In July 1997, I nearly died in a car accident while visiting home in Haleyville. Growing up in a small town, my daddy taught me if I was ever lost, to simply say “9614” and someone would know to call him. That rainy Monday in ’97, as I lay crumpled and dripping life, a man found me. I remember the pain of daylight as I tried to open my eyes. Confused and half-conscious, the little girl in me remembered my daddy’s words, and before fainting I managed to say, “9614.” The wise man recognized it as a phone number, and soon Daddy was with me. He followed the ambulance so closely he was almost arrested. That’s what good daddies do. It’s no wonder God is called some form of “Father” by everyone who has ever truly known Him. He’s answered my four-letter whisper time and time again: HELP. Thats the word Hes given us, the 911 prayer to remind us that He is here. Daddys here.
Posted on: Thu, 17 Jul 2014 20:42:45 +0000
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