A Memory That Returned Unexpectedly
Recently, a memory surfaced that I had not visited in years.
It came quietly—uninvited but important. It carried me back to those early,
foggy weeks after my motorcycle wreck, when I lay in the ICU, unaware of how
fragile my life was and how deeply God was already working.
My memories from that time are scattered and dim, like fragments from a dream. But this one—this memory—came back sharp enough to feel again.
I remembered the vibrating hospital bed.
I remember how much I disliked that bed. It shook beneath me
with a relentless hum that traveled straight into my bones. I could feel it
rattle my teeth at times, and each vibration slowly pushed my body downward
until the nurses had to come in, lift me, and reposition me. I hated the
sensation. I hated the loss of control. I hated how helpless I felt.
But I also know now why they used it. It was meant to
protect my lungs—lungs that had already suffered from a collapsed lung, the
trauma of the ventilator, and my inability to swallow correctly. Pneumonia
was a very real threat, and that vibrating bed was part of the fight to
keep it away.
And it worked.
I never got pneumonia once—not in the ICU, not in therapy, not during my
entire hospital stay.
Looking back, that is nothing short of mercy.
Psalm 34:6 “This poor man cried, and the LORD
heard him, and saved him out of all his troubles.”
The Tenderness of Small Acts
As that memory opened, more pieces drifted back with it.
Small things… but when you’re helpless, small things become enormous.
I remembered a nurse in the ICU who noticed that my eyebrows
had been manicured before the wreck. She didn’t want that care to fade, so she
would come in with tweezers and gently shape them, keeping stray hairs away. I
couldn’t talk. I wasn’t coherent. I couldn’t tell her thank you. But she
cared for me in a way that reached far deeper than grooming.
I remembered my mom leaving a CD of music that played
constantly in my room, creating a peaceful atmosphere that helped settle my
mind even when my thoughts were tangled and unclear. Sometimes they would turn
the television to a hospital channel that showed nature scenes with relaxing
music. At the time, I didn’t realize the purpose. Now I know—they were
trying to create beauty around someone who could not create beauty for herself.
They were always finding ways—small, simple ways—to make my
world better.
Those quiet kindnesses mattered.
Kindness always matters.
Ephesians 4:32 “And be ye kind one to another,
tenderhearted…”
The Fog Between Dreams and Reality
Much of what I “remember” from ICU feels like dream
fragments. Some moments were so blurry that I questioned whether they happened
at all. Medication, trauma, exhaustion, and fear blended everything together
into a haze.
I recall visitors in the limited time they were allowed, and
I remember being troubled—worried that some of them thought I was faking. I
wasn’t, of course. But that fear lived somewhere deep inside the confusion.
Was it reality?
Was it a dream?
Was it my mind trying to make sense of something too big to understand?
Even now I’m not entirely sure.
But what I am sure of is this:
God was present in every foggy corner of that room. Even when I couldn’t
think clearly. Even when I couldn’t pray out loud. Even when I wasn’t myself.
He was there.
Psalm 61:2 “When my heart is overwhelmed: lead me
to the rock that is higher than I.”
A Journey Forward — Literally and Spiritually
Fast forward to just a few weeks ago. I went on an extended
solo road trip where I spoke to three different groups and had multiple opportunities
throughout the week to share pieces of my testimony—about the wreck, the
recovery, the impossible things God brought me through, and the things He is
still helping me overcome.
Before leaving, I worried.
What would I say?
Would I remember enough?
Would my nerves get in the way?
Would the right words come?
He was faithful.
He brought things to my memory that I had forgotten.
He reminded me of details I didn’t even know had significance until I stood in front of those people.
He was with me—guiding, strengthening, steadying.
And as I spoke, I reflected on the woman I was back then,
lying in that vibrating bed, unable to move, unable to speak, unsure of what
was real and what wasn’t.
And then I looked at the woman standing there those nights—driving
through the state alone, carrying a testimony, sharing hope, offering
encouragement, and declaring the goodness of God.
The difference is stunning.
The journey is long.
And the grace is immeasurable.
Psalm 118:23 “This is the LORD's doing; it is
marvellous in our eyes.”
Not 100%… but No Longer Who I Was
I’m not fully whole.
I still face limitations.
I still navigate frustrations, pains, and the ongoing results of that wreck.
But I am no longer the woman in that ICU bed.
Not physically. Not emotionally. Not spiritually.
God didn’t just heal parts of my body—He grew my faith,
sharpened my gratitude, and expanded my purpose. He gave me words. He gave me
strength. He gave me a testimony.
He gave me a new life.
Psalm 118:17 “I shall not die, but live, and
declare the works of the LORD.”
What I Know Now
If the vibrating bed taught me anything, it’s this:
Sometimes what feels uncomfortable…
sometimes what rattles us…
sometimes what shakes us to the core…
is what keeps us alive.
Sometimes the things we hate become the very things that
save us.
And sometimes the memories we try to forget become the
testimony God uses to encourage others.
He wastes nothing—not suffering, not confusion, not fear,
not tears, not time.
God was faithful to bring back to my mind things I hadn’t
thought about in a long while. Even though I’m not physically at 100%, I’m
definitely stronger than I used to be. And I’m trusting Him to keep writing my
story. He’s not finished with me yet. There’s more ahead, and I’m looking
forward with expectation, believing that to be true.
A Reflection for You
As you read this, I hope you’ll pause and think:
- What
moments in your life felt painful or confusing, yet protected you in ways
you didn’t realize at the time?
- What
has God brought you through that you can now share to help someone else?
- How
has He strengthened you in places you once felt weakest?
Your story matters.
Your scars matter.
Your survival matters.
And your testimony has the power to lift someone else from their own vibrating
bed of fear, uncertainty, or pain.
Be encouraged. 🧡
