Your True
Tales
March 2003 –
Page 4
Life-Saving
Voice
by Bonnie S.
Although I am a Christian, I had always been a bit leery of those who said they had had a visitation. Seeing Jesus or hearing a voice from someone who wasn't there just sounded like an overactive imagination.
Some years ago, we had problems with our teenage daughter. "Ann" had run away overnight with her boyfriend, although they had admitted being wrong to do so and she had returned home. She was grounded from going anywhere or using the phone, yet her dad had given permission for her to attend her boyfriend's 16th birthday party a week later. On the day of the party, however, I caught her using the phone and told her she'd lost the privilege of going to the party. She threatened to beat me up! I was alone with her except for her younger brother, and I knew that at 14, with some Taekwondo experience, she certainly could do it. I reasoned with her that her dad would be home shortly, and she'd only get in worse trouble by attacking me. She backed down and said she was going to go lie down with a headache.
Even though I'd acted calm in front of her, I was furiously angry with her. I seethed with rage as I waited for him to return and pictured her going to a residential detention center with no maternal qualms on my part. When my husband came in, I told him what had happened and said, "YOU can handle her for a while. I'M going shopping." I picked up the grocery list and my shoulder bag, and... stopped in my tracks.
"GO CHECK THAT BOTTLE."
Four words. Did I actually experience hearing them through my ears, or did I only hear them in my head? I "knew" my husband didn't say it. They were commanding, authoritative, absolutely not to be ignored or resisted. And with them came the feeling of having run into an invisible wall, which was why I stopped walking toward the kitchen door. I dropped my purse and said, "Just a minute." I went to the bathroom medicine cabinet. The Tylenol bottle was gone. I went to Ann's bedside and asked her where it was.
"In my sock drawer." I looked - the bottle was empty! And it had been about three-fourths full, to my memory. I asked her if she took them all or flushed some down the toilet to make it look as if she took them all. "I took all that there was," she admitted. Wanting to cry, I went into action instead and made her put on some jeans and shoes "because we're going to the hospital."
I told her father what she had done... and was amazed when he questioned whether a Tylenol overdose was a reason to seek treatment at the E.R. She got emergency treatment before too much of the medication had been absorbed, and her life was saved. We had much work ahead of us in family therapy before life was truly good again, but we're thankful that she had not succeeded in destroying her liver, and ultimately dying.
Her dad was unaware of Tylenol's toxicity in an O.D. case, and I was too furious to have any so-called "maternal instinct" kicking in at that time. I was only too happy to have a chance to escape the house, and probably would have been gone for an hour or more. My belief is that one of God's messengers spoke to me to prevent Ann's suicide.
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