It was December 20, 1981. The kids were tucked in early, and Barbara and I were about to sit down for a nice, quiet meal.The phone rang and the voice at the other end had a chilling soberness to it that I shall never forget. I learned that my good friend Mick Yoder and two of his boys had been in a tragic plane crash that afternoon in Greenville, South Carolina.
Mick and his wife, Helen, had just moved to Greenville in the summer to start a church there. Only months before, Barbara and I had said good-bye to the Yoders after working with them for nearly five years to help start the ministry of FamilyLife.
That morning, Mick had preached and led the Sunday service. Then he and his boys joined a couple for a plane ride. About two miles from the runway, a two-dollar part attached to the carburetor broke, and the plane lost all power. They missed the runway by only 10 feet and hit an embankment head-on.
Everyone survived the crash except for Mick's seven-year-old son, Benji. He died instantly.
The next morning, I kissed Barbara good-bye and flew to South Carolina. Nothing in all my years of ministry experience prepared me for what I beheld. Mick was in critical condition, with three of his four limbs broken. And Helen was numb from the emotional shock.
As I approached Mick's hospital bed, I was astounded at the number of tubes that made their way into his body. I leaned over his bed to attempt to comfort him by saying that hundreds around the country were praying and pulling for him.
Mick nodded and then acknowledged his response to the loss of Benji from Job 1:21: "The Lord gave and the Lord has taken away. Blessed be the name of the Lord."
And with those words, the sorrow that had left a lump in my throat now caused my eyes to well up with tears.