I was raised in dysfunction in a small mid-western town. One spring morning my parents were fighting, again, when Daddy packed Mom a small suitcase and forced her into the car. When he came home, he said, "Girls, your mother is moving to California." I was eleven. My three sisters and I didn’t think we would ever see her again.

Just a few weeks after Mom was gone, Daddy molested me. Though I was the second oldest, the household chores fell to me. Dad remarried when I was fifteen. My stepmother, Mary, had four children. My sisters and I did all the cooking, cleaning, and child rearing.

When I was sixteen, Mary claimed that her dead grandmother told her that we were to move to the bottoms along McGee Creek. Dad bought an old school bus and made a camper out of it. We moved on Groundhog Day, 1974. You may not remember life without electricity or running water. I certainly do. We carried water from the creek and cooked over open fires. We hunted for meat and ate a lot of white beans, potato soup, and catfish.

I enlisted in the Navy at seventeen and after basic training and corp school I was stationed in Memphis, Tennessee. Shortly after I arrived in Memphis my family moved without telling me. I was sexually assaulted three times in the first year of my enlistment.

I spent a lot time at the base stables, and while out drinking with the cowboys one night, met Bill. We married a year later and spent all our time and money in bars. We were both discharged from the Navy in 1979 and we moved to San Diego, California, where our daughter, Kari, was born. Soon after that Dad and Mary moved to San Diego with the remaining five kids.

Once again Mary’s dead grandmother told her we were to move, Bill, Kari, and me included. This time we were to go to northern Louisiana, where she had family who lived an Amish lifestyle. Bill fell for Mary’s story and we left our comfortable home and jobs. We sold everything we could and bought tents and sleeping bags. We camped in state parks from San Diego, California, to Spearsville, Louisiana. The move took two weeks.

There were no Amish-style relatives, although there were relatives. They were gracious but obviously knew Mary and her idiosyncrasies. While living in Louisiana, I attended LPN school. After graduating, I told Bill I was going back to Memphis. We all ended up there within a year. Bill was back at his old habits and spent every possible minute in the bars.

I hated waiting and wondering when Bill would be home and decided to leave him. He told me I would never survive on my own; that I’d be back in two weeks or I’d be dead. I left Kari with him. I didn’t have a job but I thought I’d rather die than continue to live the way we were. Within a month, I went to work at the Methodist Hospital in Memphis.

My lifestyle didn’t change much though. I was still going to bars. I was lonely and searching for a friend and this was the only place I was comfortable. When I wasn’t drinking, I was very self-conscious and intimidated in every situation except my job. I was a good nurse.

I met Earl the next summer. The first time I saw him I told the nurse I was working with that I would like to go out with him. Then I found out Earl was the new chaplain for our floor. And I certainly wasn’t interested in a "preacher."

Earl and I became friends despite our differences. We spent a lot of time together but only at the hospital. We talked about everything. I told him things I’d never told anyone before. After a year, he asked me out on a date and I yelled at him. Was he crazy, wanting to go out with me? He knew me and how I lived. Well, I did finally go out with him, and three months later he proposed. I was baptized soon after, but notice I didn't say "I accepted the Lord." I was baptized because I thought a preacher’s wife should be. We married on December 29, 1985.

The next June Kari came to live with us as we went to our first church appointment in Benton, Kentucky. I was afraid to attend Sunday School and would make all kinds of excuses to skip church. When I began to attend more, I was amazed to hear people talk about God and Jesus like they knew them.

Four years into my marriage, I was still struggling with my past. I went on a Walk to Emmaus—a 72 hour spiritual retreat--- where I felt like the woman at the well: I met a man who told me all I had ever done (John 4:29). I learned that Jesus died for me and I accepted God’s forgiveness for my past. I began to read Christian literature. Fiction at first, then nonfiction. Soon I was reading the Bible, and you couldn’t keep me out of church. Earl and I, along with other Christian friends, began to join together and pray for our community.

On January 1, 1991, Satan fought back. Kari and I were on our way to meet with my Emmaus Reunion group. We were talking and I missed my turn. I decided to take the next road even though I wasn’t familiar with it. Suddenly, as we topped a hill, I saw a stop sign. The brakes failed, and we went through the intersection and under the trailer of a semi. We were dragged sideways one-hundred-and sixty-five yards, before spinning around underneath the trailer and being thrown out on the other side.

The accident was so bad that the first people on the scene didn’t even check for survivors. The car was so compressed, they said no one could be alive. My cousin, Bob, drove by and recognizing the car, checked. We were both alive. Kari had a few small cuts and was quickly removed from the car. My neck was broken and I was having trouble breathing. Bob asked me what he could do, and I told him to pray. He cradled my head in his hands and prayed with me for forty-five minutes while the car was torn away.

