A Literal Brush with Death

Sometimes we're brought starkly to the awareness of how much we are alive.

Ben and I were driving to go snowboarding.  It was pretty murky out, with snow drifts and icy roads.  Poor visibility, poor driving conditions, poor everything.  It was one of those nights where driving should have been mundane, but safety considerations kept me alert.   I was approaching an overpass.

I saw two people running across the freeway only a hundred meters in front of me.  Then, there was a white van stopped in my lane.  I slammed my brakes, slid out of control, and only stopped when I hit a dry patch of ground underneath the overpass.

I pulled to the side of the road, and ran over- two boys were laying on the ground.  They were in severe condition.  I pulled out my ex-first responder skills and started checking their eyes, their airways, and for neck/head/body injuries.  I spent the next 30 minutes trying to take care of them.    Sparing the gory details, in total there were eventually eight cars involved in the accident.  They boys were taken to the hospital, and I was left to fill out paperwork and wonder about their condition.  I still can't wash my hands enough.

I felt as if I were in the eye of a storm.  All around me were cars running into cement barriers, people screaming, and the highest type of consternation.  I didn't even look up, except to check for the safety of Ben.  I was focused on my boys.  "Talk to me."  "Does this hurt"  "Focus on my eyes."  "What is your name."  "Stay focused."  "You'll make it through this."  Over and over. I held their heads.  Even the paramedics didn't have me move until the boys were fully strapped onto stabilizers.

I can't help but think of eternity, and its hosts.  They must have clouded around us three in an embrace.  Arms interlocked, they must have been the messengers of prayers offered by the mother of the sons.  I held the phone next to each of their ears so they could talk to her.  There is a silence about death and trauma that brings a singleness of purpose.

I think of the good Samaritan, who traveling  on a road to Damascus, stopped to heal his beaten brother.  He poured balm into his wounds, gave him drink and food.  Too often we think of it as a situation where someone needed mediocre help.  In reality, the man was nigh unto death- a case needed the most extreme compassion.  A situation dire.  It wasn't a nicety that the Samaritan stopped.  It was a necessity.  Compelling, overwhelming, and an excruciating necessity.

So in our lives may we praise our personal sacrificial Samaritan, Jesus Christ, and praise him with all the life we have to live.  For me may never know when it will end.