Yesterday, as I was shutting our van door, my little boy stuck out his arm, saying vacuum (he had left a toy vacuum in the van). The door shut and to my horror, I saw his arm stuck in the door. I quickly unlocked the door and started trying to calm him down. I looked over to my other children making sure they were staying close. I saw a lady on the other side of the children. She asked me if his arm was broken and I responded, “I don’t know.” She asked to look at it and so I showed her his arm. Upon seeing that his hand was dangling, his wrist was swelling, and there were two large indentations on both sides of his wrist, she said, “You need to get him to a doctor or the emergency room, immediately.” I got the children back in the van and buckled my crying boy in the car.

We started to head to the doctor or emergency room and I started to pray, “Dear God, please don’t let his arm be broken.” I had not decided which would be the better option, but based on previous experience I knew the doctor’s office probably wouldn’t be able to schedule an appointment for us. As my mind raced with the thought of spending an unknown amount of time with 5 children in the emergency room, I continued to pray, “Dear God, please don’t let his arm be broken. Please don’t let it be broken.”

As we reached a light where I needed to make a left turn, I realized that Patrick had stopped crying. I kept praying and realized a sense of hope. I tried coaxing Patrick to move his hand, but he refused. I pulled out my phone to call my husband and tell him that we were heading to the emergency room, but I stopped. I turned around and offered Patrick the phone, insisting that he take it with his right hand. He finally did so, putting it up to his ear and moving it around. Someone behind me honked, letting me know that I needed to be driving. I gently put my foot on the accelerator, taking my left turn and saying, “Thank you, God! Thank you, God!”

We returned to the store parking lot and I looked at my son’s wrist. It was no longer swollen. The only evidence that his arm had been in the door were the marks on either side of his wrist (no longer as deep) and a small cut. I thanked God and am still thanking Him for answering my prayers. The change in my son’s wrist is unexplainable to me and all I can say is, “Thank you, God!”