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Was This My Last Breath?
Just as I started to move, I was pinned under a ton of wood and steel

by Jeffery P. Ainsworth

I was leaving work when the storm emergency sirens started their long wail. As I drove home, just five minutes away, I saw a few people in their yards looking up at the dreary sky, but the air was calm. I figured I had time to get inside before the weather turned really nasty.

I pulled into my Arkadelphia, Arkansas, driveway and saw my wife Candy and two-year-old son Chris waiting for me at the front door. Turning off the ignition, I unfastened my seatbelt, reached for the door latch, and then heard what I thought was hail hitting the minivan.

Suddenly, I saw tree limbs flying sideways beside my house. Instinctively, my arms went over my head. Candy saw my reaction, grabbed Chris and our five-year-old daughter Amy, and ran to the back of the house. I didn't see it, but seconds later, a tree crashed through the roof into our living room where my family had been just moments before.

Get as low in the car as possible, I thought. I quickly reclined the driver's seat. I started to roll over onto the floorboard, when it was as if a giant foot had stepped on a large aluminum can—my car.

It all happened so fast. I felt the wind and then the rain. A few seconds later, all was quiet. Then I tried to move but couldn't. Desperately the realization hit me: a tornado had just dropped an oak tree on top of my minivan. The roof had been crushed on top of me, and—scariest of all—I could not breathe. My right ear was pressed into my shoulder, my chin was buried in my chest, and my left arm was pinned across my rib cage.

A 911 to God
Soon I heard Candy's screams. She had climbed through the debris from the uprooted tree that had landed on our house, but she was blocked by the tree that was crushing me. Looking into the passenger side of our minivan, all she could see were my legs and one arm. In shock, she cried, "Oh, Baby, are you all right?"

My right arm was free so I waved it as violently as I could. It took all the air I had but I forced out the answer, "I can't breathe!"

"Oh God, what do I do?!" she screamed.

I tried to motion "911" with my free hand; Candy's frantic response indicated the phones were out. She continued to cry out hoping to get the attention of someone who could pull me from the car, but mostly in prayerful intercession.

I couldn't imagine how help would arrive in time, so I turned my thoughts heavenward. I thought of my relationship with the Lord and knew everything was in order. What will heaven be like? I began to wonder. Mother's there and it will be good to see her again.

But then I remembered what it was like to see a parent cross over into eternity, so I started praying that God would send help quickly. I didn't want my children and wife to go through that.

Even though my left arm was immovable, I forced my thumb between my teeth to open an air passage, nearly biting the tip off. I had to have air—at least enough for short breaths. Yet it didn't seem like enough; I thought I would pass out.

The sweet sound of a chainsaw
Candy and Amy continued to scream and pray. I was still calling out to God in silent prayer. In the stillness immediately following the storm, the sun shone briefly, it started to sprinkle, and neighbors came out of their houses to see who was screaming. Unknown to me, a neighbor called for help on a cell phone.

I heard several voices. I couldn't understand all that was said, but I knew someone had heard my family's panic-stricken cries. Candy says the number of people who responded was amazing, pitching in immediately without any bickering over who should do what.

I praised God when the first chain saw revved up, followed by more voices and more chain saws. I was encouraged by the sound.

After the rescuers cut the tree into pieces small enough to lift, they tried to manually raise the roof. It would not budge. Everyone knew I was running out of time since I wasn't moving around anymore. Finally, the God-sent rescuers decided to use tree limbs and jacks to pry the roof off my chest. It moved just enough to release my left arm. Thank you Jesus—I can breathe again! I thought. I'd been barely able to breathe for about 30 minutes.

I was confident everything would be okay after my left arm was freed. Our prayers had been heard. Fifteen minutes later, I finally saw Candy's beautiful face again as county road workers used The Jaws of Life to cut the roof of my cage away. Rescuers braced my neck with towels and throw pillows from my house. A door from a house, which had landed nearby, became a makeshift stretcher. Thinking I had a broken neck or back, they cautiously lifted me out of the flattened minivan.

The rescue vehicles couldn't get through all the debris in the road, so I was put in the back of a pickup truck. The driver got as close as possible to the emergency vehicle. Then I was carried two blocks to the ambulance. It was a bumpy ride, but thank God I felt every jolt! I cannot remember the names and faces of all the people who participated in my rescue, but I constantly thank God for each and every one.

One memory I don't want to lose
"It looks like you're going to get out with nothing but a bad memory," Dr. Jansen told me at the hospital that night after all the x-rays, CAT scans, and other tests revealed no major problems. I sustained bruises, scratches, and discoloration in my face from lack of oxygen. My thumb was infected and took a while to heal. The whites of my eyes had turned a disturbing dark red; the blood vessels burst when I strained to breathe. My appearance scared my children, so for a couple of weeks I wore sunglasses when I was with them.

On Sunday, March 9, 1997, eight days after the harrowing experience, I stood before my church family, First Assembly of God, to tell my story. It was an emotional service, with lots of people crying and hugging. The F4 tornado (on a scale from 0 to 5) with winds between 207 and 260 mph destroyed our church building, which happened to be across from my house, so we met in a Baptist Student Union building that morning. A year later, we moved into our rebuilt church.

My family was able to salvage about half of what was in our house, and we had it rebuilt by May. Our neighbors had more trouble rebuilding, and the neighborhood wasn't back to normal for almost two years. Some never recovered; a woman and her two children were found dead in the attic of a brick house a block from ours. After a year and a half in our new house, my family moved to the suburbs. There my wife and I became youth pastors at New Life Church, located near the local high school.

Though the physical marks of my experience faded quickly, the memory of God's provision remains vivid to me and my family. I know God brought us through.

A Christian Reader original article.

Copyright © 2000 by the author or Christianity Today International/Today's Christian magazine (formerly Christian Reader).
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