A young driver blinded by California glare
Hit a man early one summer morning
Does God assess accident, attach blame—
Accuse arrogance, afflict fear?
Rushing with his dog through an intersection
The man motionless on the street, his dog dead
Is God in a wife’s strength, her worst fears—
Her patient love, lasting resolve?
Multiple surgeries, months in hospitals mend bones
Two years of daily rehab, still unable to transfer or rise
Is God merely a comforting creation of men—
Praise trapped in explanation, like fossil in amber?
Insurance companies contest further treatments
Doctors diagnose brain trauma as permanent
Can transcendence be quiet, without thunder or plague—
Begin as a seed, unseen by human eyes?
His children blame arrogance for the accident
This lean man, dead weight too much for his 5’1” wife
Is God in a neurosurgeon who cares enough—
In hope alone, when even hope is frail?
Slumped in a wheelchair, separate in a one room home
He speaks one word sentences, personality withdrawn
Is God in science, stent, excess fluid draining—
In each slow drip, as distress becomes awareness?
This man who once healed others, ran marathons
Labors with each step, every new day is motivation
Is God constant in the steady hands of therapists—
Close, during the time it takes to come home?
The very word, miracle, hyperbole or jubilation—
Can a miracle be a miracle, without the work of God?
