A Treasury of Miracles for Women (3 page)
“We'll need to do surgery right away,” he explained. “There's no telling the extent of his brain damage until we get in and see for ourselves.”
He warned them that even if Cole survived, he would not be the same boy he had been before.
“That ramp weighed three hundred pounds and the impact is going to leave permanent brain damage. You need to know how serious this is.”
Kari collapsed in Mel's arms and sobbed. She pictured Cole grinning from his bed that night last spring, talking about how he had prayed and asked Jesus to live in his heart. He was a bright, intelligent child who loved to make people laugh. Now she wondered if he would survive the night, and if he did, whether the part of him she knew and loved might be gone forever.
As Kari and Mel grieved for Cole, their friends and family clasped hands and formed a circle of prayer around them. The prayers continued for the next six hours, while surgeons worked in the delicate damaged portion of Cole's brain.
Again Kari felt an overwhelming sense of peace and acceptance. Not only was God in control of what happened to Cole, but—for the first time since Kari had be come a mother—God was in control of her fear as well.
Finally, hours after the surgery began, the doctor ap peared and lowered his surgical mask. He motioned for Kari and Mel to follow him and then he opened a door.
“Come say hello to Cole,” he said, his eyes twinkling.
Kari gasped softly and put her hand to her mouth. “He's … he's …”
The doctor smiled. “Come see for yourself.”
Kari slipped her hand into Mel's and together they fol lowed the doctor to Cole's bedside. The child's skin looked like parchment and his head was surrounded in bandages. Kari reached her fingers toward him and as she did a tiny burp escaped from the boy's mouth.
“Excuse me,” he whispered.
Kari felt a surge of elation. Cole could speak, and more than that, he still had his manners. They had not lost Cole after all. She gripped Mel's hands in her own, happy tears clouding her vision.
Hours later Cole was taken to the neuro-intensive care unit, where he improved with each passing minute.
“Could I have my toothbrush, please?” he asked a nurse. She stared at Cole, then at his chart, and finally at Mel and Kari, seated nearby.
“The doctors don't know what to think about this boy,” she said.
Despite obvious signs of success, doctors continued to warn the Clausens that Cole could take a turn for the worse at any moment. Bleeding, blood clots, seizures. All were a distinct possibility because of the severity of his head in jury. Worst of all, Cole carried a significant risk of developing a brain infection. He would have to undergo a series of painful intravenous antibiotic treatments to counteract the risk of what could be a fatal complication.
“The medicine will be very powerful and will be ad ministered directly into Cole's bloodstream,” the doctor warned Kari and Mel that night. “The sessions will take thirty minutes and will be very painful for Cole. If there was any other way, we'd take it, but there isn't.”
Mel and Kari stayed by Cole's side through the night, holding his hand and praying constantly. He looked so lost among the bandages and tubing that they began to wonder whether he would really survive. As morning drew near, Cole moaned from nausea and suddenly the room was filled with nurses. Kari tightened her grip on Cole's hand.
“Mommy, pray with me,” he said, his voice weak.
In that instant, Kari felt her heart soar. If Cole could see clearly enough that the solution was prayer then she had no doubts he would survive. She took Cole's hand in hers and prayed as she'd never truly prayed before.
She prayed with confidence.
Through the next three days, whenever Cole was awake, he asked just one thing of whichever parent was with him.
“Pray for me, Mommy,” he'd say. Or, “Please, Daddy, come pray with me.”
The next day Cole was moved from the intensive care unit to the pediatric wing, and Kari was approached by a therapist who had never met Cole.
“Mrs. Clausen,” she said, “we need to make plans for your son's treatment. I've studied his chart and … well, it's a miracle he's alive. But now we have a lot of work to do.”
Kari looked confused. “I don't understand.”
The therapist checked her chart once more. “Isn't your son Cole Clausen, the one with the depressed skull frac ture?”
“Yes, but he just got up and walked to the bathroom by himself. He's been talking nonstop all day and he's building a house of Legos on his hospital tray.”
The therapist was silent for a moment. “That's impos sible.”
Kari smiled, her heart filled with joy. “No, ma'am. With a faith like my little boy has, nothing is impossible.”
