I have never been one who believes that God will give you physical signs in answering prayers. The story I am sharing with you of a cross has changed how I believe God can work.

I think of myself as a person who is strong with very few needs in my life, so when I would read this type of story, I was always reluctant to believe it. But June 3, 2007, was a day that changed my life forever.

My wife, Mary Kay, and I adopted a baby boy 22 years earlier. We named him Matthew, a gift from God. He is our only child. On that day in June a year ago, he was pursuing a career in biblical studies at Blue Mountain College in Mississippi with plans of becoming a youth minister. He volunteered with the children of Cedar View Baptist Church in Olive Branch, Miss., every Sunday. He came home on the previous Friday for his 23rd birthday and left early on Sunday to make sure he was back in time for Children’s Church.

I was home alone on that Sunday evening when Mary Kay’s cell phone rang with Matthew’s personal ring tone. I answered it with “Hey, Buddy, you back at school?” when a woman’s frantic voice on the other end interrupted me with “Who is this? Do you have a son who drives a yellow SUV?”

I replied yes, a Nissan Xterra, why? She explained he had been in an accident. They found his cell phone and called the number listed as “mother” and that we needed to get to Memphis to the Regional Medical Trauma Center as soon as possible. I asked if he was O.K., and she said he was unconscious and being stabilized to be flown to Memphis.

The call a parent dreads ever receiving just happened. We threw a few clothes together and headed to Memphis, not knowing if our son would live. It was the longest four hours of our lives. I attempted to reassure Mary Kay during the drive that he would be O.K. as she sobbed, “Why did this have to happen to our son?” We prayed all the way.

Bracing for worst

About half way there Mary Kay’s phone rang again. It was a lady from Valley View Baptist Church who was at the trauma center. She asked me to pull over, that she had something to tell me. I braced for the worst. She said the doctors were taking Matthew into surgery, his brain was swelling and bleeding and a large blood clot had formed. It did not look good for Matthew. I told Mary Kay that they were taking Matthew into surgery to relieve pressure on his brain. “Routine,” I said.

We arrived about midnight at the trauma center. Our dear friends, Joel and Sanders, had led the way and pointed to the door and parked our car. Many Cedar View Church members were there, including Matthew’s girlfriend, Christina, and her parents.

Matthew was still in surgery. About 3 a.m. Dr. Timmons called the waiting area and told us that all had gone well, but Matthew had sustained a lot of damage to the brain and brain stem. The hematoma had been removed and Matthew was stable. His brain had not swelled, which was extremely unusual and unexpected.

Dr. Timmons said the next 72 hours were crucial. If he could make it through this time, he had a good chance of surviving. The phone rang at 5 a.m. and the large doors opened to what we thought we were ready to see—but we were not.

Matthew did not look like the young man we last saw. He was in a coma, his body filled with tubes, machine breathing for him and half his head shaved with too many staples to count. His face and head were swollen and discolored. Monitors beeped, lights flashed and there seemed to be endless I.V.’s. We felt helpless.

“The MED,” as it is called, is the second busiest trauma center in America and it was a blessing that Matthew was flown there. We could do nothing but hold Matthew’s hands, talk to him, even though he was in a coma, and pray during our short visits.