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My Baby's in That Car!

I watched in horror as our white LeBaron rolled toward San Francisco Bay

-by Barbara Curtis

My son's physical therapist shrieked, slicing my phone call mid-sentence. "Barbara! Hurry! Your car's rolling down the hill!"

Dropping the receiver, I spun and raced down the hall. I didn't even feel like I was moving on my own—it was as if something had picked me up and booted me in the right direction. I could see only the door at the end of the hall, hear only my heart pounding in my ears.

Grabbing the only hope I could, I begged, "O God, dear God, please let the car be empty."

Moments ago I had been leaving the office of Christine, our physical therapist, with my toddler, Jonathan, in my arms, and my oldest son, Joshua, by my side. At the door we had taken extra time for Jonathan to wave goodbye. When the phone rang, Christine disappeared inside and we were halfway across the gravel parking lot when she appeared again at the door to say my husband, Tripp, was on the phone.

"Honey, will you put Jonathan in his car seat?" I asked eleven-year-old Joshua. "I'll be right back."

Joshua didn't routinely accompany us, but knowing how helpful he was, Christine had asked him to come today. Joshua's job was to distract Jonathan by blowing bubbles (for Jonathan to pop), holding out a koosh ball (for Jonathan to reach for), different things to both exercise his younger brother's muscles and alleviate the discomfort and tedium of his weekly hour-long workout. The exercises Christine showed us would be included in daily routines for the older children to do at home.

"Sure, Mom," Joshua said. I put his brother into his arms. At three, Jonathan, a Down Syndrome baby, was still too wobbly to negotiate the gravel parking lot. We had been bringing him to physical therapy for months, to build his strength and coordination. It was part of helping Jonathan become the best God meant him to be, which had sort of become our family motto.

To this day, neither Tripp nor I remember the reason for his phone call. He only recalls my cry of dismay and the phone hitting the floor. Then he heard me scream, "No! Oh, no! Oh, God, please no!"

Not here, not now!
Across the parking lot, I could see the top of Jonathan's blond head and the car seat through the windshield of our white LeBaron. Because the headrest was in the way, I could not see his face to determine whether he was panicking. But he wasn't crying as the car rolled backwards down the sloping driveway toward Main Street, the two-lane road below. On the other side of the road was a ten-foot sandy strip, a small buffer before the thirty-foot drop into the cold waters of San Francisco Bay.

What's going to happen to Jonathan? If the car miraculously cleared the road without being struck by an oncoming car, it would crash down the embankment into a watery grave.

"Oh, Lord, not here, not now," I pleaded. Moments from Jonathan's brief but difficult life flashed vividly in my mind. I could hear the beeps of the monitors in Intensive Care, see the tangle of cords and wires poking out from different places on his flaccid body, feel the tug on my stomach when the doctors prepared us for the worst.

So many times we had been through these things, with so many people praying for our special little boy. And, one by one, God had healed him of his frailties. For the past year he had been so healthy we had actually begun to relax.

Could God really choose to take him now, after all he'd seen us through?

Not if my son Joshua could help it. Horrified, I spotted him behind the car, straining his ninety-five pounds against the ton of metal propelling him backwards. Running awkwardly in reverse as the car picked up speed, he was on the verge of being crushed any second.

I can't lose two sons!
"Joshua, let go! Get away from the car!" I screamed. Beside me, Christine was screaming too. Even as we pleaded with Joshua, I understood my son's determination. He always took responsibility. It would be difficult for him to live with himself if he felt he gave up too soon to save his brother. I screamed again. "Joshua, you must obey me. You must let go of the car!" Finally, Joshua jumped from behind the car, safely clear of the moving vehicle.

At that moment, Christine and I stopped screaming. In the eerie silence, the three of us held our breath as the car seemed to hesitate, the rear wheels to shift. Suddenly the car was moving at a different angle towards the edge of the driveway, losing momentum, and finally grinding to a halt against an old pine tree.

Bolting for the car door, I flung it open to find Jonathan unhurt, but bewildered. It was the first time he had been in a moving car all alone! Joshua squeezed in beside me. When Jonathan saw us, he broke out into a grin and stretched out his arms excitedly in a "Life—what an adventure!" gesture. He was going to be fine. And other than a dent in the trunk, the car was undamaged.

In my hands, or God's?
From what we could figure out, when Joshua had gotten out from securing Jonathan in his car seat and closed the passenger door, it had jarred the car enough to start it rolling. I had mistakenly left it in "drive" instead of "park."

Joshua and I had a lot to talk about on the ride home in rush-hour traffic.

"Mom, all I could think of was that I couldn't let him die," Joshua told me. Admitting he was extremely scared, he kept hoping his adrenaline would kick in, giving him super-human strength. He chided himself for not thinking fast enough to hit the brakes or push the gearshift into park. But I reassured him that it would have been almost impossible. Both of us agreed that God must have turned the wheels of the car to make it change direction.

The deeper lessons
"All I could think of … " That's me all over. As I've reflected on this indelible experience, I see spiritual parallels with both Joshua's and Jonathan's situations. There have been many times in my life when I've over-estimated my indispensability. Even if I know I need God's help, don't I often think he needs mine as well? Don't I often presume that God can accomplish his wondrous supernatural acts only if I stay involved?

Maybe sometimes he is just waiting for me to get out of the way, like Joshua, be totally at God's mercy and let him take care of things. Maybe he'd like to do something truly miraculous, something I couldn't take credit for myself.

Maybe he'd like me to be more like Jonathan, a little worried perhaps, but remembering I'm in good hands and will be rescued.

I hadn't put my car in park. That bit of carelessness almost cost me two sons. But God chose instead to teach me about his mercy and might. He gave me a powerful picture-one son trying to avert disaster, finally being obedient and letting go, and being saved. The second son—powerless and utterly dependent—waiting on God's own outcome. Two lessons that will last a lifetime.

Sidebar
When the tides of life turn against you,
And the current upsets your boat,
Don't waste those tears on what might have been,
Just lie on your back and float.

-Ed Norton in "The Honeymooners"

Copyright © 1997 by the author or Christianity Today International/Today's Christian magazine (formerly Christian Reader).
Click here for reprint information.

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