Has anyone heard the story of the priest who came to the rescue of the young woman involved in a serious head on car crash?
It’s all over the news.
Responders had struggled for quite some time to remove the girl from the mangled car with no luck.
Suddenly, in walks a mysterious man in black. The girl asks him to pray aloud.
Multiple people see the priest as there are many first responders. He is dressed in full on Catholic priest garb. All stop to pray. The priest proclaims that after the prayer is complete they will be able to free the young girl from the car.
Responders and crew turn around to thank the man.
AMEN . . . and she’s freed.
He, on the other hand, gone as if vanished into thin air.
As of now, journalists from around the world and those closely involved with the crash itself have yet to locate the priest. To further add mystery to this story, the man appears in no photographs taken of the scene.
Just like all of you, this story has captured my attention Especially, as I’ve had a similar experience. Let me share it with you.
When our oldest son was in kindergarten he had a very serious case of pancreatitis, a inflammation of the pancreas that causes the organ to secrete digestive enzymes that eventually cause fluid to build up inside the chest and abdomen. These enzymes cause the body to sort of “digest” it’s own organs. Very scary stuff! For children it is often fatal.
I would so like to tell you here that I was a rock. That my faith was HUGE and that I didn’t freak out. But that would be a lie. I FREAKED OUT BIG TIME. We figured this was just a tummy bug only to find our life might be about to change forever.
On the way to the hospital I remember looking at my Bible in the backseat. “Why have you forsaken me!?” I ask within my head. I’m angry. It’s RAW. I’ve just placed God on the opposing team in mind. “Have you forgotten me? Have I not been a good servant? Have I not done what you’ve asked of me. How can you forget me?!” Rain drips down the side-view mirror. No answer comes.
I know. I know. Horrible things to ask your Maker! Horrible things to think. Horrible ways to act. But this was where I was. My baby was very sick. There was no use in lying to God about how I felt. I couldn’t understand it. My son’s body internally broken, my heart shattered.
When we arrived to the specialty hospital we were admitted for what looked like the long haul. Doctors refused to give me an outlook on their opinions. My step brother is a doctor so I knew this couldn’t be good. I was scared to death. I’ve never been that scared before or since ever again.
My husband had been back home caring for our other kids. It’s a long drive from our mountain home to the city so after a few days they’d come up to relieve me for a while so I could eat and just, well, breathe.
When my husband walked in, I think I bolted from that door. It’d been welling up inside me for days. My spirit was sore and my heart ached with an emotion I can’t explain. I felt like an abandoned puppy that had just been told her owner didn’t want her anymore.
My plan was to finally go somewhere alone and just cry. But I humor my worried husband and take my meal out to the the garden of the hospital to be alone.
And instead of finding myself alone, I see a lone woman on a white bench. The sun beat down on her like something I have never seen in my whole life. She was beautiful – but not in a conventional way. It was the kind of beauty that radiates from someone wise, old – familiar in some way.
My first thought was she looks like an angel . . .
But that only happened in movies.
I remember thinking this woman has ruined my chance to ball my eyes out and feel sorry for myself. I almost walked back inside. But something drew me outward like a magnet and I can’t explain it. Besides, I’m not the type to say things like “Gee thanks for being here in the public place where you have every right to be. I’m gonna whine and be a big turd head now.” At least not out-loud so instead I approached her and we began to talk.
The woman was a chaplain with the children’s hospital. She scribbled something in a odd looking journal, looking up to reveal she was a writer – well, sort of. She had friends who wrote but she wasn’t a “real writer” as she put it. Not like they were.
I told her that was very ironic because I was a writer. I encouraged her to start getting her work out there. You’ll never know if you don’t try!
Our conversation continued. We chatted about the morning sermon stream. We’d both just finished watching a Joel Osteen sermon about God sending a Barnabus to bring your message from God. We both marveled at what a good sermon it was. We even talked about his toothpaste smile.
She was so easy to talk to. Not uptight at all. This is about the time I took note of her garb. She had a hologram hospital i.d. from the chapel that dangled around her neck. She also carried beside her on the bench a bible, a red one that looked faded and old. Tucked inside where the familiar brochures I’d seen in our bedside drawers about church services, prayer and personal room visits from the chaplain on call 24/7.
I ask how long she’s been in the business. “A long time,” she says. “Everyone I meet always asks me if I’m still amazed at the things God does. Do you know what I tell them.” “No,” I say. “I tell them I never want to come to a place where God ceases to amaze me.”
I returned to our son’s room with a new found peace. Strangely enough, it was from that point on he started to get better fast. Doctors could not explain why a little boy with fluid all in his abdominal cavity with the highest pancreatic levels they had ever seen was in the floor playing with a Veggie Tale castle and laughing at something Bob the Tomato said on the tube.
And wouldn’t you know it – two days later they were ready to release our little boy back home. He was healed! The doctors said “I don’t know why but, well, his levels are . . . normal?” I can still hear him telling us that. It was like he knew what he read and since his science could not explain it – it was an open ended question as to why this was happening.
Now all that was left of this journey was to thank the woman on the white bench who’d given me the gift of a moment’s peace.
I’ve been truly blessed to have worked with some of the most wonderful editors and producers over the years. To this day I still wonder what I ever did to deserve to get to do what I love and call it “work”. So, I spent the morning getting up some contacts to drop off for her. Maybe this is how I could repay her kindness.
Excited, I walk in the chapel and I find a woman sitting on a red pew alone. But it’s not the woman I am in search of. I ask for the chaplain. She points to this small office with a window that kind of looks like one of those confessional windows I’ve seen at the church of a Catholic friend. “He’s in there.” she says.
A tall man in black walks out.
I ask for the lady chaplain. But I’m told there is none here. “Well, maybe she’s not in today.” I say. “Perhaps I can leave this for her?” He assures me there is not and never has been a lady chaplain because he’s been working here alone for twenty years.
At this point I don’t know whether to shout glory or run for the nearest exit! I choose to stutter and walk slowly to the intricate white doors. On the way out, I notice the Bible, the same one, faded and red, that the lady had sat beside her now sitting alone on the chapel pulpit.
It was opened and highlighted to Isaiah 49:14-18.
And do you know what it said . . .
Well, I’m gonna make you look it up because I’m feeling impish! :)