“I realized I was falling down the stairs…”
The summer before eighth grade, my family and some visiting relatives went to a combination ranch and amusement park. Closed since 2007, it had a variety of activities, including miniature golf, and go karts. I was most excited about the animals and petting zoo. I drove my motorized wheelchair up the ramp to the main building. I noticed with surprise that there was no barrier between the ramp and the stairs. I remember thinking, “I need to let them know this is not safe.”
To this day, there is some debate over the material of the stairs and the number of stairs. I clearly remember the ramp, platform and stairs being made out of wood. When I prayed for clarification about the number of stairs, the number eight kept coming to mind.
We waited outside while our parents bought the tickets. I drove my wheelchair backward to allow a crowd to pass. My cousin screamed my name, and I realized I was falling down the stairs. I briefly saw the sky, and everything went black. “Please don’t let me die,” I prayed.
I kept expecting to lose consciousness, but I did not. I heard. THUD after THUD. After a few seconds, I remained covered by blackness, but I saw blurs of brown and green. It was though I was on my back under shelter, watching the edges of stairs pass by. The last few stairs passed in slow motion. I kept wishing the noise would stop.
With a final thud, my wheelchair landed on its side and I saw the pavement and yellow lines of the parking lot. I was still strapped in. People rushed to get my wheelchair upright again.
Everyone asked if I was okay. I was. I didn’t feel any pain. I didn’t see any blood. My glasses did not break. I do not remember my wheelchair having any damage. I should have needed medical attention. I could have died. I could have broken every bone in my body or had traumatic brain injuries. I could have been paralyzed. My wheelchair should have broken into pieces, certainly not still be drivable.
My parents asked me if I could stay at the park and continue the day. I felt perfectly fine as if nothing happened at all. I remember loving, feeding deer and having an overall pleasant experience.
My only “injury” was a tiny cut on my pinky finger. I still have the scar. I didn’t realize how miraculous this truly was until I started writing it down.
Thank you Jesus for saving my life in such an incredible way.