Making a Difference
by Pam Morgan

 

Ever since I can remember, I've wanted to make a difference for God in my life. Two short years ago, it seemed God was answering my prayer. In June of 2000, I was living my dream. I had been married nine years to my best friend, Phil, a gifted songwriter, musician, and vocalist, and we had two beautiful daughters, Kayla, 5, and Alisha, 21 months old.

After years of hard work, Phil and I were finally sharing our music and testimony professionally on a tour of nine or ten states. Our new single, "God Chooses Who He Uses", was promising to break into the top eighty of the Christian music charts, a milestone in the music industry. It seemed I was making the difference I always wanted to. Little did I know, however, God was just getting started.

It was Sunday, June 4, 2000 when I learned how quickly life can change. That morning, we rose after just four hours of sleep for yet another day of working for the Lord. Our schedule was hectic and exhausting, but in between our morning and evening concerts we had the opportunity to relax with some friends. After lunch, it was time to hit the road toward our next destination. A nice, long nap sounded good to all of us. Alisha was asleep as soon as I fastened her into the car seat. Kayla, however, needed some Mommy time.

"Phil, you drive." I said as I climbed into our conversion van. "I'll sit on the back sofa with Kayla just until she falls asleep. Then I'll come back up to the front and strap in."

"If I drive, I know I'll fall asleep," I added. He agreed as I fastened the only seatbelt pulled through the back sofa around Kayla. I won't need a seatbelt, I'm just going to be here a couple of minutes, I thought.

The next thing I remember was the sound of a helicopter and a man saying, "Mrs. Morgan, we are going to fly you to Research Medical Center in Kansas City." I responded, "That sounds like a good idea to me." I woke up in ICU with Phil by my side wearing a strange-looking sling around his shoulders. Finally I realized this was not a bad dream.

Phil momentarily fell asleep and the van drifted off the road hitting a guardrail at 70 miles an hour. His seat belt broke his collar-bone, and I was thrown out onto the roadside. Kayla got by with just a couple of minor cuts and bruises. Alisha didn't even have a scratch. The fact that I was still alive and my family walked away with no serious injuries was the first of many miracles.

Turning over on the driver's side, the van skidded to a halt across the bridge just short of plummeting into the water. I was thrown out the rear left window, the same window that was on the ground. The trailer tore loose and flipped end for end ripping the roof off and spilling speakers and cases all over the highway.

Somehow I cleared the van and escaped all the flying debris ending up on the other side of the road. God Himself or one of his angels must have caught me and laid me down. It was a miracle I wasn't crushed. Four separate cars immediately stopped. To my amazement, they carried a nurse, doctor, respiratory therapist and an off-duty police officer. This was too much for coincidence. God was at work.

Doctors were not so sure. At first they weren't confident I would survive the trauma my body sustained. Glass, gravel, and asphalt were imbedded in my arms and legs. My left arm and left ear were nearly torn from my body, and the skin on the left side of my face was shorn to the bone.

Once they determined I was going to live, my family was presented with the horrifying news. An MRI revealed a complete spinal cord injury in my neck. My neurosurgeon called it the most severe case of spinal cord dislocation he had ever seen. My spine was wrenched into a sharp S curve. The severity of the injury would leave me paralyzed from the chest down for the rest of my life. I would never walk or grip with my hands again. There was nothing they could do.

Nothing they could do. The news slammed down like concrete falling from the sky. I had a husband, two small children, and a house to care for. I couldn't scratch my own nose. How would I cook for my family, do laundry, or mop the floor? Most importantly, how was I going to pick up the kids and hold them when they needed comfort and love? And then there was our ministry. I couldn't sit on the edge of the bed by myself. How was I going to walk on stage? I didn't have enough diaphragm strength to even cough. How was I going to sing an entire song? How could God possibly use me now?

John 15:2 says "He cuts off every branch in me that bears no fruit...". I was spending more time with my children, and we were seeing such a great response in our concerts. Why was He cutting me off?

I had never felt so alone, so helpless, so scared. I may have been alive in body, but it felt like my life was gone. For the first time I understood what it was really like to want to die. It was as if my dreams and joy were lowered in the grave and I was left watching outside the tomb. I believed God was powerful enough to heal me, but I couldn't see how. Grief overwhelmed me, and I wished He had just taken me home with Him.

