"For he shall give his angels charge over thee, to keep thee in all thy ways."
Psalm 91:11
The first memory I have of him is
walking through a shopping center in Odessa, Texas on our way to see
Santa Claus. I remember reaching up to grab his hand, because, you know...
Santa is a big ol' scary dude when you're a little girl.
He was
barely a teenager, but he was My Rock.
The sweetest memories I have of him are
during the weeks following my Daddy's funeral. I was so sad and
overwhelmed and ready to drop out of graduate school. But almost every evening, Rocky would
call just to see how I was doing. Several times a week he sent cards to cheer me up and encourage me along the way.
I keep his cards in a special place.
The saddest memory I have with my
cousin Rocky is the day we had to tell his Mom
(who had suffered a severe stroke two years earlier) that her husband
of more than five decades had suddenly died from a blood clot. Rocky's Mom –
my sweet Aunt Betty Bob – could not talk or understand language due
to the effects of her stroke. But in that moment, she clearly understood our tragic jumble of words. I climbed
in bed beside her, our tears mingling on her pillow, as my Rock held
her in his arms.
The most sacred memory I have with
Rocky is when we were once again on either side of my
sweet Betty Bob, holding her hands as she struggled with her last
breaths. I remember telling him a funny story
about his Mama, trying to lighten his burden. He threw back his head and
laughed that big, boisterous laugh of his. In the very same moment, his Mom stopped breathing. I've always loved that the
last earthly sound she heard was the laughter of her beloved only
child.
We've been through a lot together, my
cousin Rock and I. He has helped me climb some mighty tough mountains and I've talked him down off cliffs. Somewhere along the hills and valleys
of our journey, we became so much more than cousins...
He is my friend, my soul mate, my
brother.
On November 4th, I received
a call from Rocky's daughter, Camille. “Dad has been in a wreck,” she
told me. “He rolled his truck and flew out through the windshield.
He's been airlifted to the hospital, but he's conscious and
talking.”
Angels.
That was the first thought that popped
into my head.
It was Rocky who taught me to pray for angels
to surround our family and protect us from harm. I prayed that prayer for Rocky
the night before his accident, just as I had every night for years.
And every single night, I fell asleep
knowing he prayed the same prayer over me and mine.
As the events of the wreck unfolded, it
became apparent just how huge a role angels had played in his
survival.
Rocky was thrown twenty feet away from his
truck, which was a mangled mess of glass and metal. He had gashed
his head in two places, lacerated his spleen and broken his neck and ribs. A Good Samaritan found him trying to crawl away from his
truck, afraid it would explode.
He doesn't remember much about the
accident, but remembers being strapped to a gurney and loaded into
a helicopter. He told me he could feel blood trickling down his
face, and did not think he would survive.
“Were you scared?” I had to know.
“No... not at all. I felt a deep
peace.”
At the ER, the trauma doctors and
nurses were amazed. “You are a miracle, you know. We seldom see
patients with injuries like yours who are conscious and talking
coherently, much less moving their arms and legs.”
He should have been severely brain
injured... or paralyzed... or dead.
Instead, he was talking to me on the
phone, complaining about having to wear a neck brace for the next
three months.
I went to see him as soon as I could.
Even though I knew he was going to be okay, I just needed to see his
dear, precious face.
He never looked better to my grateful eyes...
I kissed him on the cheek and
whispered, “Thank You, Jesus”.
He laughed his magical laugh and said,
“Funny you should say that...”
Just before his wreck, Rocky was climbing into his truck when he heard someone yelling his name. It was another trucker
he had prayed with recently, as he often did with the truckers God placed in his path. She ran up to him, waving a paper in her hand.
“Here, I made this for you,
Rocky! I want you to keep it and carry it in your truck while you travel. I thank Jesus for
you.”
Rocky thanked her and laid the paper on the seat beside him.
The next day, a friend of Rocky's went
by the accident site to have a look around.
Inches away from a
blood-stained patch of grass, he found this paper lying on the
ground...
 |
Thank You, Jesus.
(And be sure to thank those angels for me, too.)