Earl was at a theater watching "Home Alone," and when the lights went on in the middle of the movie, he knew it was him they wanted. He was told that one of us had been seriously injured in an accident. As he passed near where the accident had happened, God spoke to his heart, telling him that I was the one injured and that he would see me and talk with me before I died.

Earl prayed that he could accept God’s will. Finally, he told God that he would take me any way God chose to give me to him as long as it was me. In his heart, God told him, "Remember your promise." That was when Earl knew that I was paralyzed.

When Earl arrived at Western Baptist Hospital in Paducah, I was in x-ray, having a cervical CT scan done. He asked Bob how I was. Bob tried to avoid the question. Earl kept pressing for an answer. Finally, he asked if I was paralyzed. When Bob admitted that I was, Earl calmed down. God was in charge.

Kari was treated and released from the hospital within a few hours. As for me, the CT scan revealed that my fifth cervical vertebra was shattered. That meant my spinal cord was injured and probably severed. I was paralyzed from the neck down. A chest x-ray showed that my right lung had been punctured by a broken rib, and a chest tube was put in.

I was taken to surgery where two screws were placed in my skull, one behind each ear.

Four days later I developed pneumonia and had to be intubated and put on a ventilator. The next Sunday, I bit through the line that inflates the cuff that keeps the tube in position. That led to an emergency tracheotomy. A week later, I was back in surgery. Two more screws were inserted, in my forehead this time, and a feeding tube was put in to feed me and give me medication.

A HALO brace was attached to the screws and to a leather vest by four upright bars, to immobilize my neck and allow the broken bones to fuse.

Earl persistently asked my neurosurgeon to transfer me. The neurosurgeon’s response was that I could get just as good of care at Western Baptist as anywhere else. Then one day he started telling Earl that if I lived I would be brain-damaged, ventilator-dependent, and bedridden for life. A vegetable.

He told Earl, "You are too young to be stuck with something like that." He then offered some simple things that could be "not" done so that I would die, quickly but pain-free. In that moment God replayed in Earl’s mind the oath he had taken on our wedding day. In the voice of Reverend John Jones, the pastor who performed our service of marriage, he heard, ". . . in sickness and in health, forsaking all others, keeping thee only unto her, so long as you both shall live." Without hesitating, Earl said in his spirit, "I do." Earl understood that God was saying that He alone decides the time limits of a marriage covenant.

I was under constant spiritual attack as I was unable to rest and relax. Earl and other Christian friends blessed my room. They prayed and anointed the room with oil, all in Jesus’ name. Each time they did, the staff moved me to another room. After the fourth move, the staff left me alone.

Our Christian family gathered around us daily. They visited us at the hospital. They took care of Kari. They also supported my youngest sister, Bobbi, who had come to care for Kari. But most of all, they prayed. I thank God for those who prayed for my spirit as well as my body.

My first memory after the wreck is of Bobbi sitting beside my bed crying and me telling her that it would be OK, that God had spoken to my heart saying I would walk again. My next clear memory is of not wanting Kari to see me because I thought it would scare her to see all the tubes and wires attached to me. Earl said he had already told her about everything, and when I finally agreed to see her, she wasn’t bothered at all. Earl held her over me, she gave me a kiss and told me she loved me. All I could do was cry.

The more alert I became, the more involved I got in my care. The nurse in me had to be in control. I got test frequencies altered, treatments changed, and pain medicine decreased. I also realized that I couldn't call for help. I started making a hissing noise whenever I needed help, praying the nurses would hear me.

I knew most of my doctors and nurses professionally, and some of the nurses personally. I had worked at that hospital, even occasionally working in that very unit. Doing my care was difficult for them, and letting them do my care was difficult for me. Sometimes I got away with refusing treatments and therapies because they didn't want to make me uncomfortable. Overall, avoiding discomfort caused more problems.

Toward the end of my stay in Paducah, the doctor’s prognosis for me remained poor. The nurses would try to sit me up, but my blood pressure would drop. My head would hurt, my vision would blur, and I would get nauseated. Pressure sores developed on the back of my head, which were found when a large piece of scalp came loose while the staff washed my hair. More pressure sores developed on my heels. With the HALO, all I could move were my eyes. Looking upward, all I could see were the two screws and the black circle the brace formed around my forehead. I called it my "crown of thorns."

