Photo by Nick-K (Nikos Koutoulas) 
It was the first day of spring, 2010. I was 10 years old and my sisters and I were visiting my grandma during spring vacation. It was a beautiful sunny, spring day, so we all decided to go for a walk to the river just up the road from Grandma’s house. I rode my bike while Grandma and my sisters walked.
We played around in the water for a couple of hours and as we were leaving the river, I grabbed some rocks and put them in a bag I’d brought. When we were almost back to Grandma’s I decided to race everyone, so I put the bag on the handlebars and took off. In a matter of seconds the bag of rocks slipped down and jammed my tire, and I went flying. I hit the ground hard and instantly felt the pain worse pain of my life. I couldn’t hold back the tears.
My family came running and helped me back to the house, put me in the car, and rushed me to the emergency room. X-rays showed that my spleen had ruptured and I was bleeding internally. Because Grandma lives in a small town, the hospital couldn’t give me the help I needed, so they called for a helicopter that flew me to a bigger city. For eight days I laid there in pain, wanting nothing more than to go home.
But I never—not once—felt that I was alone. I felt God there helping me. He knew how weak I was and He cared for me. My family and I prayed for healing and I was able to leave the hospital a week earlier than the doctors had planned.
I know that my pain was nothing like what Jesus had to go through. Even to this day—five years later—I occasionally have pain in my left side. But the pain reminds me of what Jesus did for me. Jesus is always there, in the dark and in the pain.
This is my story.
—Written by Alex Engels
Alex is a member of the Milton Adventist Church, and is a freshman at Walla Walla Valley Academy.