The next day the Bozeman Chronicle newspaper would publish these headline words atop the front page, “One Killed in I-90 Crash.” So where exactly was God when this happened? Many would argue there are only two options. Option 1. God was nowhere to be found. For if He was, surely He would have stopped it. Option 2. God was there but He was distant and indifferent. For if he was nearby, surely he wouldn’t have allowed his children to experience such suffering. But as we will see in the unfolding story, there is a third option. Not only was God present, He was nearer than you can possibly imagine and He had a startling purpose in the depths of the suffering. What was it exactly? You will have to read to the end and allow a long forgotten journal entry written by Jeremy’s father to help explain this mystery. 

Four gurneys carrying the once strong and fit bodies of four young men who only hours before were scaling mountains were now being wheeled down a long corridor. Their destination was the operating room at Bozeman Deaconess hospital. Four rooms separated by four thin blue curtains awaited them. Three of the four faced death. One of the three, Jeremy, may even succumb to his injuries before his lifeless body is transferred to the operating table. No doubt, some level of chaos ensued as the medical team had massive work to do and massive decisions to make in a short amount of time. Amidst the turmoil, someone on the medical team thought it necessary to assign this battered group of guys a name to distinguish them from another group that was brought in from a separate car accident. After getting more background information from Ryan, the only one who was conscious at that point, a name was chosen, and it stuck. “The Missionary Four.” A name that is still remembered today 14 years later by some of the surgeons that were present that day.

Just weeks before, the three brothers (Ryan, Jeremy, & Dan) and their friend Scott were all commissioned as missionaries to serve the city of West Yellowstone, Montana. Now the gospel witness of these college-aged missionaries would penetrate far beyond that zipcode and in surprising new ways. Bright new beams of gospel light would now go forth from hospital waiting rooms, medical beds, wheelchairs, and intensive-care units. Within hours, news of the accident reached places like Athens, Georgia, Atlanta, Fargo, Spartanburg, Sioux Falls, Richmond, and even Bangkok, Thailand. Meetings were halted, meals were interrupted, daily tasks were put on hold as people around the country and the world heard the news for the first time. It’s strange because tragedies of this magnitude are frequent; car accidents in particular are a common occurrence and it's easy to become desensitized because bad news is all around us, yet somehow news of this particular tragedy gripped many in a mysterious way. Personal accounts from several people years after the accident all basically said the same thing, “We stopped what we were doing in the moment and began pleading to God for a miracle.” And it would take a miracle.

The sheer force of the accident was mind boggling. A macbook found later had its keyboard torn back like an orange peel. T-shirts inside of backpacks somehow had holes in them. Leather belts and wallets were gnarled. Solid metal was twisted like a pretzel. The camping gear that wasn’t splattered with blood was salvaged. But it was the precious cargo onboard that sustained the worst of it. The fact that anyone survived is puzzling. On the first operating room table was Scott. He sustained massive trauma to his neck and head region. Paralysis was a deadly threat. He needed a miracle. Dan, who was ejected from the Jeep, suffered neck and back fractures along with severe road rash. Doctors told his parents, “He may never walk again.” He needed a miracle. Ryan, who evaded the physical trauma that the others endured, other than a cut under his eye, experienced the emotional trauma of what he witnessed with his eyes. He needed a miracle. And then there was the last of “The Missionary Four,” Jeremy who desperately needed a miracle. The All-American runner whose body had endured the countless grueling miles of training for cross country races now had to face the biggest race of his life…the race against time.

After being thrown violently from the vehicle, Jeremy was found lifeless in the fetal position by Ryan on the highway. What Ryan didn’t know was that Jeremy was actually still alive but his brain was dying. With every second that ticked, Jeremy inched closer to death because his brain was being deprived of precious oxygen. The situation seemed hopeless. Jeremy would become another traffic death statistic posted on a random website unless a miracle took place. And indeed it did. God sent help. His name was Dr. Frank. 

The doctor who was from Michigan had been vacationing with his wife and they “just so happened” to be right behind the jeep as it flipped across I-90. Rushing from his car, Dr. Frank, who specialized in respiratory therapy, found Jeremy and began breathing air into his lungs as he lay on the hot pavement. Death was halted as the doctor’s exhales kindled the embers of life. Months later, Ryan happened to pull out a small crumpled piece of paper that he had left in his shorts pocket; the same shorts he wore the day of the accident. Scribbled across the paper was a phone number and next to it were the words “Dr. Frank.” At that moment, Ryan remembered that Dr. Frank had given him his number at the scene and asked that Ryan call him later to give him an update on Dan, Jeremy, and Scott. Excitedly, Ryan gave him a call. What happened next was unexpected. After Ryan said who he was and that everyone had survived, there were no words on the other side of the line, just muffled crying. Dr. Frank had to hand the phone to his wife, he just didn’t have words. This was how bad the accident was. 

