simply called home
At 8:00 pm on February 9, 2004, my son, Jesus, arrived at our home with his dad. They had returned from a Bible study and Jesus was anxious to get home to his wife, Rong, and their newborn son, Solomon. Rushing off, he said a hurried, "I love you mom. I’ll see you tomorrow."
Later that evening, Rong called to say that Jesus had not arrived. I wasn't worried, assuming he had stopped by a neighborhood friend’s home. Moments later the phone rang again, turning my mild concern into panic. It was the hospital informing us that Jesus had been in a motorcycle accident. My husband and I arrived too late: Our Father in heaven had called our son home. He was 24 years old.
I began to follow Jesus Christ eight years ago. I fell in love with Him. I can share stories with you and show you my journals where my love gushes out, "Jesus I love you. Use me. I will follow you through anything. I want to reflect you."
Before our son's tragic death, I had already experienced much loss in my life. I lost my brother to a drug overdose. My mom, my grandmother (who was like a mother to me), and my favorite aunt all lost their battles with cancer. In the span of two years all before I was 30 years old, I lost the most precious women in my life. But now my son too?
This was a crossroads moment. Were the contents of my journal simply shallow words to my God? Were they only true when there was no deep pain, no feeling of betrayal at His hands?
The day after the accident I phoned the ambulance driver and the highway patrolman who were at the scene of the accident. I ached to know my son’s last words. They said he was very responsive and that he had only said his side hurt; both were shocked that he had died.
Thoughts began whirling into a plan of action: the hospital must have done something wrong. I had to find out exactly what happened. I had to get to the bottom of this.
Suddenly a voice broke in: "Don’t make this ugly and complicated, Laura, I simply called him home." I know it was God, because I would not have interrupted myself in the midst of my anger and pain. God reminded me that He is in control. Even if the hospital DID make a mistake, He is in control. God orchestrates everything. Everything. If God chose to intervene that night, my son would be alive today. It was simply my son’s time to go home.
I know I will experience pain & loss again. I am not the first and I will not be the last to lose loved ones. And I myself one day will leave this life. My daily question is: What do I choose to do with this pain?
After the accident, one of my relatives who is not a follower of Jesus Christ asked me, "So what do you think of God now?" I looked at him and said He is the same God I loved and worshipped while my son was alive. Who He is has not changed. It is a choice I make daily to follow God. I choose to hang on to God with every fiber of my being. To follow God is to live and not merely exist.
I always thought miracles only happened in biblical days: Jesus Christ walking on water, the sick being healed, all those amazing, unbelievable things. A miracle has been happening to me daily. Even in the midst of pain in the loss of my son I have hope, joy, and peace. I am excited about life. I wake up asking, “What can I do for you today, God? How can I reveal you to others?” This is my personal hand-picked miracle from my Lord and Savior. He is alive in me. I am alive because of Him! This transcends human understanding. That is my God!
Laura has been a follower of Jesus Christ for 8 years and have been married for 27 years. She has three children (one in heaven), two grandsons and one granddaughter. She has worked in the Mosaic office for seven years and loves it.
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