When God Saved My Son on the Mountain

The bright Colorado sun beamed through the windows as I drove to pick up my teenager from his mountain biking practice. I found a spot in the crowded parking lot, kept the cool air running, and listened to music with my youngest son relaxing in the backseat.

Then came the dreaded text from one of his coaches:

Your son took a pretty big spill and we’re walking down the mountain.

I typed a quick reply with a knotted stomach.

Taking some falls is a part of the sport, but I knew this one was more than a skinned knee. I was just thankful to hear he was walking.

Just an hour ago I had been sitting in my little gray chair at home praying for my son while he out for his ride. Little did I know those prayers would reach up the mountain that morning.

The thing about being a mountain biking mom is I don’t see much of my son’s practices. I drop him off, wish him a good ride, and pray he stays safe. I normally don’t witness the crazy jumps or minor tumbles, which is probably for the better, but I’ve walked some of the trails to understand that if you fall down the side it’s a rough landing.

We live in beautiful Colorado where outdoor sports are popular, and mountain biking is commonplace. The fresh air and exercise are wonderful, but it’s an adventure sport with the potential for injuries. Even so, the benefits outweigh the risks in my eyes, and I’m happy to cheer on my son in something that fills his cup.

I just prefer he doesn’t get hurt.

It was now much past their normal ending time and parents wondered about the delay, but eventually a few riders returned to the parking lot. Some of the coaches shared more details about the crash, informing me that my son had fallen off the side about 12-15 feet and hit his head. However, he was responsive and not showing signs of a concussion.

He never bikes the trails without a helmet, and his helmet did its saving job that day.

As I continued to wait for his return, another kind mom in the group came to offer encouragement. She told me she was a pediatric nurse and graciously offered to help if needed.

Then another woman drove by in a silver SUV and asked if I was the mom of the boy who crashed. She witnessed the fall and described as many details as she could remember. Most of all, she assured me that he seemed okay.

I was thankful for the promising news, but my nerves still had me pacing back and forth in the parking lot, anxious to see my son with my own eyes.

After about 40 minutes of the initial text, he finally made it down the mountain.

His coaches followed behind him as he walked his bike.

Face painted with disappointment and traces of blood.

Mouth puffy from the fall.

Scrapes and dirt covering his body.

But he was up on his feet when a fall like that could have glued him to the ground.

The pediatric nurse directed him to the shade to check on him, while I had a conversation with his coaches who walked him down the trail. They were surprised how well he was doing considering such a big fall. It could’ve been so much worse.

While he didn’t appear to have any significant injuries, we all agreed it was best to be cautious and visit the ER.

Tests confirmed no major damage. No head injury. No broken bones. Just some scrapes that would scab up soon enough and a prescription to rest.

The Lord cradled his fall.

Supernatural help intervened up there on that mountain.

God spared him of devastating injuries.

Kids get hurt all the time I know.

But this was one of those heart-dropping moments that rattled my emotions and displayed living proof of God’s hand of protection over my son’s life.

I didn’t see it happen. I just believe in faith that the Lord took care of my boy, provided for his needs, and surrounded him with just the right people that day.

And the thing is…

He’s already a miracle.

He’s the kid doctors said wouldn’t be possible, but the one God knew all along would be a part of the story.

When my husband crashed on a motorcycle a year before I met him, God already knew how the impossibilities would become testimonies.

Nothing is by chance.

My son isn’t lucky his injuries weren’t worse.

He is held in the hands of a powerful, loving, miracle-working God. And that’s the God who saved my boy on the mountain last week.

I am sure of it.