Nothing Wasted

One of the many amazing things about God is we never know what crazy or horrible situations in our lives He’s going to use later on down the road for our benefit. Romans 8:28 isn’t just a promise—all things work to the good of those who love God—it’s actually a description; it’s a declaration of God’s power.

Back when I was in third grade, we lived in Seattle, Washington. I went to a terrific school and I loved my third-grade teacher, Miss Tylia. Like all kids in elementary school, we got recess—three a day! My playground expertise was the monkey bars. I loved them!

Unfortunately, one misty, damp Seattle morning, I fell off those monkey bars and cracked my head on the newly laid blacktop that surfaced the entire playground. It was a bad fall. Parents had requested sawdust, rather than blacktop, be placed under those monkey bars, but the school board wouldn’t listen. Too expensive to replace.

My sweet classmates rushed me to the school nurse’s office. My eyesight was blurred and I was feeling nauseous. The nurse was pretty concerned and she called my Mom. My Mom came up to the school where a small group of non-medical staff had gathered around me diagnosing my condition. Each with an opinion and advice. They cared.

My Mom didn’t appear too worried, but the nurse definitely was. She insisted a trip to the ER was necessary. An ambulance was called and I was taken to the nearest hospital. My Mom followed in her car because she’d decided to bring the family dog with her to the school. She couldn’t just leave him there in the school parking lot, so, she and Pierre followed behind the ambulance all the way to the hospital.

It was a fractured skull. Vomiting ensued. Lots of X-rays were taken and lots of tests were run. The decision was made. They were keeping me a couple of days for observation.

My Mom had to go home because of the dog. So, I was admitted and honestly, I felt rather alone. I was 8-years-old and the last kid I knew who was admitted to a hospital never came out again. It was my 8-year-old sister Denise, who had died less than three years earlier due to a reaction to inoculations. Denise was admitted to a hospital and never came home. She was admitted on Monday and died on Wednesday. For a kid like me, the connection was hard not to see and I suspected there was a big chance I wasn’t going home either.

The first night was tough. I shared a room with a woman who had a large family and all of them, or so it seemed, were visiting her. She was having gallbladder surgery. A big deal in those days. She had two teenage kids—a boy and a girl. They fluffed her pillows, put on extra blankets and fussed over her with a lot of love and attention. The contrast couldn’t have been greater.

As I laid there in that hospital bed it felt like the room was cut in half—her half flooded with light and mine covered in darkness. A large lump was forming in my throat and I couldn’t swallow. I was afraid and I felt so very alone.

After the family members left, it was just the two of us. I was trying hard not to cry, but once in a while a whimper would sneak out and I worried she could hear me. The beds weren’t side-by-side, they were actually across the room from each other, kind of end-to-end.

“Is your name Teresa?” she asked.

“Teri,” I answered in a broken voice.

“My name is Betty.” Her voice was kind. “Teri, are you afraid?” she asked.

And that did it. The dam broke and the crying made my head ache even worse.

“Teri, don’t be afraid. Do you believe in Jesus?” she asked.

She could see my head nod yes.

“Well, He’s right here with us, isn’t He?” she went on…

“He’s right in this room with us!”

In a few minutes her two teenage kids came back and they walked over to my bed. The girl put her hand on mine. They had a package for me to open. Inside, from the hospital’s gift shop, they had bought me a small toy kitten made of rabbit fur with small green marble eyes. The cat’s fur was orange and incredibly soft.

“We thought this little kitten could keep you company tonight.” I was so overwhelmed I couldn’t even say thank you.

Before the kids went home, Betty asked if we all could pray together. She prayed over me and then the kids left for the night. I felt better. I hugged the little stuffed kitten close.

The night nurses came in and checked on us. Betty whispered something to them. The two nurses immediately ran over to my bed and started fussing over me, lovingly and affectionately. Extra pillows. Extra blankets. Popsicles. Jell-O. Tuck-ins. Aahing over my new little kitten.

I slept so peacefully that night and the next morning the day nurses made an even bigger fuss over me. Betty’s kids brought me some books and magazines. By the time my Mom arrived, there was a party going on in my room. There was joy and laughter and care and love. God was looking out for me.

There in that Seattle hospital room, God provided for a little kid who wasn’t for sure what was going to happen next or even if she’d ever go home. In that dark and scary situation, He provided all that I needed and even more.

After two days, I got discharged from the hospital. Miss Tylia had a classmate bring my homework to me. Pat was a neighbor of mine as well as a classmate. I’d been brutal to him. Pat was very overweight and his name made a cruel rhyme. I’d always been mean to Pat and here he was on my doorstep bravely bringing me my assignments. Pat and I bonded those three weeks I was out of school. He came by every single day and helped me with my schoolwork, played board games with me, and never made me feel bad about bullying him. I remember one afternoon I asked Pat to please forgive me for all the awful and terrible things I had said and done. He did—freely and easily. And from that day on Pat became my very best friend. In fact, everyone on the playground knew not to mess with Pat. I was his defender.

There’s a lot I learned from that time. I learned to trust God in the scariest, most lonely moments of my life. I learned I can trust God in all of my circumstances. I never asked my Mom why she left me at the hospital that day, but I often think it was because she had suffered so many losses. My Mom lost two daughters. The first was a baby girl that lived only one day. The second was my sister Denise. I think the pain of facing another loss of a child was just too much for her. Often a human response to grief and fear is to pretend the clear and present danger doesn’t exist. I think this was a coping device. We’ve all had to rely on strategies to survive grief and pain. But whatever the reason, God used this as a strengthening mechanism in my life. It was training.

When human beings cannot, or do not, fulfill the role we need them to, God steps in and ensures we lack no good thing. He’s a good Father who sees to it that we have all we need. II Corinthians 6:18 (NIV), “‘I will be a Father to you, and you will be my sons and daughters,’ says the Lord Almighty.”

This night in the hospital in 1967 was preparation for me. The Lord knew that one day He would call me to some really tough, scary, dark and lonely places on this earth and because of that time in a Seattle hospital, I knew He would care for me. He’d never leave me and that He would provide me with everything I needed. And He’s never failed me since. Whenever I got really scared somewhere in the world or felt lost on this big globe, I’d remember that night in the hospital and knew He was watching over me—right there by my side.

I also learned another important lesson. It concerned Pat. It really is important not to judge a book by its cover. Pat’s pure heart and kind nature were exactly the kind of thing I wanted to emulate. I wanted to be like Pat because physical appearances don’t matter; it’s what is in the heart that really counts. God really used Pat in my life. A significant shift took place in my personality and my perspective.

These two important lessons govern me even today and I’m so grateful that God doesn’t waste a thing. All is working for our good and His purposes. Jesus never fails us. It’s redemption in its purest form. Oh, and sawdust under the monkey bars was installed the next week. It became my claim to fame there at my elementary school, “Teri’s Sawdust.” Peace.     

— Teri

Teri after the accident (1967)