The phone rang late one Sunday night. I stumbled to find the phone and a frantic voice told me my brother had been in an accident and was being air-vacced to a medical trauma center.
I don’t remember that first drive to the hospital where I and members of my family, especially my mom, would spend the next six weeks of our lives watching as my brother would finally slip into a coma, ebbing and flowing between life and death.
When I entered the triage unit, I could see David was in shock. His collar bone was broken, his pelvis shattered, knee and femur broken, ribs busted to pieces, left lung deflated, his body filled with spider fractures; he was a bloody, broken, bruised mess. The left side of his body had been horrifically crushed.
Taking a deep breath, I walked into the bay where h e lay while they were hooking tubes and wires into his body. His eyes were foggy and glossed over. He was jabbering away nonsensically about being picked up by a big bird. I assumed it was the helicopter ride filtered through the trauma of having been hit at 60 plus miles an hour by a man who ran a red light. Thank God David always wears a seat belt.
With more bravado than I felt, I asked him how he was doing and if he remembered anything. He took my hand and said that we needed to pray, though what we were about to pray for surprised me.
I was going to intercede and ask for David’s restoration and health but he interrupted me. Though clearly he was not completely lucid, my brother said, “We need to pray for the m an who hit me. If I don’t make it, tell him I forgive him. It’s what God would want me to do.”
My, my; hasn’t he come a long way from being a Manhattan playboy? And haven’t I, a 20 plus year seasoned saint of the living God, got a lot to learn?
I took his clammy hand in mine and together we prayed for the man who hit him. He was wheeled off for X-rays and finally placed into the trauma unit where he would endure 7 (and counting) surgeries, a blood clot that nearly killed him, staff infection, traction, and punctured, failing lungs. And pain. Lots of pain.
Tragedies br ing out our truer selves. My mom has kept vigil beside his bed, in the waiting rooms, pacing the floors and keeping the rest of us in the loop. I took a few days off to sit with him. He probably does not remember I sat there because I was too shaken up to be much good at work. My wife was better than a sister to him.
One, when David emerged from the coma, I asked him if he understood what was happening to him. Though very weak, he smiled and whispered, "God came down." I wonder if I understood what was happening to him.
It's funny, but when I quote certain politically incorrect Bible verses, I get called a liberal by those I suspect would kill me for the glory of God. When I remind the stone throwers that these are Jesus& rsquo; words, not mine, his teachings, not my opinions, they roll their eyes and tell me to be practical. Still, our impractical Savior said, in Matthew 5:44, “But here is what I tell you. Love your enemies. Pray for those who hurt you.”
I can hear them at the Judgment saying, “Come on, Lord. Be practical. You didn’t think I would actually, you know, do that, would you? Love my enemies? Why, they are my, my… enemies! What do you mean my name does not appear? Lord – gasp! – why, why, you’re a lib-e-ralllll!.....”
Fortunately, being faithful does not require that we be stupid. There is a beautifully simple rule of thumb for a kingdom person functioning in the w orld: Wise as a serpent, gentle as a dove. It works for me.
I love that my brother’s first inclination was to pray for the man who hurt him. It’s a lesson of the Cross of Christ. While being crucified, Jesus cried out, in Luke 23:34, "Father, forgive them. They don't know what they are doing."
By analogy, as I sat and sat, I began to wonder over the years just how many “red lights” I had sped through oblivious of the consequences to others. It was pretty sobering to contemplate. Thank God for his matchless Grace!
Doctors are now cautiously optimistic that David will live. He’ll spend 4 to 6 months after getting out of the hospital living in a rehab unit relearning how to walk, talk, and care for himself. Hard stuff to do at his advancing age – and he’s my younger brother – but he’s got the truly hard stuff behind: he knows how to forgive and pray for those who hurt him.
Please pray for his speedy recovery.
Bryan Hupperts
Copyright 2006
SheepTrax Media
PO Box 270256
St. Louis, MO 63127 USA
bryanhupperts@hotmail.com
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