By Ada Brownell
Age 7, I stared in horror. Mama sat in the middle of the
linoleum floor surrounded by a pool of blood with clots floating around in it.
By listening to my brothers and sisters, I learned Mama fell
off a ladder. She punctured one of her internal organs on a sharp stick when
she landed.
The phone call already had been made, and the black
ambulance pulled up in front of the house.
“That’s the hearse,” someone said. “They also use it for an
ambulance.
I was shooed into the kitchen while the medics loaded Mama
on a board, carried her out and whisked her away.
Since I was so young when the accident occurred, I have no
idea how the hospital treated Mother to save her life or if they gave her a
blood transfusion. Whatever they did, her recovery was a miracle from God. The
accident probably occurred in 1944. The Red Cross began its first nationwide blood
program for civilians in 1948, opening its first collection center in
Rochester, N. Y. We lived in Colorado.
As an adult, I know without a doubt after losing that much
blood, it was divine work of our Heavenly Father that Mama lived, especially in
that era. But our large family (I was the youngest of eight children) knew how
to pray, although my siblings and daddy were relatively new converts. Mama had
a background in the Methodist Church. But beyond that we had a bunch of church
folks in our small town that prayed for us even before we arrived in Fruita
from the previous family home in Penokee, Kan..
“A big family is
moving here, and we need to pray for them,” the pastor announced. W hen the crisis
came with Mama’s fall, I’m sure the same prayer warriors stormed heaven in
Mama’s behalf.
I don’t know how long
she was in the hospital, which also had a floor dedicated to a tuberculosis
sanitarium. After she was released, I remember sitting beside her in church,
leaning on her, tears dripping off my cheeks, thankful she lived.
But fear still gripped
my heart. To pay off the hospital bill, Mama washed dishes for the hospital—and
the sanitarium. I overheard enough conversations to know TB is contagious, and
sometimes kills.
When I voiced my fears
to Mama she said, “We use lots of bleach and that kills the germs.”
The miracle I saw as a
child taught me God answers prayer. When any problem surfaced, our family
prayed, and I was right in the middle of it.
I was only told of the miracles I experienced
as an infant. Mama probably was in the
garden trying to make sure the family had enough food to eat and the older
children watched me. One day my two-year-old brother emptied a salt shaker in
my eyes. Our mighty God protected me from eye damage, and I’ve never had vision
problems.
Then another time a
sister gave me a bath in a dishpan on top of the wood cook stove. The stove
hadn’t had a fire in it during the hot weather, but that day it did. She sat me
down on the stove top and deep burns resulted.
Yet, I don’t even
remember it. I don’t think I was taken to a doctor. Our family was desperately poor. As far as I
know, I never went to the doctor until I got married, except the physician came
to the house when I was born and once when I had croup. God provided for our
needs, including miracles.
We are so blessed our
Heavenly Father loves us and cares so much He answers prayer. He’s still doing
miracles and answering our petitions.
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