Escapee

I've said numerous times this year, that I am more ready to die than ever before. I want to go home. That's all there is to it. But do you really know that you're not afraid to die unless you've faced death itself?



Last Wednesday morning started out just like the 10 Wednesdays before it. And then I almost died. That statement may sound over dramatic. And it is. Because I'm not almost dead, but I easily could have been. As I was cleaning out and saying goodbye to the wrecked car that had gotten me through, the tow truck driver said, "I don't always find everyone upright in those types of situations." How was I, why was I, not one of those situations? I feel like an escapee. Somehow I've managed to wrangle my way out of death's grip and come out on top. I've cheated death, and yet somehow I feel cheated... by death. As my 60 mph vehicle crashed into a driver that made a stupid choice that morning, I could have slipped away and awaken at the feet of Jesus. But I didn't. Somehow I've managed to only walk away with some scrapes, bruises, the inability to readily use my left shoulder and right thumb, and a neck that keeps giving me headaches. I'm still pondering how many test crashes it took to get my car's airbags just right. I think of all the things that could've gone so much worse. My mind remembers it all too clearly, and it has kept me up a couple of nights. What if's aren't always that helpful, unless they can make you more grateful.


"What would you live like if you had died
And been reborn with a second chance to live
Would you loose your fear of being dead
And be afraid of something else instead?"


Jon Foreman wrote those words, but I couldn't help but use them. What struck me that first night that my mind vividly recollected those few moments and got me crying all over again, was that as I shielded my face in self-preservation, looking back now those moments aren't fearful because I could have died. They're fearful because of what could have been. It's crazy when you realize "worst case scenario", isn't actually worst case scenario.

I'm not afraid to die, but what am I fearful of? Or am I afraid of something else instead? I've been given a second chance, how do I want to live, and is it different than how I'm living now?

A few things I've learned in this recovery process:


1. That I have placed some personal value in the things I could do. In the first couple days, I had some fears of not being able to backpack, hike, or jog again. It'll take some time, but I'll get there again. Obviously those are things I like to do, and it would be a bummer to lose something you enjoy. But I was thinking about them as if I had personal value in them, like if I was no longer able to do those types of things, that somehow I was less of a person, or would be thought less of. Jesus gives us value. And that's the way it's always supposed to be. As the quote of the day on my bathroom counter from Bob Goff says, "Jesus asks us to give up that thing we're so proud of, that thing that causes us to matter in the eyes of the world, and give it up to follow him. He's asking us, "Will you take what you think defines you, leave it behind, and let me define who you are instead? " And you find so much more worth when you hand those things over, knowing that they really don't have any play on who you are, or how He feels about you. I can leave those things behind. Find myself instead.

2. Maybe life comes alive, when you feel more alive. Feeling the sun and wind on my skin 1 day post escape never felt more real. Maybe it's gratefulness. Maybe it's just realizing what you could have lost.

3. People's pain isn't always evident. Only one of my arms are scraped up, my other injuries are neatly concealed beneath the skin. Others don't know that you've just had an awful day or are struggling. It's easy to lose patience. That person's hand I shook has no idea that that's the last thing I wanted to do. Other people may also be going through a world of hurt you have no idea about. And they don't know why I'm wearing sweats and haven't done my hair.

4. That just like Jesus always has, he keeps telling me "Trust Me, I've got you." My flesh may fail but He remains.

5. I can't go any further without declaring my hope. My hope is built on nothing less that Jesus' blood and righteousness. Grateful doesn't even come close to the amount of gratitude I feel towards Jesus my defender. He is the defender of my soul, my life, my all. His name is life itself, joy, and peace.

6. Jesus does still heal, for me. I walked into a worship night last night, unable to put my arm behind my back, and came out able to do a push up. I still have a things that need to heal, but I have full confidence they will. JESUS HEALS, YO!