Death and The Quickened Child

Gently slipping my hands beneath her little face, I lifted it from the sweltering heat of 3rd Streets surface, that hot summer day near Houston.  She had been singing and dancing for Jesus all morning that Sunday only moments earlier, and hadn’t stepped out too far when the ¾ ton Ram Van tore her from her mother’s hand.  Church had just let out.  

Her hair was caught in
the headlight but I still hadn’t noticed, as my eyes fell on the tire tracks left behind, reaching the length of her entire back and neck, her twisted leg snapped unusually out of place; and then I saw her eyes.  They would have to reverse the nearly full ton van to get her free from its hold.

Blank.  A stare back seemingly right through me as if calling out mid-sentence; as if her scream were somehow frozen in time.  The shrill screams of gatherers and her parents running aghast, none knowing where to turn, spun in disbelief and horror.  The piercing screams faded away, though, with each step I took drawing closer to this child, I’ll call Lily.  She was three years old.

When my assistant draped her little body with his Ushers coat and turned to help calm the crowd I realized there had been no movement, no sound, no breath.  I held her face softly and lowered my head toward hers, drawing my lips near her ear to whisper to the Lord, “she’s yours, Father,” and spoke to His heart.

In the distance, no ambulance screamed, no sirens filled the air, as my heart searched for the sound of life; for the sound of help on the way.  Only desperate gasps, pleadings and wails of shock ascended the heavens that unforgivably-hot afternoon.  Texas heat is always hotter than hot.  So was the blacktopped street she lay on with her twisted summer shorts and torn up little shirt; her hand held her coloring page from class.

How long can a child hold their breath, and lie motionless after suffering this trauma?  How long

could vitals not be found, after such an event?  She had spent the morning loving on the Lord, singing, and dancing before Him when this happened.  Where was God now?

Without warning, Lily raised her torso up from the street and gasped for air, as if she were coming up from the depths of what did not want to turn her loose.  Just as quickly as her torso lifted, so did her leg swing back, snapping into place.  Those who had gathered on both sides of the street screamed in one voice, their shock and relief.

Way off in the distance a faint siren could be heard, and before long the jagged vibrations of the cities Life Flight helicopter drew near.

I took Lily’s face and calmed her back down; everything happened so slowly.  Within hours, she would be home with a bruised lung and scrapes.  Lily was touched by mercy that day.  God is good.

Sibella Circle Member & Visionary Leader, Sandra Cerda writes for Sibyl Magazine.  Get your Copy of this Wonderful Magazine, here at www.sibylmagazine.com  

(c) 2017 Sandra Cerda.  All Rights Reserved.

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