Everyone Loves a “Scar Story”
Most people have a scar story. Some scars are gnarly; they tell epic tales of bravery or recklessness. Other scars are subtle; they tell their stories only when asked, because even though the physical wound has healed – the pain, confusion or shame of the circumstance still lingers.
My scar is kind of like that. It’s subtle, and even when asked, I don’t like to talk about it. In fact, I feel a bit silly for bringing it up even now. But as I neared the anniversary date of this “scar story”, I felt a nagging sense to share the full story because someone might need to hear it. If you’re in need of a little hope (or just love a good scar story), read on…
I Don’t Remember, But I Can’t Forget
Saturday, May 4, 2002. I don’t remember what happened, but I never forget the date. It sticks with me like the scars on my face, ribs and legs. All subtle reminders that I should have died on that date, but for some unexplainable reason, I didn’t.
I don’t remember the accident. I don’t remember being trapped in the car. I don’t remember the fire burning around me as I screamed and pulled to free my legs. I don’t remember the pregnant woman who stayed by my side or the first responders who cut off the roof or the paramedic who flew me to the hospital. All of these details were pieced together from police reports, hospital records, and eyewitness accounts. I don’t remember anything on May 4, 2002. So, my story starts one week before that.
A Strange Thing Happened at Church Today
It was my senior year of high school and there were so many things to look forward to that final week: graduation ceremonies, senior proms, awards banquets. My brother was getting married. Family was visiting from out of town. As an aspiring musician, I was asked to sing at several of these events, so between rehearsals, wedding errands and family visits – keeping up with the busy schedule would be tough. But as a family grounded in our faith, no week was ever too busy to warrant skipping church. Sunday morning, front row, the Butlers were there like clockwork.
My brother and I often helped with music for the service. This particular Sunday, I was sitting in the congregation while he played guitar with the band on stage. The music portion of the service was coming to a close, so typically the pastor would pray and transition to his sermon. Instead, he walked on stage, brought the service to an abrupt halt, and made a strange request of the congregation. Out of a crowd of 500 people or so, he called me by name, and ask the entire congregation to pray for me specifically. Even for a charismatic church, this was odd.
He led the church in prayer and spoke of many things: God’s blessing, God’s plans, and His calling on my life. But out of all the topics he covered, he said one phrase – seemingly insignificant at the time, but almost eerie in retrospect: “Even this week, things are going to happen that are supernaturally ordered by God. There will be no explanation for it except, ‘Wow, God did that’”.
Mr. Butler, Your Daughter has been in an Accident
Six days after the strange church service, a state trooper approached my parent’s front door and knocks. “Mr. Butler, your daughter has been in an accident.”
According to the police report, while merging from one interstate to another, my car swerved off the exit ramp, down a steep embankment and through a tree. The trunk of the tree went through the engine and was situated right about where the emergency break would be. The dashboard collapsed and trapped my legs. The steering wheel pinned me to my seat. The car was in flames – crumpled up like an aluminum ball. Emergency crews used the “jaws of life” to pry me from the vehicle and fly me to the nearest hospital. Anyone who saw the wreckage was certain the passenger wouldn’t survive. Yet somehow, my life was spared.
I was grateful to have survived, but the experience devastated me. I had a hole in my face that was two inches wide. My teeth were broken, and my mouth had no feeling. I had deep, ugly gashes on my body and legs. I couldn’t eat solid food. I couldn’t walk. I couldn’t sing. And in an instant – all those special moments planned for my senior year vanished.
I laid in bed, unable to move, with thousands of questions and feelings swirling around in my head. “Will life ever be the same again? Why did this happen? What if it doesn’t get better? How do I keep going like this? Why me? Why now?”
The accident felt so meaningless and ill-timed. I didn’t know whether to be angry it happened, or thankful I survived. The scars felt so permanent and cruel. I didn’t know whether to listen to the voice of comfort: “Your scars are barely noticeable”, or the voice of vanity: “Your smile will be crooked for the rest of your life.”
From Car Wreck to COVID
Fast forward 18 years. Today is May 4, 2020. As I write this, we’re in the middle of the COVID-19 pandemic. Much like my car accident, this health crisis has brought life to a screeching halt.
