90 Minutes in Heaven (11 page)

I didn’t really learn to walk until after the hospital discharged me. A physical therapist came in every other day to help me. Six months would pass before I learned to walk on my own more than a few steps.

My doctor removed the Ilizarov device eleven and a half months after the accident. After that, I could use a walker and eventually a cane. I didn’t walk without leg braces and a cane for a year and a half after the accident.

My accident occurred in January 1989. They removed the external metal work from my arm fixator in May, but they put internal metal plates down both of the bones of the forearm. Those metal plates stayed there for several more months.

In late November, they removed the fixator from my leg, but that wasn’t the end. After that, I remained in a cast for a long time, and they inserted a plate in my leg—which stayed there for nine years. I was content to leave it there, but they said they had to take it out. My doctor explained that as I aged, the bones, relying on the plate for strength, would become brittle. As I learned, our bones become and remain strong only as a result of tension and use.

During those years with the fixator and the subsequent metal plates, whenever I had to fly, I set off metal detectors from Ohio to California. Rather than go through the customary walk-through detector, I would say to the security people, “I have more stainless steel in me than your silverware drawer at home.”

They would wand me and smile. “You sure do.”

My children took pride in referring to me as “Robopreacher” after the title character in the movie
Robocop
. After a horrible incident, doctors used high technology and metal plates to restore the policeman so he could fight crime.

Regardless of how barbaric all these rods and wires and plates might have seemed, they worked. People gasped when they saw them embedded in my flesh. Those same people are now awed at my mobility. But under this thin veneer of normalcy, I’m still a work in progress, always adjusting.

9
ENDLESS
ADJUSTMENTS

A friend is always loyal, and a brother is born to help in time of need.

P
ROVERBS 17:17

I
t’s amazing how differently people responded after the accident. Several friends and members of South Park Church saw me during those first five days after my accident. Many of those same people saw me after the all-night prayer vigil that David Gentiles instigated. As they watched each tiny step of my recovery, they rejoiced. I saw everything in my recovery happening so slowly that acute depression continually gripped me. After the ICU, I stayed in the hospital 105 days the first time. I suppose depression would strike anyone who has been confined that long.

During the months of my recovery, the church worked hard to make me feel useful. They brought vanloads of kids to the hospital to see me. Sometimes committees met in my hospital room—as if I could make any decisions. They knew I couldn’t say or do much, but it was their way to affirm and encourage me. They did everything they could to make me feel worthwhile and useful.

Much of that time, however, I was depressed and filled with self-pity. I yearned to go back to heaven.

Beyond the depression, I had another problem: I didn’t want anybody to do anything for me. That’s my nature.

One day Jay B. Perkins, a retired minister, came to visit me. He had served as pastor of several south Texas churches before his retirement and had become a powerful father figure in the ministry for me. South Park hired him as the interim while I was incapacitated.

Jay visited me faithfully. That meant he had to drive more than forty miles each way. He came often to see me, sometimes two or three times a week. I wasn’t fit company, but I smiled each time anyway. I’d lie in bed and feel sorry for myself. He’d speak kindly, always trying to find words to encourage me, but nothing he said helped—although that wasn’t his fault. No one could help me. Not only was I miserable but, as I learned later, I made everyone else miserable.

My visitors tried to help me, and many wanted to do whatever they could for me. “Can I get you a magazine?” someone would ask.

“Would you like a milkshake? There’s a McDonald’s in the lobby. Or I could get you a hamburger or . . .”

“Would you like me to read the Bible to you? Or maybe some other book?”

“Are there any errands I can run for you?”

My answer was always the same: “No, thanks.”

I don’t think I was mean, but I wasn’t friendly or cooperative, although I wasn’t aware of how negatively I treated everyone. I didn’t want to see anyone; I didn’t want to talk to anyone; I wanted my pain and disfigurement to go away. If I had to stay on earth, then I wanted to get well and get back to living my life again.

Because Jay visited often, he noticed how detached I was from friends and family. One day he was sitting beside me when one of the South Park deacons came for a visit. After ten minutes, the man got up and said, “I just wanted to come by and check on you.” Then he asked the inevitable question, “Is there anything I can get for you before I leave?”

“Thank you, no. I appreciate it, but—”

“Well, can I get you something to eat? Can I go downstairs and—”

“No, really. Thanks for coming.”

He said good-bye and left.

Jay sat silently and stared out the window for several minutes after the deacon left. Finally he walked over to the bed and got close to my face and said, “You really need to get your act together.”

“Sir?” I said like anyone would say respectfully to an eighty-year-old preacher.

“You need to get your act together,” he repeated. “You’re just not doing a very good job.”

“I don’t understand what—”

“Besides that,” he said and moved even closer so that I couldn’t look away. “Besides that, you’re a raging hypocrite.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“These people care about you so much, and you just can’t imagine how deeply they love you.”

“I know they love me.”

“Really? Well, you’re not doing a very good job of letting them know you’re aware. You’re not treating them right. They can’t heal you. If they could heal you, they would do it. If they could change places with you, many of them would. If you ask them to do anything—anything—they would do it without hesitating.”

“I know—”

“But you won’t let them do anything for you.”

“I don’t
want
them to do anything.” Without holding anything back, I said as loudly as I could, “The truth is I don’t even want them to be here. I’d just as soon they didn’t come. I know it’s inconvenient. They must have better things to do. I know that—why would I want anybody to come and see me like this? It’s just awful. I’m pathetic.”

