In February of 1973, my life took another change. I was hit with a tree while logging, spent 3 weeks in intensive care in a coma, a little over 2 years in a wheelchair, and 13 years learning to walk again. I was a prisoner in a crippled body.
I thought I had lost all of my freedom, that I had lost my life, and that there was no longer a reason to live. I could not stand, I could not walk, and I could not ride my horse anymore. I could not walk in the mountains that I loved, I could not hunt or walk the streams and fish. I could not run and play with my children. I could not even hold them on my lap. I could not escape the pain, emotionally and physically. When I could not walk or run or work or even die, all I could do was dream about dying.
I lost everything—my ranch, my horses, my logging business—and the worst was, I lost my family.
I begged God to take me home; and when He did not, I felt rejected and not wanted. Has anybody here ever felt that God didn’t love you? Then maybe you can relate. I felt He did not love me, so I dreamed more about dying.