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Authors: Susan Rebecca White
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to do with the fact that he was in a terrible car accident as an infant, had flown through the front windshield—he had been sitting on his mother’s lap—after another car smashed into the side of the one his father was driving on that rainy day in rural Tennessee. When the ambulance came, the medics pushed the broken baby, his blood streaked by the rain, away from the middle of the road but did not tend to him, for they thought he was dead and others could be saved.
Except Phil was still alive. His father, too. Indeed, Phil’s father walked away with only scratches, while the others, Phil’s mother and two of her cousins, were dead.
The doctors at the hospital nicknamed baby Phil “Lazarus.” Because of the apparent miracle of his recovery, he was told by the aunt who helped raise him that God had spared him for a reason, that he was put on this earth to achieve mighty things. His father went off to Korea, to fight in the war, enlisting just a few months after the car accident, perhaps hoping to die over there, too. He did not die but instead returned home with a new bride, Martha, whom he had met when he was in basic training at Camp Breckinridge, and who wrote to him faithfully while he was overseas. Martha would give Phil his sister, Mimi. Phil’s aunt argued that the arrival of Mimi—a companion for the lonely Phil—was further proof of God’s special love for the boy.
Phil told his daughters that for a long time he believed in the divine specialness that his aunt attributed to him. As a teenager he even considered going to seminary. But during college Phil traded in his religiosity for skepticism. He still attended events sponsored by the Wesley Fellowship, in an attempt to meet girls,but he no longer believed. It was enrolling in a class on the history of the Holocaust that did it. How could he have faith in a God who would choose to snatch one baby in Tennessee from death but would turn a blind eye to the tens of thousands of babies snatched from their mothers’ arms by Nazi soldiers and killed in front of them? Still, Phil held on to one steadfast tenet or, rather, one steadfast superstition: having faced death so early, he would not face it again until he was an old, old man.
“At his core, he didn’t believe he was vulnerable,” said Julia. “He might not have believed in God, but he sure had a God complex. Remember that dream he told us about, his dream of driving through Atlanta in a bright, white car?”
Ruthie did not remember, so Julia—whose ability to recount past events was almost creepy—told it to her in exacting detail. It was several years ago, and they had all been in the kitchen, eating a breakfast Naomi had prepared of soft scrambled eggs, crisp bacon, and hot buttered toast, when Phil told them he had a dream to share.
In the dream, Phil found himself on the open road, speeding along, until suddenly and unexpectedly he came upon miles and miles of stopped traffic, six lanes wide. Phil had no choice but to stop, too. People honked their horns and shook their fists out their windows, but not one car moved, not one inch. Phil was frustrated, annoyed, until he realized that he and his car were somehow shrinking, shrinking until they were both so small that he was able to drive underneath all of the other cars stalled in traffic, just drive right through, until he was past the traffic jam and once again on the open road, where he sped off.
“What do you think it means?” Phil had asked his family.
“I think it shows an inferiority complex,” said Julia. “I mean, the fact that you were smaller than everyone.”
They all knew that Phil did not have an inferiority complex. Julia was just goading him.
“Wrong,” said Phil, as if Julia were a contestant on a game show and he, its host, had access to all of the answers.
“It means you really like cars,” said Ruthie.
“That’s part of it, squirt,” said Phil. “But go deeper.”
“What it means of course,” said
Except Phil was still alive. His father, too. Indeed, Phil’s father walked away with only scratches, while the others, Phil’s mother and two of her cousins, were dead.
The doctors at the hospital nicknamed baby Phil “Lazarus.” Because of the apparent miracle of his recovery, he was told by the aunt who helped raise him that God had spared him for a reason, that he was put on this earth to achieve mighty things. His father went off to Korea, to fight in the war, enlisting just a few months after the car accident, perhaps hoping to die over there, too. He did not die but instead returned home with a new bride, Martha, whom he had met when he was in basic training at Camp Breckinridge, and who wrote to him faithfully while he was overseas. Martha would give Phil his sister, Mimi. Phil’s aunt argued that the arrival of Mimi—a companion for the lonely Phil—was further proof of God’s special love for the boy.
Phil told his daughters that for a long time he believed in the divine specialness that his aunt attributed to him. As a teenager he even considered going to seminary. But during college Phil traded in his religiosity for skepticism. He still attended events sponsored by the Wesley Fellowship, in an attempt to meet girls,but he no longer believed. It was enrolling in a class on the history of the Holocaust that did it. How could he have faith in a God who would choose to snatch one baby in Tennessee from death but would turn a blind eye to the tens of thousands of babies snatched from their mothers’ arms by Nazi soldiers and killed in front of them? Still, Phil held on to one steadfast tenet or, rather, one steadfast superstition: having faced death so early, he would not face it again until he was an old, old man.
“At his core, he didn’t believe he was vulnerable,” said Julia. “He might not have believed in God, but he sure had a God complex. Remember that dream he told us about, his dream of driving through Atlanta in a bright, white car?”
Ruthie did not remember, so Julia—whose ability to recount past events was almost creepy—told it to her in exacting detail. It was several years ago, and they had all been in the kitchen, eating a breakfast Naomi had prepared of soft scrambled eggs, crisp bacon, and hot buttered toast, when Phil told them he had a dream to share.
In the dream, Phil found himself on the open road, speeding along, until suddenly and unexpectedly he came upon miles and miles of stopped traffic, six lanes wide. Phil had no choice but to stop, too. People honked their horns and shook their fists out their windows, but not one car moved, not one inch. Phil was frustrated, annoyed, until he realized that he and his car were somehow shrinking, shrinking until they were both so small that he was able to drive underneath all of the other cars stalled in traffic, just drive right through, until he was past the traffic jam and once again on the open road, where he sped off.
“What do you think it means?” Phil had asked his family.
“I think it shows an inferiority complex,” said Julia. “I mean, the fact that you were smaller than everyone.”
They all knew that Phil did not have an inferiority complex. Julia was just goading him.
“Wrong,” said Phil, as if Julia were a contestant on a game show and he, its host, had access to all of the answers.
“It means you really like cars,” said Ruthie.
“That’s part of it, squirt,” said Phil. “But go deeper.”
“What it means of course,” said
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