Friday morning, July 26, 1991, my husband and I left our home in Rhode Island to travel to Quebec, Canada, where my husband was to preach a mission’s conference.
When we reached New Hampshire, we noticed the sky growing darker. Soon we found ourselves driving into a torrential rain storm. My husband tried to turn on the windshield wipers, but nothing…
Being blinded by the rain, my husband left the interstate and drove onto Route 4 near Lebanon, New Hampshire. He drove our car to the side of the road and turned on the car’s emergency flashing lights. He then got out of the car, retrieved some tools from the trunk, and opened the hood to inspect the problem with the wipers.
While he was bending over the left fender, a motorist struck him and knocked him 49 feet. Watching my husband’s body fly past my side window, I jumped out of the car to see where his body had landed. It had landed down a deep muddy embankment. Staring at his motionless body, I heard a moan and frantically thought, “He is not dead!”
I turned toward the road and began waving my hands for help. Soon a kind man in a black trench coat appeared. As I stood there in shock and confusion, this strange man put his arm around me. I remember his presence gave me comfort. He spoke to me in a gentle, but firm voice, “Honey, your husband will be alright. There is a doctor with him right now.” I thought, “How could this be true? There is no ambulance–no rescue workers–no police”.
Soon an ambulance and rescue workers arrived. Workers stabilized my husband and loaded him into the ambulance.
The kind man, who was still holding me, instructed me to go with my husband in the ambulance. He told me that he would take care of my car. Shaking uncontrollably, I crawled onto the front seat of the ambulance. As the vehicle swiftly rushed toward the hospital, I opened my handbag and reached for my small pink Bible. It was as if my Bible opened automatically to Psalm 120. In my distress I cried unto the Lord, and He heard me. I then glanced down to Psalm 121. I will lift up mine eyes unto the hill, from whence cometh my help. My help cometh from the Lord, which made heaven and earth. As I read those verses, my body stopped shaking, and a warmth began moving slowly from the top of my head all the way through my whole body. I experienced a peace that I cannot explain…but I knew that God was in control.It was at that moment I realized–God had sent me a ministering spirit to help me in my distress.
When I arrived at the hospital, hospital officials escorted me to a private room with a telephone. They advised me to start calling my family. My children arrived a few hours later. We sat together through the night waiting to hear news of my husband’s condition. At 5:30 in the morning, a doctor entered that small room to share his prognosis. In a low voice, he said, “I’m sorry. I would like to give you more hope, but I have lost patients with fewer injuries than your husband received. We will just have to wait and see.”
The next morning at 10:00, a missionary organized a prayer meeting to pray for my husband at our church in Rhode Island. At 11:00, during that prayer meeting, a nurse came to me and said, “We are going to try to take your husband off the ventilator; if he can breathe alone, there is a good chance he might make it.” At 11:20, she came to me and said, “Well, he’s breathing by himself.”
That afternoon, I went to the cafeteria to get something to eat. A doctor approached me and said, “Do you remember me?” I told him, “Yes, your face is one that I do remember from yesterday”. He introduced himself and said, “I am Dr. Silvestre. I am a pulmonary specialist. I was the doctor who was with your husband at the accident. I reached your husband before the ambulance arrived. Your husband was lying face down in running water, and I knew that if I didn’t turn him over, he would drown.”
Fifteen days later my husband left the hospital. As the nurse wheeled my husband to our car, my husband’s attending physician walked beside him and said, “I really thought we would be taking you out the back door (morgue).”
It took my husband several months get back on his feet. For several years, we didn’t understand the reason for this incident (not accident), but God eventually showed us that all the suffering it produced was for our good and for His glory. You see, we had been praying, “Lord, make us fruitful.” God had answered our prayers, and He used that circumstance to mold us to become more like Him.