back so I could crawl out of the wreck – is on his way to becoming a teaching minister. We still laugh and have a great time with our families. I sit on his deck this summer like past summers, but with a new perspective.

I have learned that the power made by man can be taken from me for just a while. Yet the greater power of God can send to me what is needed forever.

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