Later that day the technician who had done Cole's ini tial CAT scan stopped in to see him. Cole was adding more blocks to his Lego house, laughing at Mel's jokes. The woman looked astonished and Kari grinned.
“I felt so sorry for you that night,” she told Kari, her voice so soft Cole couldn't hear her. “I never in a million years thought he'd live, and if he did …” Her voice cracked. “I didn't think he'd ever be like this again, espe cially not so soon. I've never seen anything like it.”
By the fifth day after Cole's accident, the only reason he was still in the hospital was to receive his intravenous antibiotic treatments. The doctor had been right about them; they were harrowing and the Clausens had to endure Cole's pain along with him twice each day. The strong medication burned throughout Cole's body for the entire thirty-minute treatment.
Typically, the nurse would come in with the medication and Kari would climb into bed beside her son, holding him close and steadying him so he could not jerk the needle from his arm.
Sometimes the boy would be sleeping when the treatment started, but the moment the medication entered his bloodstream he would wake up, eyes wide with pain and fear. Then Cole would wail aloud, begging for Kari to pray. And Kari would pray, as hard as she knew how. The sessions were so gutwrenching, Mel could not stand being in the room and hearing Cole's screams.
The ordeal was exhausting, and one night, as the treatment time drew near, Kari felt physically unable to watch Cole suffer through another minute of the torturous procedure. Still, she knew that Cole was counting on her to pray for him.
She stood up and walked close to Cole's bed. He was fast asleep, but she pictured him awake in just a few minutes, screaming in pain.
Help us, God …
She sighed aloud and slowly knelt beside her son's bed. “Lord,” she whispered. “ All I can do is trust you like Cole trusts you. You are more powerful than any bacteria, than any medicine, than any fear or worry. Please protect Cole from the pain.”
As Kari stood, the door opened behind her and the nurse entered the room with the medication. Kari climbed onto the bed and lay beside the boy, her arms wrapped around him. The nurse shifted Cole's arm and slid the nee dle into his vein. He opened his eyes and started to move, but Kari patted him softly.
“It's okay,” she whispered. “Mommy's here. Mommy's praying.” The corners of Cole's mouth turned up and then he closed his eyes again.
Additional nurses had entered the room, ready to help hold Cole down once the burning and crying started. The room was quiet and dark and hushed as everyone waited. Drip by drip the medication entered Cole's veins. Ten min utes passed, then twenty, but Cole remained peacefully asleep. The nurses exchanged curious glances and waited.
Finally a full thirty minutes had gone by and the treatment was over. Cole had not so much as stirred even once through the entire session.
“Thank you, God,” Kari whispered as the nurses filed out of the room. “Thank you for knowing that I couldn't take any more.”
It was the second time since Cole's injury that God had clearly proven he was in control. After ten days in the hos pital, Mel and Kari were able to bring Cole home. There were no signs of infection and he could complete his re covery in his own bedroom.
Time passed and Cole healed completely. A year later there was only a soft area along his skull and some hearing loss in his right ear to remind the Clausens of Cole's acci dent.
For a time, Cole didn't remember anything about what happened to him that fateful afternoon. Then one day while he was playing he looked at Kari.
“Mommy, I pulled the pin out,” he said simply. “That's what made the trailer ramp fall on me.”
Kari stopped what she was doing and stared closely at her son.
“It really hurt,” Cole continued. “But then Jesus came.”
Kari felt her heart beat faster. “What did Jesus look like, honey?”
Cole smiled. “He was just … all white. Then you and Daddy came and lifted the ramp off my head.”
Kari remembered lifting the three-hundred-pound ramp off tiny Cole and she shuddered. “Is that all you re member?”
“Jesus came to see me when we got to the hospital, too.” Cole's face was serious, his eyes dim with the memory. “He lifted me up and I asked him to help me. Then he hugged me and said, ‘Cole, you're going to be okay.' ”
Kari's mind flew back to the moment in the treatment room of the first hospital when they were waiting for the ambulance. Cole had sat up in bed as if cradled from be hind. Then, almost as if he were in a trance, he had asked Jesus to take care of him. Kari remembered her son's faith in the days that followed and suddenly tears filled her eyes.
