Show Me Your Glory!

Several years ago I started asking God to show me His glory. I figured if Moses did it, so could I! I don’t think I understood what I was asking. I thought I was asking for a vision, a picture or dream of His Presence. I thought I was praying for an experience which would sharpen my sense of His spiritual presence; a sort of spiritual tuning if you will. But glory is so much more. God’s glory is heavenly reality breaking into the reality of our world. It is the manifestation of His power so that all men can see and know I AM.

Never would I have guessed what God had in mind for our family. We were living on 14 wooded acres at the time. There was nothing to be seen but trees upon trees, and perhaps an occasional black Angus cow at the farm next door. One summer afternoon I picked the children up from camp and brought them and a friend home. I sent the kids outside as I prepared dinner.  Suddenly, our oldest boy came to me in hysterics. He tended to be a bit dramatic, so I quickly tried to defuse the situation. I calmly asked him what was wrong and steadily went for my shoes.

“No! You must hurry!” he yelled. “A tree fell on Holly!”

Trying not to panic, I found my boots and started out to the back woods. As I began the trek down the path, I could see our son’s friend guiding Holly toward the house. I broke into a run. Her nose was clearly broken as a large, dark bubble was forming on the side. I braced her feeble body and she weakly said, “Mom, it hurts so bad.” You know it’s bad when a child doesn't have the energy to cry.

I got her back to the house and laid her on the floor. The boys raced to find her a pillow and did all they could to comfort her. I called my husband and informed him Holly was badly injured. I thought I would go to our county hospital to get her nose x-rayed. The boys and I gingerly laid Holly on the floor of our minivan, complete with blankets and pillows. I remember feeling concerned about the blood choking her and giving her some ibuprofen for pain.

I called my son’s friend’s mom and told her a small tree had fallen on Holly’s head, just nine years old at the time. The tree was partially broken so Holly was swinging on it like a bar. When she swung, the trunk broke loose and fell on her face. My son and his friend, both age eleven, rushed to either side and lifted the tree enough for her to scoot out from under. Thankfully she lost consciousness only for a moment. I let the friend’s mom know her son was waiting at our house with my boys. Later she said my voice was monotone, like a robot. There was no emotion, no inflection in my words. Just information.

Twenty-five minutes later we arrived at the emergency room. I went to the back of the van to get Holly and to my horror her whole face was swelling and her eyes were filling with blood. I braced her little body once more and we walked through the doors. The moment seemed to last forever as the receptionist looked at Holly and I looked at the receptionist. I was speechless. Finally I mumbled, “A tree fell on her head,” and realized we were at the wrong place. Our county hospital was not set up for severe trauma.

Life seemed to be moving in slow motion as the nurses grabbed a wheelchair and wheeled Holly back to a room. I rested a moment against the wall outside and just breathed. It was a whirlwind as nurses rushed around, not exactly sure how to handle the situation. Unexpectedly, one snapped a picture on her phone and whipped it around to show Holly.  Wait, why was that necessary?

All at once, the swirl of activity left the room. Alone together, Holly looked at me and asked, “How is this all going to heal?” Without skipping a beat I looked my little girl straight in the eyes and said, “Perfectly.”

The doctor came in and announced they would be taking Holly for a CT scan. More rushing and Holly was gone. “Oh my God!” I realized, “Her brain could be bleeding!” I heard God’s calming voice say, “Her brain is fine, but she will go to Cincinnati for surgery.”

I don’t remember much of what the doctor said except that his words were strangely a relief. I could hear that Holly was going to be alright. They prepped her for an IV filled with morphine and we were to be transported by ambulance to Cincinnati Children’s Hospital. Getting the IV inserted was difficult and the trip by ambulance simply dreadful during rush hour. But the moment we hit the doors in Cincinnati we were in excellent hands. One by one, the medical specialists all came to say Holly would be fine. There had to have been five or six of them. One by one, they all cleared Holly to leave the hospital. Again, this told me Holly was going to be okay.

By this time Holly didn’t even look human. Have you ever seen pictures of people after plastic surgery, their face so grossly swollen and bandaged that you can’t recognize them? This was our Holly. And this is what my husband walked in to see.

“Aww. . .” He said tenderly as he entered the room. Thankfully she was sleeping since not a soul could control their emotion when they walked in and saw her condition.

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