“I know God is real because He created the sun, the moon, the stars, the trees, cars, and blue jeans.” That was my 12-year-old son, Elisha, answering his older brother, Josh, who had asked, “Mom, how do we know God is real?” I looked at both of them and said softly, “God has to become real to you.” I explained that the moment comes when life surprises you in ways you never expected, and you see God show up with His glory, power, and love—then, and only then, God becomes personal.
It was Sunday evening, August 5, 2012—our usual family night. Josh, our oldest, had cooked his ‘famous’ spaghetti for dinner. Afterward, Josh and Elisha grabbed their bikes and rode down to the playground just a short walk from our house. I settled on the sofa, writing Old Testament Bible stories for a family game of Pictionary, completely unaware of how quickly everything would change.
Ten minutes later, there was a knock at my door. Elisha had been hit by a car.
I remember running barefoot down our street, sirens blaring in the distance, heart pounding, unsure of what I would find. When I rounded the corner, everything seemed muffled. Adrenaline surged through me as I spotted Nate squatting in the road, looking down. Time slowed. My breath came fast, my heart thundering like it might burst through my chest.
And then… my heart stopped.
There was my little boy, lying on his right side in the street. He looked peaceful, almost asleep, his arms crossed in front of him, his legs tucked together. His face was pale but sweet. Then I noticed the blood. It had pooled around him like a dark, cruel blanket, running from under his head down past his knee. The scene was surreal—silent, except for the pounding of my own heartbeat.
Nate turned to me, face pale, hand raised, silently telling me to stay back. I trusted him, though I had no idea why I could restrain myself. Most parents would have run forward in panic, but I felt hollow, numb, as if my body and mind had disconnected from the horror before me. I passed them both in a daze, dragging my feet as though carrying a weight I couldn’t measure.
And then, something shifted.
Fear, panic, despair—they all tried to take hold, but I felt a supernatural strength rising within me. I lifted my hands toward heaven and declared, “God, I know You! I know You are good! I know You! I know You are good!” The words repeated, louder and stronger with each breath, drowning out the chaos around me. Even when I noticed the young woman driving the car, hysterical and terrified, I remained focused. God’s goodness filled me, and I clung to it like a lifeline.
I climbed into an EMT’s vehicle, turning off the radio to pray without distraction. My mind, heart, and soul were all locked in that single truth: God is good. I kept repeating it, shutting out fear, doubt, and despair.
At the hospital, I was ushered into a small waiting room, alone. My body shook from the inside out, but I did not cry. I did not break down. I prayed and felt this deep, unshakable confidence that the Lord was with us, holding us steady, strengthening my resolve. Nate, his family, and my mother arrived. I asked how Elisha was, and Nate told me the truth: a severe head injury, a compound fracture of his left leg, but all other organs stable. I never felt the need to see him immediately—God was preparing me, equipping me with faith before I faced the full reality.
Soon, a nurse approached with a gentle smile. “You’ll want to see Elisha before he goes on the helicopter,” she said. They were flying him to UVA for treatment. The helipad was dark and misty, almost like a scene from a movie. I saw my little boy, still and strapped to a stretcher, his head and neck secured. I wished my arms could take the place of those straps, holding him, comforting him, taking away his pain.
I leaned close, touched his shoulder, and whispered, “Baby, you are going to be okay. I love you. Jesus is with you, and He loves you so much.” I kissed his cheek and stepped away, trusting God’s hands to hold him now.
That night marked the beginning of the hardest eight years of our lives. Elisha suffered a traumatic brain injury and a compound fracture of his femur. He was put into a medically induced coma, endured brain swelling, strokes, a ventilator, and eventually a tracheostomy. After thirty days at UVA, he was flown to Levine Children’s Hospital for therapy. Three weeks later, his trach was removed, and he began waking up slowly, though recovery was complicated by medication adjustments. In-patient therapy lasted three months.
When we brought him home the week of Thanksgiving 2012, he was on eighteen medications. Gradually weaning him off those meds, we began to see real progress. Since then, Elisha has undergone more than sixteen surgeries. He is nonverbal and uses a wheelchair, yet his spirit radiates joy. His smile lights up every room he enters. He is still the same sweet, sensitive, empathetic boy he was before the accident.
Elisha’s life is a testament to finding joy in the midst of suffering. He reminds everyone he meets that life may be unfair, that pain is real, but we always have a choice: to let life defeat us or to discover joy even in the darkest moments. Our little miracle boy continues to inspire with his light, his resilience, and his unwavering spirit.
Joy is always there if you look. And Elisha is proof.
