Several years ago, the company I work for rewarded the staff with a kayaking weekend in the country. Several of us drove together on bad roads in the rain through the bundu [boondocks] to get to the camp. Suddenly, our driver unexpectedly swerved to avoid some cows on the road, and we veered into a ditch, rolled several times, and were flung out of the car.

When I regained consciousness, my first thought was that God, who lovingly protects His children from harm in all circumstances, was present—even though I had no idea where I was, and my whole body was excruciatingly painful. This instinctive response was something I had learned as a child in Sunday School, and I felt a wonderful sense of warmth and safety with His arms wrapped around me. I couldn't move my body or open my eyes, but I felt lucid and calm, and was grateful to have come to so quickly—because I knew I needed to pray.

Later, I learned that I had cracked my pelvis, bruised some ribs, suffered facial lacerations, and severely injured a knee. The others who had been in the car were also badly injured.

We spent four hours lying in the dark, waiting for passing cars to come to our rescue. During this time, several people who were living nearby brought jackets and plastic sheeting from their homes to cover us. They stayed to comfort and encourage us.

Even as I drifted in and out of consciousness, I was able to recall some words Mary Baker Eddy wrote in Science and Health with Key to the Scriptures, "Accidents are unknown to God...." That was all I could remember of that passage, but it was enough to lessen my fear. "Similarly, my suffering is unknown to God," I thought, "and our exposure to the rain and the mud—and our anxiety about being picked up." I reasoned that the closer I got to God, the less the accident scene would affect me.

Later, I checked the full quotation, which reads: "Accidents are unknown to God, or immortal Mind, and we must leave the mortal basis of belief and unite with the one Mind, in order to change the notion of chance to the proper sense of God's unerring direction and thus bring out harmony" (p. 424).

Eventually, a passing car stopped to help us. The driver knew of a hospital at an army base in a nearby town and raced off to raise the alert. By midnight, ambulances had got us to the emergency room, where I was able to send phone messages to my mom and a family friend from my church asking them to pray with me. In this desperate situation, hymns I knew and could remember brought me a lot comfort.

I recalled some lines from one of my favorite hymns, including, "Thou Love that guards the nestling's faltering flight!/Keep Thou my child on upward wing to-night." Meanwhile, my family were basing their prayers on another hymn:

The hospital staff worked through the night to keep us comfortable, and the next evening I was flown by helicopter to a large hospital in my parents' home city, 250 miles away.

There the doctors told me I would need extensive physiotherapy to overcome the knee injury. They said it would be many weeks before I would walk normally. Despite some concern that my injuries might prove to be even more serious than the doctors predicted, in discussion with my parents, I decided to trust in "God's unerring direction." We had had many healings in our family through prayer alone, and I had no doubt that God would take full charge of this one too.

Within four days, I had signed myself out of the hospital and gone to my parents' home, where they had arranged for a Christian Science nurse to help look after me 24 hours a day. My family discouraged me from looking into the mirror so that I wouldn't dwell on the physical evidence and replay the events of that night in my mind, and they never mentioned the alarming lacerations on my face.

My bruised ribs were still so painful that I was unable to turn or sit. But I welcomed the time I had to pray about the man/woman of God's creating. I studied a description of the identity God gave each of us, from Science and Health, which begins, "Man is not matter; he is not made up of brain, blood, bones, and other material elements. The Scriptures inform us that man is made in the image and likeness of God" (p. 475). That image did not include aching ribs, I reasoned—or a fractured pelvis or an injured knee. This flash of insight so filled my thought that I was never troubled by painful ribs again.

The next hurdle was trying to walk. My knee was bent at an alarming angle. I still felt a bit afraid, but chose to rely on prayer instead of on physiotherapy or other kinds of treatment. I simply prayed more deeply and consistently until an awareness of God's strength and tenderness replaced my fear.

Another Christian Science nurse came in to help me with this phase of my recovery. She was completely unfazed by my injuries, and showed extraordinary calmness and confidence. With her support, I was able to take my first few steps. Each day I made progress, and within ten days of starting to walk with crutches, I put on high heels to attend a friend's wedding. I decided to walk out of the church without the crutches, and soon abandoned them altogether. Two weeks after the wedding, I went on a ten-day camping trip.

On my return home from that trip, there was an obligatory visit to the orthopedic specialist at the hospital. At first, he was very concerned that I wasn't going to have physiotherapy, although he said he was pleased that I seemed fine without it. He confirmed that I was in good shape and that, as far as he could see, there would be no consequences from the injuries. I have since traveled the world and engaged in every kind of activity from skydiving to mountain climbing, with no limitations.

I treasure the way this experience showed me how Love guards and guides us every moment of our lives. Prayer and healing are wonderfully bound together. Now, instead of recalling with discomfort that I was in a horrendous car accident, I think gratefully of the Godsent angels—and there were lots of them!—who took charge of me and kept me safe throughout the entire experience.

Liesl Sperryn
Johannesburg, South Africa