God does not make junk!

Xander flung himself from the confrontation with his father, Sterling Collins. Being young and hotheaded, he disregarded all the warnings and advice. Xander was soon roaring down the roads leading away from his exclusive, secluded neighbourhood. He had been steadily drinking the afternoon away, fuming over his father's control freak mechanisms. He was young, he was free, he was going to own the town tonight. He pushed the engine of his impressive Kawasike motorcycle to its limits.

"Forget about him, he's a tyrant. Delete my old man to trash. "Xander was yelling into the dusk. Dusk was descending, the sun was shining right in his eyes. Speeding along so fast, his wheels screeched blinded through a traffic signal, and Xander was collected by a sedan. "Bang!" That was all he knew.

The routine traffic incident response team acted speedily to handle this accident. Paramedics enabled emergency rescuscitation techniques, and Xander was the one most badly injured in this horror crash. The doctors and nurses did their best, and saved all the victims of this near fatal crash. The neurologist team were unsure if Xander would be brain damaged, but the focus of their concerns involved both his coma and his spinal concerns.

Sterling Collins and his latest trophy wife sat bedside vigils. Sterling wanted to litigate everyone in sight. He devastated that his one and only heir to his vast industrial business empire was the cause of this family catastrophe. Six weeks later, Xander somehow opened his eyes and started to ask questions of the nurses. Sterling tried to take his son's hand, but Xander turned his face away.

The head honcho medical specialist explained to his patient that his prognosis for walking ever again was not looking hopeful. Being incredibly wealthy, Sterling arranged for Xander to be relocated to the best of rehab facilities. He was determined that his son would overcome. Even worse for Xander, his socialite fiancee, Sydney, broke off their engagement. Xander did not want to battle on. He was having a difficult time accepting his future in a wheelchair, never to ride to freedom on a motor cycle again.

"Looks like I really stuffed up," he did mutter to the hospital chaplain, a kindly older lady. Xander did not really believe that God would show him a path, his mood was very blue. The chaplain, known as Aunty Smiley to all she met, patted his arm. saying, "God does not make junk." Xander was not miraculously healed by this comment, nor was he going to be.

But such a simple thought did keep him going, he kept waking up anyway to his new reality. Xander's emotions were in a complete mess. His father was dealing with lawsuits from the people who were also injured on that fateful evening. Xander's blood tests showed his blood alcohol levels were over the legal range, especially for such a young rider.

Sunny Acres Rehabilitation Centre boasted a full range of appropriate equipment, hydrotherapy pools, swimming centre, gymnasiums, psychologists, social workers and support staff. In fact, Xander was in the best of care, with daily counselling to switch him to look ahead. His physio was Ellen, she was detailed to his individual case. She was a competent and attractive babe, as well as being an excellent motivator, but a bit too religious for Xander's darker days.

One morning, he had again woken up with in a pity party in his own bleak mindset.

"Enough of the glums. where's your trademark smile? Lucky you were not an organ donor. Come on, let's pump some iron here, and I'll show you the way to the basketball court."

"What for?" Xander asked, trying to push through his despair.

"Wheelchair sports, that's what. You any good at basketball?"

A light seemed to dawn in Xander's eyes. He too had viewed the lightning fast speed of representative basketball in the Paralympics. Ellen told him he could make an effort in a light weight wheelchair. Anyone could play, at any age, but the young males in their sport were super competitive.

He wanted to refuse, but he was secretly half devoted to Ellen, so he aimed to make her happy. Ellen was not unaware that Xander was transferring his love to her. She was trying to maintain professional boundaries, but his cute good looks and occasional smile might still flutter a lot of hearts. When he smiled, which was not very often.

At the court, Ellen showed him how to handle a lightweight wheelchair, and then the other paraplegics arrived for their daily basketball match. Xander eagerly contested to shoot goals, and succeeded. He met some new pals, there was even a middle-aged lady mixing as tough as the men. There were hi fives all round at the end of the game. Xander flashed his long forgotten grin at Ellen. She had been cheering bim on, and gave him a thumbs up. He was a handsome dude, and a battler. No one really had believed in him. That was their first mistake.

Xander now woke up in his rehab bed, full of at least some hope. Silently, he had his ambitions fixed on becoming a champion gold medallist in wheelchair sports. Basketball, weight lifting, those he was good at. His neurologist and father were discussing a very expensive experimental nerve regeneration technique. Xander agreed, he might still get back on his feet again. His psychologist had tapped into his ability to design websites, and coached him to find his voice for other young survivors of road traumas.

Nothing lasted forever, so Sterling had commissioned builders to adapt his luxury mansion with ramps to a ground floor apartment for Xander. The home gym was now accessible. There was even a car with special brakes and accelerator controls on the steering wheel. Xander's recovery was still a work in progress. He dreaded never seeing Ellen again. Then Sterling offered her a private job to do physio and support Xander four mornings per week. The salary was top of the range.

Sterling and Xander were still building a slightly fragile bridge to their future. Xander's identity and personal strength were still challenged by his daily struggles, and the reality of being a paraplegic. Sterling demonstrated to Xander all the changes at home, and told him how much he admired his son's courage. He asked Xander where he got his strength. Xander was not yet really a born again Christian, but smiled and said,

"Gotta keep the faith. God does not make junk!"