I write this by the hospital bed of our oldest daughter, Holly, who was seriously injured in a car wreck on that horrible rainy night of Jan. 28, the night that everything changed for our family.

Holly apparently made an unwise driving decision on that dreary night, and while trying to turn left across four lanes of traffic ended up being broadsided on the U.S. 45 Bypass by a car much bigger than her own (whose driver was at no fault and has my sympathy). Holly ended up with a broken pelvis, a chipped tailbone, facial lacerations, and most importantly, a brain shearing injury that left her with damage to areas of her brain.

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Our family has been involuntarily ushered across the threshold into the community of those who have experienced what is officially called "catastrophic injury" to a loved one. More specifically, we have joined the more than half a million families every year in this country affected by what is called traumatic brain injury (TBI).

Of course it doesn't help that we populate the roadways with cars as small and defenseless as Holly's Sunfire, which stand no chance when hit by the massive SUVs which are so ubiquitous. And it also makes no sense at all that when people plead for stoplights after numerous accidents, it sometimes takes years for anything to be done. Surely, human life has more value than the slight inconvenience required of having to stop at one extra stoplight on the bypass (a dreadful and really quite dangerous road, whose 55 mph speed limit is completely ridiculous). Or perhaps I am biased?

Such bureaucratic inertia and crass utilitarianism could leave one with a very dark view of the human condition. But that would fail to take into account the amazing outpouring of love that we have experienced in these two weeks. It's not just the hundreds of visits, calls, e-mails, and other expressions of prayers and support. This demonstration of human sympathy is deeply meaningful to us, and it shows the huge significance of community in our lives, especially, in our case, Christian community.

But I have also been impressed by the structured forms of care that have been offered to us - by rescue workers, nurses, physical therapists, various kinds of doctors, insurance representatives and others whose job it is to help pick up the pieces of broken bodies and damaged lives. And I have been especially moved by the creation of a new organizational structure to assist families facing medical crises like this. The Loaves and Fishes Ministry - initiated by Seth Chandler and an ecumenical committee which will one day serve as a foundation board - could end up being one of the most significant mercy ministries (and ecumenical initiatives) ever created in this community.

When crises come, people turn to prayer. Those who pray not at all pray a lot. Those who pray some pray a lot. And those who pray a lot often pray with much more intensity. We have experienced prayer in this time as the heartfelt groaning not just of our family but of multiple communities of faith, both here and elsewhere. Such prayers are an expression of compassion for hurting people, a plea for the merciful exercise of God's power, and a fierce human defiance of the evil and brokenness of our tear-stained world.

The main way in which I will be offering reflections on this horrible, yet grace-filled, experience over the next several months will be on a Web site called carepages.com, patient name hollygushee. Any reader is invited to listen in. But mainly I hope you will offer prayers for our daughter, and in turn for the next family and the next one after that that is hit by a crisis such as the one in which we are now living.

David P. Gushee is Graves Professor of Moral Philosophy at Union University. Write to him at The Jackson Sun, Editorial Department, P.O. Box 1059, Jackson, TN 38302. Log onto jacksonsun.com and share your thoughts on this column.