The first thing I saw this morning was the smiling face of my husband. He was up early, dressed and packed for his day kayaking on the Yellow River with Joshua and Nolan. He kissed my forehead and woke me up, saying, "Thank you for my birthday present Samantha. I can't WAIT to get on the river!" He has been planning on today all week long.
About 10 minutes after he left the house, he called me. "Hey, I just had a wreck down the street. You think you could come down here?"
I hate those phone calls. But there is one thing about this one that I loved: it was Don calling me, not the Sherriff's dept. or an emergency room nurse. Not like last time. Not one bit like it.
And shockingly, I was completely cool about the whole thing. The wreck happened less than half a mile from our house-- he had gone to the gas station close by and then doubled back to go to old town. I saw him pass the house and waved right before the wreck happened. I prayed as I came over the hill that the Lord would just breathe peace on me when I saw the truck and saw him.
My sweet husband looked heartbroken. Standing there, blood running down his face, he was looking at the back end of the little truck he loves so much (crumpled a little but fixable-- he drove it from the scene) and at the kayak I gave him this weekend for his birthday. There's a hole in it now, along the bottom where it scraped, I guess. While he is my husband, a strong, completely capable and mature grown man, I saw a little boy for a moment, so disappointed. There were all of these police around, cars slowing down to look, an ambulance driving up, but all I saw was my boy and I knew what he was feeling. He really wanted to be on the river today, and he felt like a dork for getting into a wreck.
We never leave the house without telling each other we love each other and kissing. It's what we have always done, but especially after he broke his neck in '03 (I have a growing collection of Don-in-the-hospital pics!). You just can't ever tell what is going to happen. One minute, you're headed out for beans and a jar of pickles and the next...
But here's something I know, and it might sound trite or addle-brained, but I don't care: I know that God is in control of this whole thing. I feel...honestly...certain that the Lord was in that moment. He knew the what and how of what my husband was headed toward when he passed the house again. Don, of course, was sitting there pounding his fist into his knee when we were at the hospital getting his cut fixed, saying, "Dang. If I had just... or if I had only...." There are so many other possibilities-- if I had just kept my mouth shut, if I had only said no to this trip, if I had only waited for that HR person to get back with me before taking a different job, if I had turned left instead of right...
But I have to believe that, while we are housed in these earthen, breakable vessels, we have an unbreakable God who is actively in our every moment and He directs our paths.... Is it possible that this had to happen this morning?
I don't know. I don't know the other guy's circumstances. He wasn't hurt, but his car took a hit. And there are plenty of really bad things that happen in life, too, that God isn't exactly "behind." I don't know. It's all about His sovereignty isn't it? And that's at the top of my list of "Things To Ask Jesus When I Get To Heaven."
Either way, my man is alive and well right now and I am grateful beyond words. How I lived for so long without him is a mystery to me-- and I'm not finished living all of my days with him. He is the funniest, sweetest, kindest person I have ever known, packaged in a brusk, sharp-edged man-- and a perfect match for me. How grateful I am that I am writing this right now... not trying to figure out funeral arrangements.
Let's all be grateful today, right? Things can always be worse. No matter how bad you might think they are right now.