Sovereign Over Us

So teach us to number our days that we may get a heart of wisdom

Psalm 90:12

“This is it. I’m going to die.” With my eyes squeezed tightly and my hands gripping the wheel, I braced my body for impact and repeated that one refrain over and over in my mind. “I’m going to die.” The sickening crunch of metal followed by an explosion that rang like a gunshot muted my screams and as the van spun around and around I waited to feel the final sting of death.

The day had started like any other Monday, children running late for school, morning grogginess from staying up too late the night before clouding my ability to get everyone out the door, rushing to grab lunchboxes and shoes and finish that last homework page they hadn’t thought about since Friday. We had gotten such a late start that we missed the “Dad Jokes” segment on the radio, which is our usual morning commute delight, and had moved straight onto the playlist procured by the kids, containing everything from “The Duck Song” to “Funky Jesus Music.” It was an eclectic mix to say the least. My mind was busily running down the to-do list for the day as I dropped the kids in the carpool lane and waved goodbye. Most days once the kids have exited the vehicle, I use the twenty minutes of quiet on the drive home to catch up with my people – either on the phone or via Marco Polo chat, but that day I was on my way to meet someone, and I was dangerously close to being late, so instead I turned on praise music and used the time to collect my thoughts. Some things had been going on around me that were unsettling and I was hoping to seek counsel from someone wiser than myself. As I belted out the words “All the glory to his name” I could feel my spirit lifting and my thoughts seemed less heavy, and I was excited to see my friend soon and talk.

It was then I saw the car. My light was green. I am sure of it. But none the less, she was turning. Right in front of me. At over 50mph in morning rush hour traffic surrounded by cars on all sides, slamming on the breaks would have been useless, so I swerved toward the right hand turn lane just enough to avoid hitting her head on. As our cars came closer and closer I thought, “This is it. I’m going to die.” With my eyes squeezed tightly and my hands gripping the wheel, I braced my body for impact and repeated that one refrain over and over in my mind. “I’m going to die.” The sickening crunch of metal followed by an explosion that rang like a gunshot muted my screams and as the van spun around and around I waited to feel the final sting of death. Only, it didn’t come.

Like a vacuum sucking me back into reality, my senses were on overload. My forearms were burning from the blast of the airbags and my ears were ringing from the car horn that had gotten stuck on impact. The smell of chemicals, fluids and burning rubber were choking me and my mind could not process what was happening. The only thing getting through the cloud was this single thought: I didn’t die.

The driver door was yanked open and someone was yelling at me, but I was completely cocooned in the airbags. I couldn’t see anything but a sea of white and their words sounded like they were coming under water. I knew they were talking to me. But I just couldn’t make out what they were saying. It was as if everything was happening in slow motion. I didn’t die. That single thought consumed me. I didn’t die.

The sound of ripping fabric was followed by a sudden jerk and the next thing I knew I was on the ground. Someone had pulled me from the van and was screaming at me wanting to know if anyone else was inside the vehicle. Finally I got it together enough to say no, I was alone.

The kids. Oh my word. The kids. I had just dropped them off at school. What if they had still been in the car? Suddenly there were voices everywhere. Too many to process. My watch had called 911 on impact and the faint voice of the operator was asking “hello, are you there? Has there been an accident?”…the bystanders on the street were urging me to sit down and drink water and asking if there was someone they should call for me. The man who had pulled me from the van was trying to get me into his car and as his arms pulled me I finally broke through the noise and said “No – Just leave me alone!”

I sat on the ground and refused to move one more step. I responded to the 911 operator and she sent the police. I asked the people standing on the street to get my phone off the dash so I could call my husband. “Mike, I’ve been in a head-on collision, the van is totaled – I need you to come.”

The ambulance, firetruck & police all showed up at once and everyone was pulling at me. Asking me my name and what year it was and if I knew who the president was. Did I know what happened? How was I feeling? Did I want to go to the hospital?

The EMTs had checked me out and concluded that if I chose not to be transported to the hospital they would support that decision. Apparently they cannot actually tell me if I need to go to the hospital or not. Which is weird. But whatever.

I gave my statement to the police officer and took all the pictures and answered all the questions and when I finally saw my husband I collapsed into his arms in a puddle of tears. I didn’t die. By the time we got home the shock was beginning to wear off and I was a mess. I couldn’t stop crying, my body hurt everywhere and I just wanted to lay in his arms and praise Jesus – I didn’t die. He held me, and prayed over me, and silently listened while I poured it all out. All the what-if’s I hadn’t dared speak or think before.

The police officer had referred to the accident as a “near miss” and said that when he saw the state of our vehicles he had expected to find me in much worse condition. Apparently when our cars collided and spun out I had smashed into the concrete traffic-light pole before ramping over the curb and finally coming to a stop. Because of the airbag cocoon, I saw none of this. According to the officer, if I had hit that pole head-on, rather than swiping it from the side, this story would have ended much differently.

