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What I love most about my husband, Kimmer, is his heart—full of compassion and sensitivity. Yeah, I love his heart and "never give up" spirit. —Krickitt Carpenter

I love Krickitt's personality and her eyes. Her personality is kind of wild—in an innocent fun way. And she has the most beautiful blue eyes I've ever seen. I flutter when I look at her eyes. —Kim Carpenter

Candid. Intimate. Words of endearment. Krisxan (Krickitt), 28, and Kimmer (Kim), 32, Carpenter are so much in love that they celebrate two wedding anniversaries each year—the "real one" in September and the "second one" in May. Three years separate the two weddings—three years that seem like a lifetime of marriage.

But two weddings in three years? For the Christian couple from Las Vegas, New Mexico, it was part of marital survival.

On Thanksgiving Eve 1993, with almost ten weeks of wedded bliss behind them, the Highlands University assistant athletic director/then baseball coach and his beautiful bride were heading with a friend, Milan Rasic, to Phoenix, Arizona. At the other end, awaiting their holiday arrival, were Krickitt's parents, Gus and Mary Pappas.

Everyone was looking forward to the break. Krickitt took the wheel of their brand-new Ford Escort at 4:30 p.m., while Kim, nursing a cold, tried to get comfortable in the back seat. Two hours later, night had fallen on I-40.

Krickitt has no recollection of what happened six miles outside of Gallup, New Mexico. Just ahead of their car, a slow-moving truck carrying auto parts was obscured behind a cloud of exhaust. Krickitt saw the truck just in time. Hitting the brakes and swerving left, she clipped the left rear of the vehicle. A pickup truck following the Carpenters' car swerved simultaneously and hit them with such force, the Escort flipped one-and-a-half times and slid down the interstate more than 100 feet.

"I screamed and screamed for Krickitt," says Kim, who remained conscious through the horrifying collision. When the Escort flipped, Kim was thrown onto the ceiling inside the car, his back exposed to the asphalt through the shattered "moon roof." His legs were pinned and he couldn't locate his wife. She didn't answer him. Their friend Milan was still in the front passenger seat.

Secured by her seat belt, Krickitt was hanging upside down in the driver's seat, head tilted, unconscious—the roof of the car crushed around her skull. It would be twenty minutes before help arrived and another thirty before Krickitt was in the back of the first ambulance heading for Rehoboth McKinley Christian Hospital in Gallup. Kim and Milan (who suffered a separated shoulder) were transported in a second ambulance.

A doctor in the Gallup emergency room handed Kim an envelope with Krickitt's rings and watch. "I'm very sorry, Mr. Carpenter," he said. She's dead, Kim thought. Miraculously, the former Division I collegiate gymnast was hanging on to life by a thread, despite severe bleeding in her brain. Her chance of survival was less than one percent; the decision was made to airlift Krickitt to the University of New Mexico Hospital in Albuquerque, 140 miles away.

Kim made a decision, too. Refusing treatment for his own injuries (a punctured lung, bruised heart, concussion, broken hand, and facial lacerations), Kim called his dad to pick him up. He would follow his wife to Albuquerque. "If she was going to die, I was going to be there beside her."

After midnight, Gus and Mary Pappas's phone rang. One of Krickitt's girlfriends was calling to give them the news. The still to be made home-ground wheat rolls and pumpkin pies, and the traditional Pappas day-after-Thanksgiving get-together to cheer on the University of Arizona's football team weren't that important anymore. Getting a flight from Phoenix to Albuquerque with their son, Jamey, a Campus Crusade for Christ staff member, was.

Almost upon arrival, after seeing Krickitt and talking with the doctor, the family (with Kim) began daily prayer vigils on the ICU wing. As specific medical problems arose, the group would pray. They asked the Lord to lessen the pressure on Krickitt's brain. Then on Saturday, when Krickitt's blood pressure dropped dangerously low, they prayed for it to come back up. Pastor Fred Maldonado and members of the Carpenters' church, Calvary Baptist Church, in Las Vegas, New Mexico, drove two hours to join the intercessions. Jamey's wife, Gretchen, started a prayer chain originating from Phoenix, fanning out across the country and even reaching fellow Campus Crusade for Christ staff in Russia. The swelling began to subside in Krickitt's brain.

"I can't emphasize enough the power of prayer," Mary Pappas says. "There was a peace and a real presence of the Lord with us as we prayed for Krickitt."

In five days, Krickitt was taken off life support. Five days later, she was transferred to Phoenix's Barrow Neurological Institute. There, after ten days, she began to come out of her coma. Miracles were happening. But for the newlyweds, the trials were just beginning.

Where's Krickitt?
Barrow is among the finest facilities in the country for head trauma victims. A week after the transfer, Krickitt continued to make progress physically. That in itself was another miracle: for head trauma victims, you can't predict at what moment improvement will stop. Krickitt's twenty-some years of athletic training and fitness helped her body respond relatively quickly. But a routine series of questions asked by a nurse revealed a deeper wound.