Businesses shuttered. Graduations canceled. Weddings postponed. Families separated. It’s easy to wonder, “Will life will ever be the same again? Why did this happen? What if it doesn’t get better? How do I keep going like this? Why me? Why now?” The very same questions I quietly asked God 18 years ago are now being asked by millions of people worldwide. Strangely, I feel prepared for this, because here is what the accident taught me…
Not Why, But Now What
Contrary to what greeting cards and well-meaning grandmas might tell you: everything does not happen for a reason. Life is messy. Painful, inexplainable things happen. Yes, there can be beautiful, unexpected goodness that comes out of life’s challenges, but it doesn’t serve as a reason or justification for the challenge.
After a few days of bedrest, I stopped asking God, “Why?” and started asking, “Now what?”
“Now that this has happened, and I can’t do anything to change it – what do you want me to do, God? How do you want me to respond?” Then the healing began. Both physically and emotionally. I stopped wondering if life would ever be the same again, because the evidence was clear. It wouldn’t. Life was now different. I was different. And I had to move on.
I walked again. Albeit with crutches, but I walked at graduation and accepted my diploma.
I sang again. Albeit with painful tears, but I sang at my brother’s wedding and welcomed a new sister into the family.
I smiled again. Albeit with stitches in my face, but I smiled during a makeshift prom that consisted of “dancing” in the backyard while my date held me steady on my one strong leg.
I remembered the words spoken by my pastor the week of the accident. My life had been spared and there was no explanation for it except, “Wow. God did that.”
The news of my story spread. I was invited to speak at graduation ceremonies, church services, youth and police programs. With a crooked smile, I told them, “When bad things happen, don’t ask why, ask now what. God is here and He’ll get you through this.” I’d been given a second chance at life, and I didn’t want to waste a second of it.
Grace Comes When You Least Expect It
One year after the accident, I was sharing my story at a Ladies Luncheon when a woman approached me afterwards and introduced herself as Charlene, the first person on the scene of the car wreck. She was in the car with her husband and kids when they saw the flames from the interstate. Her husband was reluctant to stop at such a dangerous intersection with his pregnant wife and 3 little children in the car, but Charlene insisted. She told me how the scene mortified her – the blood, the fire, the screaming – but she had to get out and do something. As she approached, I was panicking, desperately yanking my legs to free them from the dashboard. Fearing I’d do further damage to my legs, with unexplainable courage and faith, this 4-month pregnant stranger got in the back seat of the car to comfort me until help arrived.
Charlene teared up as she continued to share, “I can see it just like it was yesterday. I don’t know why, but I climbed in the back seat and started to sing, ‘Jesus Loves Me.’ You calmed down instantly. The smoke would overwhelm me, and I’d leave the backseat for a second to get fresh air. You’d immediately begin screaming again, but as long as I resumed singing, you were calm.”
As Charlene recounted the story to me, I couldn’t believe what my ears were hearing. So much of that day’s events had been a mystery to the police, the paramedics and my family. Now this miraculous story of a good Samaritan? But that wasn’t all. Before saying our goodbyes, Charlene shared that she gave birth to a healthy, baby girl just months after the accident. She named her, “Grace.”
The Story is Still Unfolding
Now to some, many parts of my scar story might sound like the script for a Hallmark® movie or the makings of a Chicken Soup for the Soul® book. For that reason, I don’t share this story very often, and when I do, I usually leave the emotional details out. Even in this version of the story, I’ve withheld certain aspects for one reason or another, but mostly because the story is still unfolding.
I realize I’m not the only one to survive a life-threatening accident. I recognize many people experience challenges I’ll never begin to understand. I don’t retell my scar story for pity, for glory or fame. I don’t retell it to minimize anyone’s pain or pretend I have all the answers for life’s questions.
But I do know this: If you’re not dead, God’s not done with you. Whether you have a scar story, a COVID story, or simply a “get-me-through-today” kind of story, I believe God meets us in the middle. Yes, in the messy middle of our story – where uncertainty abounds, and the end is nowhere in sight. God meets us in the middle, because that’s where we find unexpected grace, a little bit of hope, and maybe even the courage to tell someone the story behind our crooked smile. Take heart friends. The story is still unfolding.
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