The doctors couldn't do anything, I certainly couldn't do anything, but God moved Phil to put his faith into action. He reminded me of all the miracles God had already done. Besides being alive, my physical condition was amazing. I had no brain injury, not even any memory loss. Besides my neck, I had no other broken bones, no internal organ injuries or bleeding. There was no structural damage to my face, and my vision was not impaired in any way. I didn't even chip a tooth. As a constant source of encouragement Phil would say, "You may not be able to move anything right now, but don't worry, you will."

Through our e-mail newsletter, Phil daily updated friends, family, and fans of my specific condition. It spread like wildfire. We received hundreds of pages of encouraging e-mail every day from coast to coast and as far as Guam and Poland letting us know I was bathed in prayer for a complete recovery.

In just three weeks God let us know He was listening. My daily routine of sponge baths, linen and bandage changes, and vital sign checks were exhausting and painful. One afternoon, wondering how the nurses could get me comfortable, I unexpectedly noticed a slight movement in my left big toe. Did I do that? It moved again. Yes, I did!

When my doctor witnessed my exciting achievement, he was dumbfounded. This was the first time he had ever reversed a spinal cord injury prognosis.

Months of grueling physical therapy followed. Every minute movement was a major milestone. We rejoiced when I was able to sit and balance myself on the side of the bed. Phil cheered when I could finally roll over, pull my pants on, and move from one place to another on my own.

In October, my physical therapist approached me during one of many therapy sessions, leg brace in hand. She insisted I go to the parallel bars. I didn't know whether to shout for joy or cry. Finally, someone in the medical realm believed what Phil and I believed, hoped, and prayed for: that I would really walk. She and two more therapists balanced and manipulated me into position. Terror gripped me as I realized how weak I was and how far I had to fall. Although my therapists assured me they were there, I knew God was the one holding me in place. So with that in mind, I advanced my left leg.

Another physical hurdle was crossed, yet a spiritual battle still raged inside of me. Although I could see God gradually restoring my physical strength and I thanked Him for every ounce of it, doubt still haunted me. In the back of my mind I wondered, "When will He decide to quit and say 'That's enough. My grace is sufficient.'?" Depression set in. Even scripture didn't seem to help. Once again, I questioned God, "Why are you cutting me off?"

One morning I finally felt Him answer. Phil and I were listening to a popular radio evangelist who was preaching on John 15. At this point, the Holy Spirit turned my attention to the second part of verse 2, "...every branch that does bear fruit he prunes so it will be even more fruitful." That was it! He didn't cut me off! He was pruning me, and His shears hurt...physically and emotionally. He was teaching me to walk again, not only physically, but spiritually as well. He knew better than I that if I were going to make a difference for him like I always wanted, I had to learn first-hand how to walk with Him no matter how deep and dark the valley may be. This kind of walking takes faith, trust, and surrender to the One who has it all under control.

And God was still in control. During a Kindergarten Thanksgiving exercise at Kayla's public school, Kayla eagerly shared with her class how thankful she was that God saved her Mommy's life in the accident. On Christmas Eve my gift to my family was to rise from a chair and walk across the living room with my walker. God was fulfilling my desire to make a difference for Him...starting with my family. But He wasn't finished yet.

In February 2001, my dream of singing again and sharing my new testimony was planned to become a reality. On June 4th, 2001, exactly one year from the date of our tragic crash, Phil and I would walk into a recording studio in Nashville, Tennessee. And we did...with a cane as my only assistance. Phil set to music the lessons and experiences we faced in the past year, and we recorded our new project, "Living Proof".

Our concerts now open with video footage explaining the accident. The music builds as we walk to the front. Once overwhelmed with confusion and depression, now I see that God can and is still using me. Although my physical recovery is not yet complete and may never be here on earth, I now sing and proclaim God's glory and faithfulness from a completely different spot on the vine.

I am thankful to be pruned and reaping abundant fruit for Him. With every hug and tearful affirmation that my testimony touched a wounded heart, I am assured of God's hand at work. I'd say that's making a difference.