I couldn’t feel anything below my neck. I had a tracheotomy and was on a ventilator. I had an IV in my chest. I also had the feeding tube in my stomach, an indwelling urinary catheter, and constant diarrhea from the tube feeding. One day, I heard the respiratory doctor say that I would never get off the ventilator, and I made up my mind that I would. I had been off of it for a few minutes at a time, so I knew I could breathe on my own. Two days later I was free, although I still needed oxygen therapy.

Despite the doctor’s assurance, Earl arranged for me to be transferred to Shepherd Spinal Center in Atlanta, Georgia. We were flown there in a Lear jet in just forty-four minutes.

I was admitted to Shepherd’s Intensive Care Unit and assigned a room. Earl cleansed the room with prayer, anointed it with oil, and blessed it in Jesus name. A culture of my trachea showed that I had methicillin-resistant Staphylococcus aureus, MRSA. I was moved into an isolation room, and Earl again cleansed and blessed that room in Jesus’ name.

Earl and Bobbi, along with Kari, alternated visiting. Earl would stay for twelve days, then Bobbi and Kari would come for a weekend, while Earl went home to preach. We did devotions together each evening. They would read both The Upper Room and Our Daily Bread aloud. Bobbi wasn’t a Christian, and every time she read them, we were able to relate them to something we had experienced that day. (She accepted Christ and was baptized in October 1991.)

When I was transferred out of intensive care, I was kept in isolation. Earl, in prayer, blessed my new room. We plastered the walls with Christian cards and a banner that read, "He who began a good work in you will be faithful to complete it in the day of Christ Jesus." (Phil 1:6). When I first looked at that banner, I thought, "What good can come of this broken, paralyzed body?"

We played contemporary Christian music all the time. We prayed frequently thanking God for being with us, for His healing power, and for His protection from evil.

An abdominal binder was put on me to help maintain my blood pressure, and as I became able to sit up more, they put me in a power wheelchair. The therapists thought I would need a "sip and puff" chair, like the one Christopher Reeve had several years later. Earl insisted that I could drive with my right arm. I could—sort of. The chair was fitted with a reclining feature controlled by a toggle switch. From then on, whenever my blood pressure dropped, I would just lay back until it stabilized.

I spent most of those isolation days laid back in my chair, either sleeping or staring out the window. Just outside my window were several trees. I watched them bud that spring. All but one. I decided that lone tree was dead, useless, and ugly. I told everyone who would listen that I wished someone would cut it down so I didn’t have to look at it. Then one morning, when I looked out my window, I saw tiny signs of life on that tree. At the ends of old, gray branches, I could see new shoots with red buds and green leaves that were all brand new. It was beautiful. I cried. What I had said about that tree was what the doctors had said about me. "Ugly. Useless. Not worth saving." I believe this was God’s way of telling me that my life, though seemingly over, was being made new. He is faithful.

On Good Friday, the day Jesus’ Crown of Thorns was placed on His head, mine was removed and replaced with a cervical collar that I wore for four weeks. After three months of external support, my neck muscles were too weak to hold up my head. Even with the cervical collar, I had to lie back in my chair and rest my head on the headrest of my wheelchair.

On Easter Sunday, a brief worship service was held in the class room at the Center. I couldn't sing or raise my hands in praise, but I sang in my heart and thanked God for my life as joyful tears rolled down my cheeks.

Once I was no longer MRSA positive, I was released from isolation and started on a regular routine.

Monday through Friday, the staff got me up, fed me, dressed me, and sent me to the gym by 9 a.m. Physical and Occupational Therapies were done twice a day. Splints were put on both of my wrists. I slowly regained control of my right biceps. Along with that return came attempts to do activities of daily living. This included brushing my teeth, washing my face, and feeding myself. It was messy and frustrating.

Group therapy was once a week and was co-led by a psychologist and a chaplain. Another psychologist met with me privately once a week. I was given an oral cognitive test to determine my ability to reason and scored very high. No brain damage. Classes were held every day on what to do, how to do it, and what we needed to know for daily care and emergencies.

Not only did I have a lot to learn, so did Earl. We were both trained on range-of-motion exercises, assisted coughing, bowel and bladder care, skin care, nail care, body positioning, clothing and shoes, preventing illness, sexual issues, medications, adaptive devices, etc. We were advised on what type of vehicle to purchase and how to make our house "wheelchair friendly." Earl learned how to maintain my wheelchair.

After passing all the training exercises, we were encouraged to go on outings from the center to experience the public. We shopped at malls and ate out at restaurants. We even went to church.

The one thing Shepherd couldn’t do was to give me a Christian community. I knew people at home were praying for my recovery and for my healing. I received cards every day. Still, I desperately needed my family, my church, and my friends. And my family needed me as much as I needed them.

