The medic who coaches my boys in basketball speaks the only words we are all listening for. “Out-of-town kids. Out-of-town kids.” And in that moment, I know that he prayed the same prayer as we did. Only he prayed it racing up Jackson Mountain on the way to the wreck, with the lights and sirens blaring above him. He prayed that it was not his child who was in the accident. But he also prayed that if it was, that he could do it—that he could throw the switch all the way and do what needed to be done, regardless of the cost to himself. He, too, is part of the crew that do.
