Some of you may have doubts about whether miracles truly happen. They occur every day. We’re often so caught up in our own intellect that we fail to recognize the obvious blessings from God, blinded by a cynical perspective.
It was a typical September day in 2014 in Gulf Shores, Alabama. The morning sun danced on the ocean’s surface, and the gentle sounds of waves caressing the shore brought a soothing calm to our souls.
Our family vacation was about to unfold. All fifteen of us were brimming with excitement, looking forward to seven days filled with laughter and fun. We had even rented a large pontoon boat for a day of adventure at Peridio Key Bay.
As we traveled to the Bay, everyone was excited, except for me; I was filled with an inexplicable sense of dread. By mid-afternoon, we pulled the boat onto a small strip of land with a sandy beach and warm, shallow water surrounding it.
While everyone eagerly jumped into the water, I tried to relax on the boat.
My back was turned away from the scene of activity when I felt a hand touch my arm from the water below.
“Mom,” Corey whispered, “I might be hurt.”
“What happened?” I asked my 39-year-old son, who looked pale.
“I dove into the water and hit my head on a sandbar. My shoulder feels strange.”
Trying to hurry thirteen other people onto the boat was a significant task. They didn’t understand the urgency. Finally, once everyone was on board, Corey jumped out and pushed the heavy pontoon into the water by himself.
He sat at the end of the boat with his girlfriend, Kendra. I watched him as he jerked his neck from side to side to pop it. I observed him intently, as only a mother can. Suddenly, a wave of panic washed over me.
The closest trauma hospital was Sacred Heart in Pensacola. It was in the opposite direction of the rented vacation house in Gulf Shores. We decided that all should return to the house, except for Heather, my daughter, and me, who would accompany Corey to the hospital just to make sure he was okay.
The two-lane road was packed with traffic, and hours ticked by.
Just as we see the hospital, Corey quietly said, “I think we need to hurry.” While he had tried to protect us from worry, he finally gave in to the gravity of the situation. My heart was pounding, my daughter pale, Kendra scared.
After a few minutes in the crowded waiting area, we were called into one of three cubicles to provide necessary information to a young woman. As Corey was explaining what happened, a man appeared in the empty cubicle behind us. He was the head nurse in the ER who, at that moment, needed a form and overheard Corey explaining his accident.
“You know what, let me see if I can expedite you to the X-ray.” The nurse declared.
“On second thought”, the nurse added, let me take you with me.”
Kendra, Heather, and I were escorted to an ER room. When Corey returned from radiology, he was lying flat on a gurney, with a stiff neck brace supporting him, and joking with the nurse.
A woman entered the room with a broad smile and introduced herself as the ER physician. She examined Corey while waiting for the scan results.
Corey’s toes wiggled perfectly; strength was perfect, sensation was excellent, and hands moved fluently. “Corey, you look good but stay still until we get those results.” I felt easier now that she thought he would be fine.
After a few minutes, she returned to the room. However, her demeanor had changed significantly, and fear immediately overwhelmed me.
“Mr. Lockman, you have an angel on your shoulder. Your neck is broken. As the doctor shook her head in disbelief, she expressed, “I have never seen an injury like this with the spinal cord still intact.”
I left the room, walked to a corner, and beat my fist into the wall. For a brief minute, I went into a dark hole that consumed me. I was utterly overcome with self-pity.
My daughter grabbed and held me while teams of doctors raced into the room that held my only son.
Then God walked down the hall toward me. I felt Him as He filled me with courage, conviction, and trust. I climbed out of the dark hole as fast as I went into it. I returned to Corey’s room and realized we were alone. The room was dimly lit and eerily quiet. It was as if we were suspended in time, a break in activity, a moment to be mother and son.
I held his hand as tears slid down his cheeks. Surgery was going to take place; a metal plate, screws, and danger.
“Mom, pray with me.” I calmly took both of his hands and prayed for God’s will and help. Just as I finished a long prayer, the lights were raised, and people again were in a flurry of activity around my son. Where had they all gone? Odd.
Once in the ICU, teams of folks, including doctors, chaplains, nurses, and medical students, would check in to see the miracle of Corey. Absolutely no paralysis, no side effects from a broken neck that he had twisted and turned for several hours after the initial fracture.
As the months passed and we all resumed life, both Corey and I wondered many “why’s?” We saw others left as quadriplegics after the same injury and in wheelchairs. Why was he spared?
All I can tell you for sure is that a miracle occurred on that sunny day. The miracle touched those who were not too blind to see that God had carried my son to safety from a place where the water meets the sky in heavenly shades of azure blue.
