My Best Christmas Ever
Speaking of Christmas miracles, well, I had a hand in one. Now, that just all depends on how you define a miracle. Although they are out there, we don’t see miracles of biblical proportions a lot- at least, compared to how often folks speak of miracles. On the other hand, by different measure, we see miracles frequently and all around. God is working all the time, and we ought not take those things for granted. To be sure, we have missed many miracles in looking for other things in other places. Well, this one was called a miracle, and I lived to see it. Rather, I should say, lived through it.
In most of His miraculous doings, God works on or through something. God uses means, and we should always remember that lest we remove ourselves from His service. Nothing has been quite as rewarding to me as knowing that I have been able to be used of God. Several individuals had a part in my Christmas miracle although I’m sure they weren’t thinking of it in that way at the time. God was using various people in their roles to bring about His resolution. But human error is involved, even in the miracle business. It’s really just like life in that God uses faulty people and faulty deeds to bring about faultless beauty.
Santa Claus was coming to town, and I had just gotten a haircut to make myself presentable at his arrival. My dad had taken me to Paige’s Barber Shop on December 23, 1964, and we were just leaving to add our ingredients to the holiday bustle. The first of several errors to occur within the next few hours was taking shape in my childish mind. Inexperience can be dangerous. As we stood on the corner hand-in-hand, I was thinking about the Road Runner cartoon. With this in mind, I let go of my father’s hand saying, “Hey, Dad, I’ll race ya to the car.” I didn’t make it across the street.
Coincidentally, my uncle was approaching the intersection. My father and my uncle were best friends in high school. As the eldest grandchild, I got a lot of attention and always felt he doted on me. Well, on this day, he did much more than that. We met in the in the middle of that small street. After the collision, I was pulled under the car. I can only imagine the horror at that moment, and the second error to occur was one of innate, reflexive action. When my father reached the car, I was underneath with my head inside one of the front wheel wells. It was later said that one more revolution on the wheel would have crushed my skull. Dad pulled me from under the car, not thinking of possible spinal cord injury. I am grateful that I am not paralyzed today.
Dad told me that for years he could hear the sound of the collision when he closed his eyes. The foolishness of a child and the well-intentioned but unknowing response of an adult could spell disaster for anyone, and there have been many for which either has done just that. We do not know why all of us are not destroyed, only that God, sometimes, allows the mist of our lives to continue for brief duration. I have lived many times over my age on that day and have seen grace for grief on many other occasions.
The third error was procedural in nature. Two police officers were just down the street when the accident occurred. They came quickly to the scene whereupon one officer informed, “Don’t worry, I saw everything that happened.” The other made a judgment call for which a write-up might be in order today. He said, “I’m not waiting for anybody else. We’re going to the hospital.” By some measure, they may have been out-of-line, but I’m thankful they took charge. God is still looking for people to step up to the plate and do what needs to be done in an emergency.
Though it has grown substantially, Greenville, NC was not a large place at the time. Pitt Memorial Hospital is state of the art today, but I don’t know what state the art was in in those days. My father climbed into the back of the squad car with me in his arms. I might have been dead as far as they could tell. I was not breathing and made no sound. As the patrol car made its way to the hospital, I screamed, fell silent and began to breathe. One of the officers said, “That’s a sweet sound.” Emergency medical preparedness is quite advanced today. I’m glad it was sufficient for me on that day. I would not be at Pitt Memorial long.
The next morning, Dr. Harr told my parents, “There’s nothing we can do for him here. In the next few hours, he’s going to take a turn one way or the other. I have made arrangements to send him to Duke University.” Now, Duke was a top five medical facility nationally, but medicine can only go so far. It may have seemed incongruous that, to the eye, there were not more discernable injuries, and I had no broken bones, but, in 1964, there was far less that could be done for a closed head injury than currently.
In all, I was unconscious four and a half days. My pastor sat with my parents during this bleak time. He cast his bread on the waters, and it returned to him when my parents were able to comfort him after his daughter’s fatal car crash. I was fortunate to be attended by Dr. Blaine Nashhold, one of the top neurosurgeons in the southeast at the time. In heaven’s time, he came to my parents and said, “It’s a miracle.” I honestly remember waking. There was a Christmas stocking on the end of my bed, and I said, “Santa Claus has been here.” But Someone Else had been there, and, now, I know that the One for Whom the season is named was the real attending.
Several years ago (and many years after), I was mixing at a National Association of Free Will Baptists when a woman, a little older than myself, approached me from the side and somewhat behind taking hold of my arm. Breaking off my conversation, I half-turned to see inquisitive eyes and a slightly puzzled expression. She asked, “Are you Sterl?” Always glad to be recognized, I smiled and nodded in the affirmative. Smiling back, she added, “We prayed for you.”
Really, I suppose I missed Christmas, but I didn’t miss Christ. I committed my life to Him six months prior on a Sunday morning in Jacksonville, FL. He was in the room with me at Duke University Hospital and cradled me under the car on Dickinson Avenue. He is with me now as I write these words. I believe there is a purpose for my life. While I don’t remember the gifts I received for Christmas 1964, I will never forget God’s watchcare over me.
Sterl
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