As most of you know, during my last trip to India in June, I was in an accident. I was on the back of a motorcycle high in the Himalayas when we lost control and slammed into the side of an oncoming truck. My driver, a recent ISOM graduate with a heart to start a work in this very unreached region, had three breaks in his right leg and I had two breaks in my right femur.
Shortly after my surgery in India, a police investigator came to see me. He is Hindu and has investigated many accidents on that road. He told me that according to his investigation, my driver had lost control of the bike and had crossed the lane. He said if we had not hit the truck, we would have crossed the lane and gone over the cliff 1600 feet into the river. (In fact, one day before my accident a man on a motorcycle, very near the location of my accident, did exactly that, falling to his death.)
This Hindu policeman was explaining to me that the only thing that saved our lives was the truck we hit and the fact we hit the back tires. He kept throwing up his hand toward heaven saying, “Only the hand of God saved you. Only the hand of God!” He was obviously very impressed we had lived! (We say “Thank you, Jesus, for the truck and angelic protection.”)
In the middle of all the pain, chaos of hospitals, ambulances, and surgeons during the next several days, what stood out the most to me was the love of my Indian friends. At great hardship to themselves, they covered me, protected me, and got me the best help possible every step of the way, often staying with me night and day. One dear brother held my blood transfusion against his chest trying to warm it up for me. Another went to a metal shop to have a brace made for my leg so I could travel in the ambulance.
Three weeks after my accident I was able to stand long enough to preach at an ISOM graduation in North India. It was a wonderful time as I spoke on “I want to know Christ and the power of His resurrection and the fellowship of sharing in His sufferings.” Philippians 2:10
Then, as I sat in bed recovering in North India, I looked out the window and the storms came. And they kept coming. Streets became rivers, cars began floating away, landslides washed out highways and huge buildings came sliding down the sides of the mountains…and the rain kept coming. All five of the main rivers in the north were at flood stage. Dams were opened to release the overflow that brought even more destruction to the towns down river. Once again, I listened to the prophecy and watched it being fulfilled before my eyes.
“I am a little angry with you,” she said. Her voice was low and soft but the look in her eyes told me she was very serious. I sat across from my new friend, the wife of the Anglican priest whom I had stopped in to visit. I had no idea why God had me stop by and visit this man each time I came to his city. We had nothing in common. He was a highly educated priest of a wealthy and highly formal church while I was an American Pentecostal preacher. But, each time I came God would make me knock on his door and have an awkward conversation as we sipped chai.