Stopping
It's been about a month since I was in my first wreck. It's still odd to think about all that could have happened (but didn't) in that moment and the moments that followed getting hit by a semi-truck while returning to our hostel in Dar es Salaam. I remember going to my room several minutes after the accident to get my passport to take with me to go to a hospital to get my back and neck checked out, just to make sure I was ok. (And I was; I haven't had an pain or complications from it.) I wanted to cry in that moment and let out of some of the fear and thankfulness that I was experiencing: fear of what so easily could have been (and maybe should have been) a paralyzing and/or life-threatening accident and thankfulness for the actuality that none of that occurred.
I didn't cry in that moment. I shed a few tears later in the evening when I was sitting in the hospital, waiting to get checked out, but I forgot to cry when I was in my room. I had thought as I was walking up the stairs that I would take a moment to release it all, but I got caught up in getting my passport, changing into something more comfortable, and getting back downstairs to make sure I didn't get left (because I originally wasn't going to go with the two others to the hospital).
And that seems to be reflective of the past several months for me: I haven't taken time to stop. I've been in a season with a lot of uncertainty, especially with employment, which I know is not uncommon across our country. But it's been a new experience for me and it's brought new challenges. I've taken friends and relationships for granted and have been more isolated than I usually am. I think I've been a lot more selfish with my actions, thoughts, and words. I don't think I've been as sensitive and caring in a lot of ways. I don't think I was in a wreck to correct any of these aspects, but as I've been processing that experience these past four weeks or so, I'm seeing the obvious and deep need to return to stillness, especially in my mind.
And some of that is returning. It's returning through reading and discussing scripture; it's returning in spending time writing; it's returning in prayers that had been absent; it's returning slowly, but it is returning. As much of a blow as that semi struck to our bus, I think one of the biggest blows it delivered was to my ego and the realization that who I thought I was wasn't being actualized in reality; there were traces and bits scattered haphazardly around me, but they weren't complete and perhaps more accidental than deliberate. It's forced me to reflect and renew, something that had been habitual.
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The only injury that resulted from that wreck in Tanzania was a slightly fractured collarbone suffered by our team leader, which has been healing without problem. There was a dent in the back corner of our vehicle, as seen in the picture, but we all thought and expected much more damage and many more injuries, based on what we saw as the truck so quickly closed in on impact as well as the force and impact that we felt.
We were protected. In retrospect, it seems we were rescued. And thankfully, the story that gets shared is not one dominated by fear, destruction, and harm, but one that's based and carried by grace, mercy, and redemption. And that's the hope to which I cling: grace, mercy, and redemption speak a better word than anything that can be thrown our way.
I didn't cry in that moment. I shed a few tears later in the evening when I was sitting in the hospital, waiting to get checked out, but I forgot to cry when I was in my room. I had thought as I was walking up the stairs that I would take a moment to release it all, but I got caught up in getting my passport, changing into something more comfortable, and getting back downstairs to make sure I didn't get left (because I originally wasn't going to go with the two others to the hospital).
And that seems to be reflective of the past several months for me: I haven't taken time to stop. I've been in a season with a lot of uncertainty, especially with employment, which I know is not uncommon across our country. But it's been a new experience for me and it's brought new challenges. I've taken friends and relationships for granted and have been more isolated than I usually am. I think I've been a lot more selfish with my actions, thoughts, and words. I don't think I've been as sensitive and caring in a lot of ways. I don't think I was in a wreck to correct any of these aspects, but as I've been processing that experience these past four weeks or so, I'm seeing the obvious and deep need to return to stillness, especially in my mind.
And some of that is returning. It's returning through reading and discussing scripture; it's returning in spending time writing; it's returning in prayers that had been absent; it's returning slowly, but it is returning. As much of a blow as that semi struck to our bus, I think one of the biggest blows it delivered was to my ego and the realization that who I thought I was wasn't being actualized in reality; there were traces and bits scattered haphazardly around me, but they weren't complete and perhaps more accidental than deliberate. It's forced me to reflect and renew, something that had been habitual.
------------
The only injury that resulted from that wreck in Tanzania was a slightly fractured collarbone suffered by our team leader, which has been healing without problem. There was a dent in the back corner of our vehicle, as seen in the picture, but we all thought and expected much more damage and many more injuries, based on what we saw as the truck so quickly closed in on impact as well as the force and impact that we felt.
We were protected. In retrospect, it seems we were rescued. And thankfully, the story that gets shared is not one dominated by fear, destruction, and harm, but one that's based and carried by grace, mercy, and redemption. And that's the hope to which I cling: grace, mercy, and redemption speak a better word than anything that can be thrown our way.
posted by Adam at 9:32 AM
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