On My Believing Days

Life was good. I had been assigned to a major army command with many challenging responsibilities. As Christmas came, we remained at Fort Monroe that year, but knew that my youngest daughter, Scarlett, her husband, Marshall, and their little daughter, Myah, were driving from Texas to see her older sister in Colorado. They made it safely to Colorado and spent the holidays with her oldest sister, Noelle. They were to drive back home to Texas on 27 December 2000. I was in my office that day on Fort Monroe. The winter had settled in with a thick dark cloud cover that brought darkness much sooner that day. As the end of the duty day approached, I lingered in my office waiting for Scarlett’s phone call. When she did not call nor answered my calls, I became increasingly concerned. The evening grew darker as I watched the western sky with a premonition that something had happened. I didn’t know where this uneasiness came from, but I hoped the phone would ring. As I paced around my office, I felt the contrast between my sturdy leather boots and the inner anxiety that was growing inside me. As I arrived at home, I asked Dana if Scarlett had called. “No,” she said as she prepared dinner. During the evening hours I called Scarlett on her cell phone numerous times, but there was no answer. By now I was praying that she just had been busy with Myah and possibility she would call later. That never happened. We went to bed. In the middle of the night, the phone rang with a foreboding sound. It was the Staff Duty Non-Commissioned Officer calling from Fort Campbell, Kentucky. He had received a call from a Hospital in Mineral Wells, Texas. He said, “Sir, It’s really bad.” There had been a car accident in north Texas. The highways had been covered with ice and snow during the Texas winter. A Texas State Trooper had been following an old pickup truck. The driver of the pickup, must have touched his brakes when he recognized the state trooper behind him. He lost control of his pickup and crossed the center line hitting Scarlett’s car head-on. It happened without warning. Marshall did not even have time to take evasive action. Both Marshall and Myah were killed instantly. Scarlett was pregnant with twin boys, but her injuries caused her to lose the twins as well. She was now in the ICU in the Mineral Wells Hospital, but the Staff Duty Officer did not know her condition. All he could provide was a phone number. I immediately called the hospital and spoke with a nurse. She confirmed the story of the accident and said Scarlett had been in surgery for her internal injuries. After the call, the news devastated Dana. The anguish of her screams poured out the shock and grief we both felt. At first light, I began making preparations to fly to Dallas, Texas. Because of the Christmas season, the airlines were swamped and I could only reserve one ticket. Dana would have to fly later when another seat became available. I hurriedly packed and prepared to depart. I went to my office to inform my staff. The news spread quickly. Moments later General Van Alstyne came in my office and hugged me. Sometimes, there are no words. He later carried me to the airport that afternoon. I had known him since my first days in the army when he was a major and I was his battalion chaplain. He was one of those professional officers that brought character and faith to the army. The flight to Texas seemed to take forever. After securing a rental car, I drove over snow-covered roads traveling into the deepest darkness I had ever known. Scarlett had lost her husband, her 14-month-old child, and her pregnancy of twin boys all in an instant. She had lost everything. The hospital was a small community hospital. It was midnight as I arrived. Live oak trees near the hospital had been decorated with hundreds of small bright white lights. The message of Advent was fresh in my memory as I saw the lights. Deep within me the voice of faith whispered, “The light shines in the darkness…” (John1:5, NRSV). As I arrived, I was greeted by my lifelong friend and mentor Chaplain Lindell Anderson. He was retired and living in Fort Worth, Texas, but drove from San Antonio to be with me. I had called him before I left home asking him to be with Scarlett until I arrived. Seeing him gave me a sense of hope. After briefing me about what he had learned earlier in the day, he headed home. Scarlett was still unconscious from surgery. The ICU nurse briefed me on her condition, but reassured me that the doctor would be there in the morning. The early morning hours of a hospital are probably the quietest and loneliest place in the world. I remained beside her ICU bed. I had not slept or eaten for a long time. The nurse sensing that I was weary from the long journey and assuming that I had not eaten for some time, set out some bread and grape juice on the table at the foot of Scarlett’s bed where I was standing. When I saw the bread and grape juice, it was not bread and juice to me. It was Holy Communion. The words of institution that I had said hundreds and hundreds of times throughout my ministry as a Minister of Word and Sacrament came back to me, “This is my Body, which is given for you.”(Luke 22: 19, NRSV). We were lifted up and transformed by the power of the Holy Spirit into the presence of the risen Lord. We were not alone.