“Oh, Cole.” She knelt beside her son, taking him in her arms. As she did, she could sense another set of arms enfolding them both, arms that had been there to hold her little boy in his greatest hour of need, when there was nothing more she could do for him.
K
athy Hester had been looking forward to the moun tain campout for months, but busyness at work and hectic schedules with the children had her frazzled and frustrated the morning of the trip.
“I'm so busy I haven't had time to look in the mirror, let alone hug the kids.” She blew a wisp of bangs off her forehead and rolled her eyes at her husband, who was loading the tent into their van. “I keep reminding myself that rolling five sleeping bags and loading a cooler and packing a suitcase is supposed to be fun.”
Jason let his hands fall to his side. “Sometimes it's all what we make of things.”
With that, he walked into the house. In less than a minute Kathy could hear him singing camp songs and en couraging the children to get their things packed.
Darn him for being so happy,
she thought.
No one appreciates how busy I've been.
An hour later they were on the road, but a tense si lence remained between Kathy and her husband.
Jason made the first attempt to lighten the mood.
“Looks like great weather.”
Kathy stared at him for a moment and felt tears stinging her eyes. “Inside my heart there's nothing but storm clouds.” She uttered a shaky sigh. “All I want to do is ask God to help me see the sunshine again.”
“Well,” Jason grinned, “then ask him.”
“No.” Kathy stared at the winding road ahead of them. “He's busy taking care of disease and wars and crime. Things like that. He isn't worried about whether it's raining on my vacation or not.”
Jason raised a single eyebrow and cocked his head. Then he began singing the family's favorite song. “You are my sunshine, my only sunshine. You make me happy, when skies are gray …”
Four hours later they pulled into their campsite high up in the White Mountains of Central Arizona, a location known for its pristine beauty and rapid, fierce storms. Though the kids and Jason chattered merrily about the events of the coming days, Kathy still felt somber. To make matters worse, the sky had clouded up as well.
It was five o'clock by the time their camp was set up.
“How 'bout a little fishing?” Jason suggested. There were hoots of approval from the three children and Kathy forced a smile.
“Sure.” She studied the darkening sky. “Why not?”
The evening was pleasant, filled with laughter and easy conversation. Though they caught no fish, Kathy could feel her mood lifting. But by the time they got back to camp, the clouds above them were ominously dark.
The storm hit an hour later. Lightning flashed angrily across the sky and thunder cracked at almost the same in stant. Rain poured onto their camp.
“Jason,” Kathy whispered. “Wake up. I think we need to find some shelter.”
Jason rolled over on his cot and lifted his head. “Honey, it's just a thunderstorm. The tent's waterproof. Everything'll be fine.” He set his head back down on the pillow.
Kathy wasn't convinced. The lightning and thunder were fierce, and with so many tall trees around her, she felt certain they were in danger.
“Jason,” she whispered again. “You're not supposed to stay under tall trees when there's lightning.”
“So,” he mumbled.
“So our tent is beneath tall trees. We're surrounded by them.”
Jason sighed. “Kathy, thunderstorms roll through these mountains nearly every night in the summer. You don't see any other campers packing up and heading home. Why don't you try and get some sleep?”
She rolled her eyes and sat up straighter, peering anx iously through the flap. At that instant she heard one of the children moving restlessly on the floor of the tent. Megan's head peeked up from her insulated sleeping bag.
“Mommy,” the five-year-old said, her voice sleepy, “if you're afraid, why don't you pray?”
Kathy's mouth hung open and she refrained from making a retort. This was another of those small inconve niences that seemed too small to bother God about. She reached out and patted Megan's blonde hair. “Yes, honey, that's a good idea. Maybe I'll do that right now.”
Way to go, Kathy,
she thought.
Nice example. You're supposed to be the one calming the kids and now Megan knows you're afraid.
Rather than dwell on the situation, Kathy took her daughter's advice and soon was fast asleep, despite the raging storm. When they awoke in the morning, the rain had stopped but the sky was gloomy gray and their campsite was drenched.
“What happened to our good weather?” Jason asked as they spilled from their tent, stretched, and began preparing breakfast on the cold, wet picnic table.