My doctor, Dr. Donald Leslie, was reluctant to let me go so soon. I hadn’t made much progress physically. Even so, Dr. Leslie had me evaluated by each of the therapists assigned to my case, as well as the psychologist and the chaplain. In the end, he agreed to let me go if I promised not to quit. I promised.

On June 9, 1991, I was discharged. Once at home, life was quiet. I was still very weak and if we weren't actively doing something, I was sleeping. Earl took me everywhere he went: church, preachers meetings, pastors conferences, hospital visits. But mostly I slept.

On the first anniversary of my injury, we went back to Shepherd for a follow-up visit. X-rays showed that the bones in my neck had not fused. Dr. Leslie recommended surgery.

Earl did some research, and we chose a surgeon whose office was on Aldersgate Road in Cleveland, Ohio, because John Wesley's heart was "strangely warmed" on Aldersgate Road in London, England, on May 24, 1738.

We contacted the surgeon, Dr. Henry Bohlman, and I was accepted. We began the preoperative process in Kentucky. As part of that process a cervical MRI was done. A friend worked in the clinic, and she let Earl and me watch the computer screen as she printed out the films. That’s when we saw my spinal cord for the first time. It wasn’t severed. It wasn’t dead and shriveled. It was intact but still slightly swollen at the injury site. I cried and we thanked God for yet another miracle.

On April 12, 1992, I was the Matron of Honor and Kari was the bridesmaid at Bobbi's wedding. She and Tim had come to Benton to be married by Earl in the church where Bobbi had come to know the Lord. Three days later, I underwent surgery in Cleveland.

The procedure was a Late Anterior and Posterior Cervical Decompression. Basically, Dr. Bohlman cut across my neck, removed the loose pieces of bone, turned me over, cut a ten-inch incision, took out more broken bone, put in bone grafts from my hip, and wired everything all together.

After ten hours in surgery, I woke up in intensive care, intubated, and on a ventilator. I was really angry. I hadn’t thought about being on a ventilator again. I went into the hospital knowing that the surgery was what God wanted me to do and had not even thought about being intubated. I spent two days in the unit on the ventilator and three days later we were on our way home.

I wore a cervical collar for two months, and then nothing. I was still weak and continued to lie back to rest. In late August, we went back to Cleveland for a postoperative visit with Dr. Bohlman. He released me and I started going to outpatient therapy.

I went once a week and made steady progress. My pain decreased. My endurance increased. The more I sat up, the stronger my neck muscles got. A year after surgery, I was admitted to Cane Creek Rehabilitation Center in Martin, Tennessee. The therapies strengthened me quickly, and I gained more control of my shoulders and biceps. I was discharged after nine weeks with a new outlook on my ability to live life to its fullest.

Then another problem arose. Depression. Without a structured day, I was lost. I slept all the time. I hated company because I was embarrassed to be an "invalid." I wasn’t reading books, and I certainly didn’t want to watch TV. Any noise that interrupted my sleep made me angry. I was mean to everyone who came into our home.

Earl encouraged me to start writing a journal on a laptop computer. I began with my past. It was difficult to put it in words; embarrassing to consider someone might read it; and empowering to let it out. As time went on I began to live again. Writing made me think, recharging my mind.

It was years before I heard the first ministry request other than prayer requests: "Berta, would you teach a Sunday School class once a month?" That "once a month" grew to every Sunday, and I learned more than I taught about being a Christian. I began a telephone ministry with women in our church. Encouraging and praying for others was helping me stay alert and heal.

I returned to Shepherd for reevaluation nine years after the accident. The doctors and other staff were amazed at my condition. They said, "You could write the manual."

I am often told that I am an inspiration. I always tell people, "My disability is just more obvious than many others." I refer to medical issues like diabetes, heart attacks, and loss of loved ones. As I am bold in my faith, I follow up with how good God is. I want every person I meet to see Jesus and know the joy He brings.

I’m very independent, both physically and spiritually. My arms are functional, but my hands are paralyzed. I wear a splint on my right wrist that enables me to use a touch tone speaker telephone, type on a computer keyboard, turn pages in books, and feed myself. I have help in the mornings to get up and in the evenings to go to bed. I am able to stay by myself for several hours each day.

I spend my days studying God’s Word and preparing for the many ministries I’m involved in. I am an active pastor’s wife, an adult Sunday School teacher, and a women's Bible study leader. I am also an author and a speaker.

We pray and give thanks to God every day for my healing. I pray this testimony has touched and encouraged you in Christ. Please feel free to share it. You can contact me through my website: www.bertadickerson.com