"What year is it?"

"1965," Krickitt replied.

"Who's your mom? What's her name?"

"Mary." One right.

"Who's your dad?"

"Gus." Two out of three.

"Who's your husband?"

As Kim held his breath, Krickitt didn't answer immediately. Finally she said,"I'm not married."

"Yes, you are, Krickitt," the nurse said. "Try again. Who's your husband?"

Another pause. "Todd?"—an old boyfriend from her California college days. At first, Krickitt's father, Gus, thought she was just kidding—Krickitt did have a wry sense of humor. In his heart, Kim knew this was no laughing matter.

For the next months at Barrow, Krickitt made progress physically "though functioning in a fog." She had to re-learn everything—from eating to taking a shower. The things she seemed to "pick up" more easily were skills learned earlier in life.

As she continued to be tested, the truth came out: the head injury caused short-term memory loss. Eighteen months of her life prior to the accident and four months after—all the time Krickitt had known, dated, and been married to Kim—were erased. Added to that, her once bubbly personality disappeared. She became negative, used abusive language, or displayed no emotions at all. The smile that lit up a room was extinguished. It was a scary time for everyone who loved her—especially Kim.

That's not my wife talking or acting like this. The real Krickitt will come back, Kim tried to tell himself. But statistics told another story. In marriages where one partner has suffered a head injury, the divorce rate is staggering—80 to 90 percent. "I honestly didn't think our marriage would work," Kim reflects, "but I vowed before God 'until death do you part.'"

This kind of situation was more difficult to deal with than a death, Kim was counseled. A doctor said, "If the short-term memory doesn't come back within eighteen months of the accident, it probably will never come back." Kim began to count the days.

Krickitt was released from Barrow on January 13, 1994. Living with her parents in Phoenix, she continued rehabilitation as an out-patient. Her attention span and patience were short. She didn't like being pushed to do things. Kim tried to encourage her, but Krickitt's reactions were strong—she "hated this guy" who was irritating her.

On February 1, 1994, Kim was back at work in New Mexico. That first day, after the university baseball team's indoor workout, a group of players and members of the community presented the coach with a pickle jar full of money. They had collected enough to pay for ten round-trip plane tickets to Phoenix for Kim to visit Krickitt each week.

The visits were fine but uneventful. Krickitt was curious about this man who everyone said was her husband. Still it was a far cry from the initial phone call in 1992 that brought the two of them together.

Meant for each other
Krickitt loved her job, her church, and her circle of Christian friends in southern California. Accepting Christ at fourteen ("after snooping in my brother's room, finding a copy of The Four Spiritual Laws, and following the steps"), Krickitt eventually found herself at Southern Cal/Fullerton and actively involved at Chuck Swindoll's First Evangelical Free Church. She kept prayer journals, took her quiet time seriously ("a seven-day-a-weeker") as well as her goal to remain sexually pure before marriage.

One day at work, Krickitt, a sportswear sales rep, took a call from Las Vegas, New Mexico. A baseball coach, Kim Carpenter, was looking for customized apparel for his team. The coach and the rep hit it off. Kim volunteered to phone in other of the university's sports teams orders; any excuse to talk with that perky girl with the quirky name.

After four months of mostly business, home phone numbers were exchanged. Krickitt learned Kim had also accepted Christ at fourteen when a friend's babysitter shared the gospel with him. But without discipling, he hadn't grown spiritually. Recently, he had been searching for more in his life. Krickitt explained how to begin a daily devotional time and gave him a Bible embossed with his name.

On one of Krickitt's first visits to New Mexico, they read the entire Book of Job together. The Book of Job?

"I don't know why we chose that book except that my mom was ill, my baseball team was losing one-run games right and left, and I was frustrated," Kim says. "After finishing that whole book, I was humbled."

Another humbling experience was meeting the other singles—men and women—at Krickitt's church in California. "I couldn't get over how the guys treated the ladies with so much respect," says Kim. "And saving themselves for marriage? In this day and age?"

The two were falling in love. If they weren't spending weekends with each other, they were running up huge phone bills. In June 1993, Kim asked Gus Pappas for his daughter's hand. With that blessing, Kim headed to California to propose, a surprise aided by Krickitt's girlfriends. True to his romantic nature, Kim arrived with flowers, a ring, and a cuddly teddy bear. From outside Krickitt's apartment, he shouted, "Well, will yah?"

"Will I what?" she teased, running down to meet him.

Kim knelt down on one knee and asked, "Will you be my lifetime buddy?"

"Yes!" Krickitt said without hesitation. "Yes, I will."

On September 18, 1993, Krisxan Pappas and Kim Carpenter became husband and wife. After honeymooning in Maui, they returned to New Mexico with dreams of a long, happy life. What could stop them? The fairy tale was fractured on that November night ten weeks later.