It was in this moment of reflection that I began to thank God for his sovereignty over all things.

Yes, I was in a car accident. But I didn’t die. And I didn’t hit the concrete pole head-on. And I wasn’t distracted talking on my phone so I had just enough time to swerve in the exact right way to prevent fatality for both myself and the other driver. And neither of us were even seriously injured. We both walked away. And I had just dropped my kids off at school so they were not in the car with me. And my husband was at home and could come to me quickly. And a hundred other small ways that the sovereignty of God was displayed perfectly for anyone who bothered to look.

So teach us to number our days that we might get a heart of wisdom

Psalm 90:12

I have prayed on many occasions for God to teach me to number my days. I have even lifted my hands in praise while proclaiming those same lyrics in song. But I don’t think I fully appreciated what I was asking. When we ask God to teach us to “number our days” we are asking him to reveal to us the true brevity of life. It is that understanding of just how fleeting this life is that will help us to focus our eyes on Jesus, on things with an eternal value, and grow wise in our hearts through the Word of the Lord. That heart of wisdom is so important because every choice we make during this momentary life has consequences that will last for an eternity.

Nothing will reveal the brevity of life quite as plainly as going about your normal day one minute and then thinking you are going to die in a horrible car accident the next.

But I didn’t die.

I am still here.

That day I hugged my babies a little tighter when they got home from school. And I laughed with my friends a little harder. And I didn’t try to hide the tears. And I allowed others to help me. And I still loved my neighbors by putting on our traditional neighborhood celebration for Halloween, and I went to church, and I sang my heart out, and taught a room full of squirmy 5 yr old’s, and even though I was in pain, I still lived my life.

Pain means that I am still alive to feel it. And I don’t want to waste a single moment of this life.

I want to serve my God. And love my family. And treasure my friends.

It’s been two weeks today since the accident. And in these two weeks I have lived so much life. I attended a weekend away Women’s Retreat with over 50 ladies from my church.

I flew to Florida for a Disney Vacation with my family.

I took some time to catch up with an old friend.

And while my physical pain has passed and I feel mostly back to normal, I am still struggling with some mental and emotional side-effects I hadn’t anticipated. Anxiety when I’m driving. A sense of overwhelm when I don’t know what’s happening or can’t control the situation. Difficulty in thinking or recalling thoughts when I’m put on the spot.

I’m told these things are trauma responses and will lessen after the stress and shock of the accident is a little further in the past. But for now they serve as a very real reminder of all I’ve been through, and they keep me more and more dependent on the strength of the One who holds me in his hand – my Lord, my God.

He protects me. He saves me. He keeps me. He strengthens me. And it is for his glory alone that I live and breathe and walk.

If it weren’t for the peace of Christ living in me, I can see how this type of trauma could become totally debilitating. Even resting securely in my faith, I still catch myself holding my breath a little every time the light turns green, wondering for a split second if the others cars will actually stop before I go. When I drop my kids at school each day I still brace myself a little as I drive through the intersection where the accident took place. If I didn’t have Jesus to cling to, my fear could easily run away with me and leave merely a shell of who I used to be. I can understand how a person wouldn’t want to get out of bed. How they would never want to leave their house. How they would resist getting behind the wheel of a car. How their thoughts and worries and anxieties could carry them into some very dark places. Without the light of Jesus to shine through, it could all seem so very, very bleak.

Thanks be to God for his presence here with me; the Comforter himself – the Holy Spirit of the Lord. I know I can cast all my anxieties on him because he cares for me (1Peter 5:7).

I have always felt connected to this confession from the Apostle Paul in the Book of Ephesians “To me, though I am the very least of all the saints, this grace was given, to preach to the Gentiles the unsearchable riches of Christ,” (3:8ESV) and now so more than ever. Who am I that I was spared from death when others have not been? There isn’t anything particularly special or holy or worthy about me. Certainly I am the very LEAST of all the saints.

And yet here I am – the recipient of a tremendous grace – the grace to live another day – so that I can tell of the unsearchable riches of Christ – to anyone and everyone.

This life is a vapor.

And I choose to live every last moment of it loving and serving God with all my heart, soul and strength – and to use everything I have – time, money, mental energy, physical ability, emotional capacity – all of it – to love his people well.

What if today was your day friend? Would the annoying co-worker seem as annoying? Would that argument with your loved ones seem as justified? Would that wrong you’ve suffered seem so unforgiveable?

What about your soul?

Do you believe in God?

Have you considered your eternity?

Do you ever feel hopeless or lost or scared or anxious and desperately seek peace for your heart?

Reach out. I’m here. Let me tell you about Jesus – the saver of your soul – your life – and the giver of love and joy and peace beyond what you could ever imagine.