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I stared at the girl's broken body lying in an Albany, New York, hospital bed. As a pastor, I wondered what I would say to her mother. How do you console a woman whose oldest daughter was in a terrible auto accident and might not survive the night?

I couldn't take my eyes off the severely distorted features of the girl's face. The sounds of hospital equipment distracted me, but the sight of tubes and machines keeping her alive tormented me.

I prayed over Kelly. I prayed for her full recovery. I prayed for the family to receive the strength they needed. I prayed for the hospital staff. I prayed for myself, that God would put the right words in my mouth. Still not knowing what I would say to the mother, I left the cubicle to find her.

Newspapers had covered the story extensively. The driver of the car in which Kelly was a passenger had crossed a yellow line and struck another car head on. The young driver received only a few cuts and scratches. The woman driving the other car was killed. Kelly was severely injured with brain trauma.

Kelly, who was to start her senior year of high school in three weeks and who was the captain of the varsity soccer team, now lay clinging to life with little chance of survival. I wasn't sure how to be a godly comfort to the family.

Nanci, Kelly's mother, was my wife's friend. They had met years earlier but had lost contact until the accident occurred. I had never met Nanci or her family before. They lived about 30 miles outside of Albany.

Two days after the accident, Nanci, remembering that I was pastor of Third Reformed Church in town, called my wife. She asked if I could come visit the family and pray.

A God-sent sitter
The waiting room was filled with people.

"Nanci?" I asked.

A short, blonde woman looked up.

"Yes," she replied. Her eyes revealed her fear.

"I'm Reverend Ennis."

"Thanks for coming," she answered gratefully. "Let me talk to you privately."

It was a short walk to a more private room. Soon we were settled into the cushioned armchairs.

"I'm so glad you came. Have you seen Kelly?"

"Yes. I saw her and prayed with her."

"Good. She needs prayer. She will live. I know that. I don't care what the doctors say."

I wondered if that was a message given from God or merely a desperate mother's denial of the inevitable.

"I'll tell you how I know," she continued. "There have been so many coincidences. God is working to keep her alive."

"What coincidences?" I asked.

"The helicopter. Did you hear about the helicopter?"

"No. What about it?"

"The first paramedics called for a helicopter. Who knows why, but it was late getting there. Against procedure, the ambulance people decided to take her by ambulance rather than wait for the chopper. God was working in this. The babysitter was in the ambulance."

"The babysitter?" I asked.

"Kelly's first babysitter was a paramedic in that ambulance. At first, she, like the other medics, didn't know who my girl was. After reading her driver's license, they knew her name. It clicked for the babysitter even though they had not seen one another in ten years."

Nanci stopped and began to sob. I waited quietly as she regained composure.

	"She always called me 'Mom.' It was never 'Ma' or 'Mother.' It was always Mom.' I wish I could hear her say that now."

"By now," she continued, "the paramedics were convinced that Kelly would not survive the trip. She was slipping away. They did a tracheotomy, but still she was slipping. The babysitter, Janet, began to talk to her. She identified herself and Kelly began to stabilize again. Whenever she stopped talking, Kelly began to fail, only to come back when Janet spoke. God put Kelly and Janet together on that trip."

Nanci's sobs overcame her once again.

"When we got to the hospital, the doctors were surprised that she had survived such injuries. I know that it's God's doing. God isn't ready to take my Kelly yet."

Mom's request
We sat in silence. Nanci shed her tears of anxiety, anger, and fear. I knew no words to say, but none were needed.

After a while the two of us returned to Kelly's bedside. Neither of us could see any changes in the girl. I prayed once again for Kelly, her family, and the hospital staff. Nanci spoke to her daughter, letting her know of her presence.

Nanci looked at me with her sad eyes.

"What I would give right now to have her wake up and say 'Mom' once again. She always called me 'Mom' in her own special voice. It was never 'Ma' or 'Mother.' It was always 'Mom.' I wish I could hear her say that now."

Through the rest of the summer of 1996, then the fall, and into the winter I visited Kelly and her family. Kelly's room filled up with flowers and teddy bears, gifts from her high school friends who visited constantly. Doctors' predictions of her death didn't seem to be accurate. But neither did my prayers for her full recovery seem to be answered. She made minimal progress.

Eventually Kelly was moved to a rehabilitation center and finally returned home. She began to recognize her family, though she needed constant care. She was unable to do the things we all take for granted: washing, dressing, feeding. Her days were spent sitting in a wheelchair staring at television or listening to music between sessions of physical therapy and occupational therapy.

Almost two years after the accident, the family called me. Kelly was once more in the hospital. Her life was threatened with brain seizures. Nanci and I met in the hospital waiting room.

"God has been so good at answering prayer," Nanci told me.

"Which prayer was answered?" I asked her.

"Since the first night when I met you in the hospital, I have been praying that Kelly would get well enough to call me 'Mom' one more time. Three weeks ago, out of the blue, she called out 'Mom' and smiled at me. For the last three weeks, she has been teasing me. She'll say, 'Mom, Mom, Mom,' and then smile at me. 'Mom' is the only word she has spoken in two years."

Kelly died two days later, but not before God had answered her mother's prayer.

Editor's note: The accident served as a catalyst for Kelly's mother, Nanci, to return to church. She now attends Burnt Hills United Methodist Church, just north of Glenville, New York.

A Christian Reader original article.

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