It was Jan. 10, 2005. I was on my way out the door to run an errand and my mom, who had been visiting from Atlanta, was about to head home.
Then the phone rang.
“Hello?” I answered.
“Good morning ma’am, this is Captain _____ from Ft. Carson. I need to inform you that your husband has been injured. I have a report to read to you.”
Daniel had been injured once before so I was not alarmed yet. I thought, Well he’ll call me as soon as he can; this is probably a little more serious.
“Broken bones and lacerations,” the captain continued. “He’s very seriously injured… I’m sorry to tell you this is our most severe category.”
So that’s when I understood. Daniel was hanging on to his life.
After jotting down some phone numbers, I hung up the phone and somehow, through the tears, strung the words together to tell my mom what I just learned. She fell on her knees and started praying immediately. Both of us got our church prayer chains going and I asked Patton, Daniel’s brother, to relay the information to Daniel’s family. All I could do then was pray.
Daniel had a fractured skull, a broken bone in the neck, and a massive wound from his sternum, across his groin to the right knee. Sitting in the humvee, the explosion came through the bottom of his right leg and out the top of the same leg. Two fists could fit in the gaping hole of his leg. The abdominal wall on the front was stripped away; the skin and flesh were pushed to the side. An ice cream scoop-size of tissue had been carved out from inside his left thigh.
But I wouldn’t know any of this until many agonizing hours later. Thoughts of Tyler’s death came to mind. I trusted God, but I was not convinced he would choose to save Daniel’s life.
Lord, give me the desire and discipline to become an active prayer warrior even before crisis hits.
“There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under heaven: a time to be born and a time to die…” (Ecclesiastes 3:1–2a)