“It’s not your call.”

I stared back, shocked at his words.

“You’ve spent the better part of your life trying to minister to other people, to meet their needs, to help them during times of difficulty and tragedy and—”

“I . . . I’ve tried to—”

“And now you’re doing a terrible job of letting these people do the same thing for you.” I’ll never forget the next sentence.
“Don, it’s the only thing they have to offer you, and you’re taking that gift away from them.”

Not ready to surrender, I protested and tried to explain. He interrupted me again.

“You’re not letting them minister to you. It’s what they want to do. Why can’t you understand that?”

I really didn’t get the impact of his words, but I said, “I appreciate them, and I know they want to help. I think that’s very fine and everything but—”

“But nothing! You’re cheating them out of an opportunity to express their love to you.”

His words shocked me. In my thinking, I was trying to be selfless and not impose on them or cause them any trouble. Just then, his words penetrated my consciousness. In reality, I was being selfish. There was also an element of pride there—which I couldn’t admit then. I knew how to give generously to others, but pride wouldn’t let me receive others’ generosity.

Jay didn’t let up on me. After all, I was a completely captive audience. He stayed at me until he forced me to see how badly I distanced myself from everyone. Even then I found additional excuses, but Jay wore me down.

“I want you to let them help you. Did you hear me? You will allow them to help!”

“I can’t—I just can’t let—”

“Okay, Don, then if you don’t do it for yourself, do this for
me,
” he said.

He knew I’d do anything for him, so I nodded.

“The next time anyone comes in here and offers to do something—anything, no matter what it is—I want you to say yes. You probably can’t do that with everyone, but you can start with just one or two people. Let a few of the people express their love by helping you. Promise me you’ll do that.”

“I’m not sure I can.”

“Yes, you can.”

“I’ll try, but that’s just not me.”

“Then make it you.” His gaze bored into me. “Do it!”

I’m amazed now as I think of Jay’s patience with me. His voice softened, and he said, “Just try it for me, would you? You have to get better at this. Right now you’re not doing very well. This is one of the lessons God wants you to learn. You’re going to be hurting a long time. It’ll feel longer if you keep on refusing help.”

“Okay,” I said, unable to resist any longer.

I promised. I didn’t think he would leave until I did.

My first reaction had been irritation, maybe even anger. I thought he had stepped over the line, but I didn’t say that. After he left, I thought about all the things he had said. Once I overcame my anger, my pride, and my selfishness, I realized he had spoken the truth—truth I needed to hear.

Two days passed, and I still couldn’t do what he asked.

On the third day, a church member popped into my room, greeted me, and spent about five minutes with me before he got up to leave. “I just wanted to come by and check on you and see how you were doing,” he said. “You’re looking good.”

I smiled; I looked terrible, but I didn’t argue with him.

He stood up to leave. “Is there anything I can do for you before I go?”

I had my mouth poised to say the words, “No, thank you,” and an image of Jay popped into my mind. “Well, I wish I had a magazine to read.”

“You do?” He had the biggest grin on his face. “Really?”

“I think so. I haven’t read one in a while—”

“I’ll be right back!” Before I could tell him what kind, he dashed out the door so fast it was like a human blur. He had to go down twenty-one floors, but it seemed as if he were gone less than a minute. When he returned, he had an armload of magazines. He was still grinning as he showed me the covers of all of them.

I thanked him. “I’ll read them a little later,” I said.

He put them on the table and smiled. “Is there anything else?”

“No, no, that’s all I need. Thank you.”

Once I had opened the door and allowed someone to do something kind for me, I realized it wasn’t so hard after all. After he left, I began skimming through the magazines. I wasn’t really reading, because I kept thinking about what had happened.

Jay was right. I had cheated them out of the opportunity to express their love and concern.

About forty minutes later, a woman from the singles group came to see me, and we went through the regular ritual of chatting. “How are you doing?”

“Fine.”

“Well, can I get you anything?”

“No, I . . . I—” Again, Jay’s words popped into my head. “Well, maybe a strawberry milkshake.”

“Strawberry milkshake? I’d love to get one for you.” I don’t think I had ever seen her smile so beautifully before. “Anything else? Some fries, maybe?”

“No.”

She dashed out the door and came back with the strawberry milkshake. “Oh, pastor, I hope you enjoy this.”

“I will,” I said. “As a matter of fact, I love strawberry milkshakes.”

Later, I imagined members of the congregation standing outside my door comparing notes. “He asked me to get a strawberry milkshake.”

“Yes, and he let me run an errand for him.”

Just then I realized how badly I had missed the whole idea. I had failed them and myself. In trying to be strong for them, I had cheated them out of opportunities to strengthen me. Guilt overwhelmed me, because I could—at last—see their gifts to me.

The shame flowed all over me, and I began to cry.
This is their ministry,
I thought,
and I’ve been spoiling it.
I felt such intense shame over not letting them help. When I finally did open up, I witnessed a drastic change in their facial expressions and in their movements. They loved it. All they had wanted was a chance to do something, and I was finally giving that to them.

You need to get your act together.
For the next several hours those words of loving rebuke from Jay wouldn’t go away. Tears flowed. I have no idea how much time passed, but it seemed hours before I finally realized God had forgiven me. I had learned a lesson.