After assessing Jeremy and Scotts injuries a decision was made by Bozeman Deaconess medical personnel to airlift both men to Billings, Montana where the hospital system there would be more conducive to treat their catastrophic injuries. Dan would stay back. It was learned months later that Jeremy was actually airlifted to Billings in order to donate his organs. In the meantime, he was put on life support. Doctors didn’t think Jeremy would survive the night much less a week. As Jeremy’s parents were busy packing their suitcases to fly out from Spartanburg, SC to Montana, a call was made to see if they wanted to “pull the plug.” They missed the call. Next up on the call list was the oldest brother, Trav. “Should we take Jeremy off of life support?” Having to make a split second decision and with resolute hope and stout faith, Trav’s reply was two letters not three. “No.” 

Jeremy’s folks, Mark and Kathy, former missionaries to Africa, boarded a plane together. This time they were not bound for Sengal. Instead, their new mission field would be the intensive care unit to witness something that only the mission field could have prepared them for. In a matter of hours, they would enter a dimly lit room with blinking lights and a humming breathing machine with tubes connected to their son. A nightmare scenario for any parent, but Mark and Kathy were not frantic nor panicked. They were not complaining nor blaming God. There was a strange calmness and peace that presided over them. This couple had weathered many storms together. This wasn’t the first. Apart from the mission field preparing them for this moment, there was another thing God used in his divine training ground. The farm. Long days of harvesting canola. Late nights of fixing broken down tractors. Wearying hour upon wearying hour of shoveling barley under the baking sun. Now this. What must Mark & Kathy have been thinking as the hour approached to see Jeremy for the first time? No doubt, the enemy was at work seeking to instill seeds of unbelief in their hearts and minds as they taxied on the runway of the Billings Airport awaiting the impending moment of despair. Had Satan won a decisive victory in swaying their minds to question the goodness of God? He’d like to think so, but highly underestimated the anvil-like strength of an old North Dakota farmer and his wife whose whole lives had been marked by deep dependence upon the Lord. Dad stepped off the airplane into the terminal with his trademark green and yellow John Deere hat. Time to go to work. He would put his hands to the plow for one last time. He wouldn’t look back. 

The news from the neurologist was grim. Early brain scans revealed that there was significant damage to Jeremy's brain. Three letters put together that form a dreaded acronym were repeated to Mark and Kathy. TBI. Jeremy sustained a Traumatic Brain Injury. His initial trauma surgeon suspected he would progress to brain death in 24-48 hours with little chance of survival. The neurosurgeon said he was clinically near brain death. After some initial procedures to relieve the pressure on his brain, it was determined to “wait and see.” Soon, the tests revealed conclusive evidence that he suffered a diffuse axonal TBI, which the neurologist said is one of the worst kinds of brain injuries possible. The internal connections and nerves had been sheared due to the violent force of the jostling of his brain causing Jeremy to become a spastic quadriplegic.  “Imagine a bowl of tapioca pudding being quickly slid down a table, the force would cause the pudding to separate and jostle. This is basically what happened to Jeremy’s brain after he was ejected from the jeep,” the neurologist said. “In fact, 90% of those who suffer this kind of TBI remain unconscious.” As doctors communicated information and statistics regarding Jeremy’s prognosis, Mark scribbled down the notes in a journal he kept with him at the hospital. One sobering line seemed to rise from the paper. “...His overall prognosis is not good. He is very sick. Not many survive.” Jeremy was far from being “out of the woods” and these words etched in black ball point pen would become the motivating fuel Mark needed to care for his son. If Jeremy did survive the next three months, and that was a big “if,” many advised Mark that caring for a quadriplegic would be nearly impossible and he would be better served in a facility for the rest of his days. Mark refused. He knew what he was up against. From here it would be nothing short of an uphill hand-to-hand battle. It would be long and arduous, but Mark resolved then and there to give it all he had to fight for his son. Retreating just wasn’t in this farmer’s blood.

