It was after my first album but, if I recall correctly, before my surgeries. I assume this because I imagine the damage would have been insurmountably worse otherwise, and falling out of a wheelchair is bad enough on its own. I still cringe at the memory, that split-second moment when I realized this was going to hurt.
My family had found a new pastime – toy airplanes! RCA, wind-up, scale models, we were trying them all, and this particular night found a rubber-band propelled one zipping around our backyard. My siblings and I chased after it and wound it up again and again. I still remember its weight and the red designs on its thin wings. We discovered the best place to send it off from was the deck, being of a reasonable height and bearing the whole yard before it.
At some point, I decided to race this little plane from its take off. What I forgot was my lack of seatbelt – a rare occasion, but this was it. So it took off across the deck and so did; it reach the end of the deck and took off. I reached the end of the deck, hit a bump on the ramp, and flipped headfirst out of my chair. Somehow I landed perpendicular to my chair, it looming over my with a condescending, black scowl. I have no idea how far the plane flew from there. It was the least of my worries, and I knew who to call for help. My dad was up the street, two houses away, and still he heard me scream his name. He came running and carried me inside. My hero.
The damage – two twisted ankles, a massive headache, and the fact that that's my only solid memory of those toy airplanes. But I lived to tell about it and here's what I learned. My brother was there and so was my sister; my mom was even nearby, but I called for my dad. In my flash-moment of pain and fear, my most basic instinct was my dad's name.
And I think of martyrs for Christ, saints who suffer and die because of their faith. I read about Stephen prophesying as he is stoned, and Paul singing hymns in prison, and I hear about men praying and preaching the gospel as they're burned alive. It causes me to tremble, as I realize their faith. They were in such communion with the Lord, they ere so sensitive to the Holy Spirit, that it was instinct to call on the name of their Father. In their pain and fear, their hearts cried out for Him and He heard them. I pray for the same instinct, that my heart wouldn't turn to bitterness or deceit, that I not turn to me and the ways of man. But that, when I open my mouth, the name of my Heavenly Dad will be on my lips.