It’s true a picture is worth a thousand words.
Many people may not have believed the post I shared on 2nd May, sharing a tiny 10% snippet of what happened to me two weeks previously.
As many of you know, I always joked but was serious about the perils of social media, long before this year confirmed very factually the openly undeniably sinister nature of “Fcbk” (as I affectionately term it, making it only slightly more difficult for its scanners and algorithms to do their worst scanning my words).
However, something prompted me strongly to forego any fear or increasing loathing of it, and simply use its easy ability to share a little more of my story from 18th April 2018. An easily remembered date, and one which I shall never ever forget for the rest of my life.
We are, after all in my philosophy of life, overcomers by the stories we not only carry, but testify to.
You see, what ensued that night was far from being a horror accident in a foreign country (though in some ways it was that).
It was also not merely a story of my first ever trip to the equivalent of what we affectionately know in the UK as ” A&E “(and my firm efforts to avoid my first ever trip to an ER, or “OR” operating room, or what we call theatre).
Nor was it simply a story of sheer hellish pain later endured that night whilst undergoing a regional anaesthetic procedure with NO painkillers!! (Due to a horrendous miscommunication and cultural misunderstanding when the California medics asked me,
“Do you take drugs?”
I was almost offended at the question, and in my hyper state of adrenal and accident-induced arousal, said quite firmly,
“NO I don’t take drugs!” (It’s all very comical to think about now, but wasn’t at the time.)
I was then not asked any further or coaxed into taking pain meds, for a false assumption had been made by the medics that I was some kind of natural freak that didn’t want any painkillers.
Arrrrghghhhhhh! Yes, it was all as bad at the time as it sounds. I shall never forget the pain of that night, and my friend says she still doesn’t know how I didn’t pass out from it (nor do I now upon reflection).
(I will save the details of all that for an eventual book surely needing to be written, after all my past and recent adventures).
That now notorious night was most importantly both at the time, and much more since, an incredible story of angelic supernatural protection and therefore, for me, an actually AMAZING powerful, personal encounter with the Divine. One which is not merely my own, but created a compulsion to be shared.
So hence I overcame my 2018 aversion to Fcbk, and ‘picked up the (public) pen’ again. The accident sounded horrendous yes, (and indeed was) but was also a remarkable few weeks in many ways in the end and since, when God himself drew near.
It is still a miracle to me and to many others how my elbow – (punctured pretty badly, three times by a crash landing onto my left side) was not shattered in pieces.
X-rays baffled medics by all coming back clear (only after several prayers had been prayed earlier that night that no bones would have been broken, despite a badly mangled, bleeding elbow)
Further photos can prove the serious enough nature of one of my injuries in particular, still healing slowly but surely 8 weeks on:
Yes, believe it or not, that’ was and is my elbow. Thankfully it’s come a very long way since then.
But miraculously, not one bone in my body was broken from the impact upon a tarmac road at some speed.
God promises in his word, ” Because you have made the Lord, who is my refuge, Even the Most High, your dwelling place, No evil will befall you, Nor shall any plague come near your dwelling. For He shall give his angels charge over you, To keep you in all your ways. In their hands they shall bear you up, lest you dash your foot against a stone.” (PSALM 91 VS 9-12).
You can make what you want of that, and indeed my vulnerable words on here, but the whole episode, (whilst being a bummer, yes) has actually served to strengthen my faith and cause deeper gratitude in my heart at the privilege and blessing of LIFE.
Not to me tion gratitude to all who helped me and cared for me along the way. My housemates in particular.
So these boots tell their own story, of not just being dragged down a USA road and grinding off it at speed, but being phenomenally protected from having my feet dashed against any stones ( my feet were perfectly untouched from the accident).
Northern Ireland, for sure, doesn’t need any more religion or self-righteous rights, it needs sincere up to date stories of the true power, love and faithfulness of a good, good Father God truly is, if one stops to get to know Him. I can only say that I am humbly continuing to learn and re-learn He is so faithful and good, whatever our (sometimes completely crap) circumstances.
Amidst a very real, ongoing journey towards full healing and restoration.
Nb. If you want the full story, either see my snippet on my Fcbk page if you’e a Fcbk friend, or badger me into writing a book!!! 😉