After coming out of the initial coma, Jeremy remained in a “vegetative state” unable to track with his eyes or move his extremities, he was just “there.” His brain was lost in a cloudy mist and his eyes were hazy. A few doors down, Scott was slowly recovering, his battered body was on the mend. Scott’s room looked more like a college dorm as friends and family from the University of Georgia flooded in to bring encouragement to their wounded friend. There were tears and there was joy. It was not uncommon to hear acoustic praise songs emanating from either Scott or Jeremy’s room.  Dan, still back at Bozeman Deaconess hospital was relearning to walk and recover from his injuries. He had to undergo several operations to heal a large wound that would require him to have a wound vac and a colostomy bag. Each day Dan would take a few more tedious steps down the ICU coorider as he slowly regained mobility. Dennis, an old retired Montana rancher and his wife Carol visited Dan’s room often to pray, tell stories, and bring encouragement. Complete strangers became life-long friends. At one point, Dennis told Dan of the time he was hospitalized after falling through ice on a lake and had to relearn to walk. “If the doctor told me to take 10 steps, I would take 11. The other one was for Jesus.” Dan never forgot that. 

The time finally came in August that Jeremy was to be discharged from the hospital in Billings. He was flown back on a medical jet to Spartanburg, SC and placed in a restorative facility. It was here that Dan finally got to see Jeremy for the first time since the day of the accident. He had been shielded somewhat from the grim reality that awaited him on the second floor. Dan knew Jeremy was in bad shape, but nothing could have prepared him for the “first look.” Dan’s last recollection of Jeremy was the elite athlete that competed against Kenyans in All-American collegiate races, but now there was a “new” Jeremy. As the elevator dinged and Dan stepped onto the second floor with his cane and made it near Jeremy’s room, he nearly collapsed under the sorrow as he caught a glimpse of Jeremy’s legs upon the hospital bed. You could literally encircle your fingers around his calves. Jeremy had dwindled down to under 100 pounds. His cheek bones protruding. Some of his teeth were nearly sticking out perpendicular due to the fierce clenching and spasticity. It nearly took your breath away when you laid eyes on him. Many friends and family that hadn’t seen him yet came to visit. One such beacon of light that entered the threshold of Jeremy’s room was his old high school track coach, Skip Frye. Tears immediately filled his eyes as his smiling face hovered over Jeremy’s. “Coach” as we all called him used to cheer Jeremy onward from the side of the track at Broome High School. “Keep going Jeremy” “Push!” “Go!” Skip was a hope saturated motivator and the family needed him that day because the marathon was just beginning. 

Following his time at Restorative Care in Spartanburg, Jeremy was admitted into a brain injury recovery program in Charlotte. It was here where God performed the next big miracle. Three long months had passed since the car accident. And it had been three months since all four guys had been together. It was time to reunite on October 21, 2009. Dan and Scott hobbled into Jeremy’s room as Ryan brought up the rear. The four guys slowly inched towards Jeremy’s bed. No words were said, the moment was too sacred. Jeremy’s eyes were shut. If he were to open them, they would stay glued to the ceiling in a 1,000 yard stare. He was present, but far off. He seemed to be at peace though as he lay quiet and motionless. A few moments went by and then Scott knelt beside Jeremy’s bed and reached for his hand. No words yet. It wasn’t time. Soon Jeremy’s head began to slowly rise and his eyes began to track. Scott voiced these words, “Jeremy today marks three months since the accident. It took Christ three days to rise from the dead. Jeremy you too will rise. You are showing us that.”

All of a sudden something happened that hadn’t happened before. Jeremy began to breathe heavier as if he wanted to say something. But he was in a vegetative state, this couldn’t happen. Maybe it was a fluke, but the breathing got more labored. It was as if Jeremy was trying to pull himself out from underneath a heavy boulder and form words with all his might. And then it came. “H….Hi….S….Sc…Sco…Scott.” (Hi Scott) Everyone in the room looked at one another spellbound. “Did he just say that?!” Jeremy actually spoke. The joy in the room surged. Hope was rekindled. God sent yet another miracle to comfort the afflicted. It was a moment that was so sacred, almost holy. Had it been recorded on an iphone, it somehow wouldn’t have been right although it would have been nice to playback Jeremy’s voice and remember how it sounded. This was the last time we heard his voice and that was 14 years ago. 