Snapshot memories
During rehab, Krickitt had flashes of memory, things that were vaguely familiar. Like working out on a stair stepper. She also was certain she was a Christian. A fact that didn't surprise her brother Jamey.

"That was a component of Krickitt's core being—her soul—so it wasn't affected by any physical injury. That faith never left her for a moment. God kept it safe."

But Krickitt missed something dearly—something she couldn't put into words. I used to do these things every day, she thought.

But what were "those things?" The puzzle was finally solved by a girlfriend—Krickitt was missing her quiet time! Not long after, Krickitt and her mother went to a Christian bookstore and she bought a prayer journal. With small steps, her walk of faith was starting again.

The staff at Barrow determined the next step in April 1994: Krickitt and her mother would visit the apartment she shared with Kim. Krickitt was not excited.

"Krickitt would ask me about the decorations, what kind of china pattern she had," Mary said. "We were all hopeful that something would visually spark the lost memory." Nothing did. Even staring at her wedding photos or watching a videotape of the ceremony elicited no response.

Krickitt explains: "I would think, It looks pretty. It looks like fun, but I don't know what the girl in the picture is feeling … is thinking … It's just like watching a friend on video … "

When it was time to return to Phoenix, Krickitt gave Kim a quick hug at the airport, like a friend saying goodbye. At the gate, Mary Pappas clearly remembers the look on Kim's face—devastation.

On April 14, 1994, almost five months after the accident, the doctors decided it was time for Krickitt to go home for good. Moving in and loving a stranger she'd just gotten re-acquainted with wasn't easy. The "wife thing" remained a mystery.

"What did I do? Did I cook? Did I bring you lunch?" she would ask Kim. Still prone to unpredictable mood swings, Krickitt would laugh, cry, be angry without warning.

"I really think God needed to break me," Kim says. "I had to give everything to him. Krickitt had always been so solid in her faith, a rock." Krickitt and Kim started attending church regularly again.

Over time, a "new" Krickitt emerged. She definitely had a personality—less inhibited, quicker to laugh, play jokes, not hiding her emotions. Yes, she was a little clumsier when tired, but still beautiful. Krickitt began working part-time as an exercise specialist in a fitness and wellness center.

As his wife improved, Kim was battling the effects of the prescription drugs he had been taking since the accident: sleeping pills, anti-depressants, pain killers. He knew it was time to stop. The withdrawal took a toll on his body and mind.

The couple began seeing Mike Hill, a therapist. When he asked Kim what made Krickitt fall in love with him the first time, Kim thought back to those hours on the phone, the gifts, the things they loved doing together. After a few sessions, Hill suggested Kim redate his wife. They both liked the idea. Krickitt began to enjoy Kim's companionship and missed him when he was gone. Her love was growing.

The next suggestion didn't thrill Kim as much as Krickitt: get married again.

I'll care for you forever
"I was excited," Krickitt says. "My wedding was something I had always looked forward to, walking down the aisle in my big white fluffy dress, my dad giving me away, the honeymoon. I wanted a real memory of that—a day where I could know for a fact that I gave myself to this man in marriage. I didn't care where it was—I just wanted to wear the big white dress and walk down the aisle!"

Seeing Krickitt's growing enthusiasm changed Kim's mind. No, this didn't have to be a replica of the first ceremony; as Jamey Pappas said, opening the service on May 25, 1996, "We're not here to perform a wedding. We're here to create a memory for Krickitt."

Once again, the Carpenters honeymooned in Maui. "I took Krickitt to the one place I wanted her to see from our first honeymoon," Kim says. "There was a sign there: JESUS COMING SOON. She kind of remembered it. At our favorite spot on the beach, something slightly clicked for her. But it was deja vu minus me."

For Kim, it was the last test to jog Krickitt's memory. Finally, he was content to put it all in God's hands.

The Carpenters continue to tell their story via magazine interviews and talk shows. In the last year, from secular exposure alone, more than 600 million people have read, heard, or seen their story in over 50 countries. A book about their life, The Vow (due out in early 1998), and a major motion picture in '98 are in the works. But there is a more important message the couple want people to hear.

"We don't have a story without God. And that story really is about commitment—commitment to Him and commitment in marriage," Kim says. "So Krickitt and I began 'Commitment Ministry.' Through a short presentation or weekend retreat, we emphasize the power of prayer, the need for faith and commitment—things we realized through living through them. It's great to be able to help people—Christians or non-Christians—who might be hurting in their marriages."

Krickitt continues to improve, something for which she is thankful. "I forget things, yes, but I can walk, I can talk, I'm alive! And I have a wonderful husband."

Kim looks deep into his wife's beautiful blue eyes. Like the last verses in the Book of Job promise, God's abundant blessings are in store.

For information about Commitment Ministry, call 505-425-3713.

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