“R.D. was in a really bad lawnmower accident,” Cody said softly, closing his phone and shaking his head.

He was sitting on my parents’ hand-me-down couch in our spare-room-turned office at our house. Our friend Barrett was working on my laptop to get the wireless hooked back up. I was busy getting things ready for dinner, making rice and vegetables and pouring milk for everyone. In the normalcy of our evening, the words didn’t compute.

I raised my eyebrows, waiting for more. “A lawnmower?” I asked, confused. “Did he change jobs? And what kind of accident, like a really bad one? Who was it who called?”

R.D. is a friend of ours who took a missions class at our church with Cody throughout the past year. The group experienced quite a bit of life together. A tall and very skinny man, R.D. is 28-years old and has a wife, Jill, and a 3-year-old daughter named Kylie. R.D. is a teacher, and it is clear by his deep, loud voice and razor sharp humor that he’s good at it. He loves his wife deeply, and has a special connection with his daughter.

“It was Jeremy who called,” Cody said, referring to another of his classmates. “R.D.’s at Wishard right now. R.D. took up mowing lawns to keep the bills paid. I guess he was mowing a ditch or something and the lawnmower flipped over on top of him.” Cody’s eyes began to stare through the floor. “And it caught fire. They think he broke his back, and right now he’s in surgery and they’re trying to save his arm because of the burns.”

I was speechless. What a horrible, twisted thing to imagine a friend enduring. I swallowed, unsure of what to do.

“So you’re going to the hospital,” I guessed.

He nodded.

“I’m coming with you.”

After dinner, as we drove silently to the hospital, my heart sank lower and lower. I thought of Jill. A short girl with a big smile, she is bright-faced with a calm demeanor. I prayed she would be able to guide their daughter through this trial. When you’re young, you assume all parents instinctively know how to handle their kids in certain situations. Then as you get older and “parents” are your friends who are your age, you realize they have fears and insecurities like anyone else.

I thought of the fears she must be feeling, the questions she must have: How will they pay their bills? How will they eat? Where will Kylie stay? What will R.D.’s condition be when he recovers?

I clenched my teeth, forcing tears back into my eyes as the gravity of the situation swelled in my chest.

Cody reached over and squeezed my leg, shaking his head.

“This friggin’ sucks,” he kept muttering.

But when we arrived at the hospital, Jill seemed to be handling herself just fine, thankyouverymuch. Her eyes were red and puffy, but she was talking to friends and family, asking for Kleenex, giving updates and even cracking a smile. While she let the tears trickle when someone new entered the waiting room and embraced her, she held herself as though she had to stay strong for us and not the other way around.

I looked around and got goose bumps. People continued to fill the burn center’s waiting room. They were wiping away tears, reading their Bibles, constantly checking the door for the doctor, smiling and even laughing. Some brought snacks; some brought Jill extra clothes; some brought prayers and well wishes. All brought hugs. People poured each other drinks, ordered pizza and shared their cell phones. Some sat casually on the floor; some just held hands and talked quietly. Others paced. The hospital’s chaplain rolled in a cart of juice, coffee and pastries.

As someone passed me a box of Oreos, a wave of thankfulness washed over me. While I felt helpless, there was hope. There was prayer. There was the strength of a group being the strength for one. There were incredibly intelligent and caring doctors. There were compassionate pastors, endlessly loving friends and a God who makes a path when there doesn’t appear to be one.

Our pastor, Jeff, came out from R.D.’s hospital room, interrupting my thoughts. With his eyes glistening and a small smile, he said, “Same old R.D., making jokes. And it was so sweet. When he saw Jill, he was able to lift his arm and touch her cheek. He even begged her to unwrap some gauze so she could give him a kiss on the lips.” He shrugged, a little embarrassed. “I just thought that was sweet.”

Silence.

He bowed his head and closed his eyes.

“Let’s pray.”

P.S. R.D. continues to recover in the Burn Center at Wishard Medical Center in Indianapolis. He suffered a burst fracture in his back and third degree burns on one-third of his body. Once he leaves Wishard, he will be in rehab for about a month, meaning he will not be homebound for another two and a half months.

His sister and wife keep an updated blog, posting his daily successes and struggles. One section of the Web site allows visitors to sign a guestbook. Just by reading the guestbook, it’s clear that R.D., along with his wife and daughter, have moved many people deeply with their courage and patience during this time.

R.D. is passing the time by working his badly burned right arm, in and out of therapy, greatly increasing his range of motion. He is able to use a laptop and can update the Web site as well as keep up with his Fantasy Football team. He and wife have not abandoned their plans to plant a church… they just know they may have to tweak their plans.

His courage and humor continue to lift up everyone, including his own family. His wife Jill said it best in her latest blog entry: “God, thank you for the ways you redeem the crap and for breathing life into R.D. He is more alive right now spiritually than ever before, and I thank you for how this has already softened his heart and given him a renewed compassion.”

2 Responses to “The Burn Center”

1. Becky Says:
   September 6th, 2008 at 10:06 am

   Wow. What a heartbreaking story. I am saying a prayer for R.D. right now.

2. Laura W. Says:
   September 9th, 2008 at 9:30 am

   *tears*

   Thank you for writing this and for continuing to provide updates. I feel like I carry this family with me all the time and I don’t even personally know them.

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