On November 2009, the day finally came that Jeremy would return home and Mark would assume the role of caregiver. Learning on the fly how to care 24-7 for a quadriplegic was a mount Everest in and of itself. Tube feedings, diaper changes, suctioning, sponge baths, oral care…the list was endless, but Mark was resolute that he was up for the task. Soon another miracle would be sent from God and it occurred as the family was gathered together for the first Christmas since the accident. Leading up to Christmas, Jeremy transitioned to technically being out of the coma. However, he was basically unresponsive and had no real meaningful connection or interaction with his environment. He just existed in his bed. On December 29th, as the family played a trivia game, one of the siblings made an offhand comment and all of a sudden laughter erupted from Jeremy’s bedroom. Dismay filled the living room as the stunned family members tried to make sense of what their ears just heard. The brother who was in a persistent vegetative state, who was written off by many in the medical community just laughed. Jeremy laughed. Of all the things that God could have given back to Jeremy like his ability to talk or his ability to run…God chose to give Jeremy something much more powerful. The thing that would become Jeremy’s most powerful weapon and trademark. Joy. 

This “Christmas laugh” was the beginning of an amazing journey. His family started to notice a pattern where he would shake his left leg if he liked something. New doors were slowly being opened, but where they led was still unknown. On December of 2011, almost a year to the day since the first Christmas miracle, that changed. As the family gathered over the holidays, Jeremy’s sister Steph picked up on the idea that this could be a way for him to communicate by shaking that leg to a corresponding letter on the alphabet board. Jeremy did so and began to spell and communicate for the first time since the accident! 

Some months later, Steph asked Jeremy to spell out how he has joy given his life has been sort of put on hold as everyone around him advances with relationships, new jobs, babies, and all the other things life brings. He spelled out one word, “Jesus.” That was like a defibrillator shock to a world around him that yawns at the mundanity of routines and hectic lifestyles. Most of us have found a way to exchange events and things for abiding joy. Jeremy has not because he cannot. And in this way he teaches us. 

Today Jeremy continues to reside at home fighting for joy everyday and encouraging others to do the same. He lives and breathes joy and if you enter his room for the first time to visit him it’s usually the first thing you’ll notice. He still is physically unable to talk and may never be able to. He has his ups and downs and some days he really does have to fight hard for joy. He is surrounded by an incredible team of nurses that have followed in Mark’s footsteps. On May 15, 2022 Mark passed away peacefully in his sleep after a long battle with dementia. When Trav, the eldest son, walked into Mark’s room, he found him sitting peacefully in Jeremy’s old wheelchair. Mark had just breathed his last. When the news of his dad’s death reached Jeremy’s ears, his face was overcome with joy because he knew that his dad’s earthly race was over. His faith had now become sight. 

Between Jeremy’s siblings there are now 19 grandkids and Jeremy is the beloved uncle, but as the kids are getting older some of them have a lot of questions. “Dad, why does Jeremy have to be in a wheelchair all day?” “Why can’t Jeremy just be in heaven since he hurts so much?” “Mom, why did God let this happen?” These are profound questions from the minds of children that demand answers that are not overly spiritual, cliche, or simplistic. But that’s easier said than done. One week after the accident that nearly took his sons, Mark wrote down his own profound question in the same notebook that he carried with him at the hospital. Maybe he was at Jeremy’s bedside as he wrote this or perhaps he lay awake in his hotel bed fighting to find sleep when he reached for the pen. We can only speculate, but nonetheless, Mark’s mind was grappling with one question, “What’s Happening?” As he turned the page in his notebook to reflect upon his inner pain, he also turned to the gospel of John. It would be the very words of Jesus that would provide the comforting balm to the painful groanings of this afflicted father.

“What’s Happening?”  John 9: 2-3  

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God used the blind man’s suffering to teach about faith and to glorify God. “He was born blind so the power of God could be seen in him.” 

The story in John’s gospel is a familiar one. Jesus’ disciples questioned why a man they passed in the street was born blind. Who blew it so that he ended up that way? Was it his sin or his parents' sin? There must be something he did wrong or that his parents did that led to his suffering, right? Jesus’ response was a confounding paradox to his confused friends. The man’s weakness through blindness was not a result of anyone's sin; indeed it was much more profound. His weakness was simply a stage to showcase God’s power through him. His suffering brought glory to the Father. So it is with Jeremy. Why the accident? Why the wheelchair? Why the crippling effects of quadriplegia? So that the power of God would shine more clearly through the gaping cracks of Jeremy’s weakness. It is the gospel bound joy and laughter of a brittle bedridden paralytic that taunts Satan and his legions. That rebukes the self-sufficient. That bewilders the peddlers of the prosperity gospel. That sabotages the nominal Christian. That infuses hope to the suffering. That rouses the indifferent. That ignites faith within the skeptic. That fortifies the fainthearted. That beckons back the wayward. And recaptures wonder for the weary. 

Joy in despair. It’s a divine paradox. It’s a conduit to God’s glory. It is Jeremy’s anthem.