Here I sit, with coffee in bed on this first frosty morning of the fall; I should be cozy and content, yet I find myself snotty and teary. I don't even know exactly why. I am a mess of emotion, part worry, part thankfulness. Part tired and stressed. Just weepy.
Partly, I am overwhelmed with thankfulness for my dad. For those of you who don't know, he came home about two weeks ago. Dad is walking, talking, eating, putting his own clothes on, taking showers - all the normal things one does, just with a neck brace. He will have more physical therapy later when the neck brace comes off. We don't know if he will be able to return to life like it was before. For certain, there will be some limitations but we just don't know what kind or how many yet. There are still problems that have yet to resolve themselves so we don't yet what the future looks like. I do know this: I have never been so thankful to hear anyone's chuckle of amusement as I have his. I have never before been so grateful to hold someone's hand and have them squeeze back as I am with him. We have been given a second chance in our family. The terrible thing did not happen. My mother still has her soulmate, and we children still have our father.
I think back to that first terrible day and night, that first week. I think of watching my brothers, grown men who seem to handle anything, nearly broken. I remember watching Ben crying silently and praying at 2:00 AM and thinking that I wish that driver could see him. I wanted to take that man, lead him to my father, whose face was all that visible, body covered in tubes and machines. Take him to Rachel, still a baby at 21, still needing her parents whole. Take him to Ben, tears coursing down his face, and say, "Look. Look at what you have done. This is my family and look what you have done to them." I am not angry. I really am not bitter. People kept saying that I shouldn't be bitter. The thing is, when I think of the driver, I am not angry. I don't wish him ill. I hope he will be wiser in the future, more cautious, but goodness, we have all been guilty of inadvertently harming someone in someway at sometime. Instead of wishing him ill, I have been concerned - I cannot think what it would be to know I had caused this much harm to someone. I think of all the things we are not careful in, things we are ALL not careful in, not just him on that day.
Do we live deliberately or do we float through life, careless in our thoughts and actions? My dad has lived deliberately for a very long time, his choices in his work, where he lived, how he raised his children all a reflection of his commitment to God. No, my father is not a perfect man, but he is always becoming a better man. Both my parents live this way. I wonder how confidently we could have prayed had my dad been a different man, how much faith would have held my mom up had she been a different woman. I know that God gave us great mercy and I believe that mercy was given because my family, particularly my parents have been faithful to Him. Can we all expect great mercy? Are we living deliberately?
I think of that driver - I haven't spoken to him. I don't know him. But I wonder if he was floating along or deliberately, actively focused on being careful. Then these thoughts spill to me. How often am I deliberately careful with my thoughts and words and actions. Do I float along? Do I work at thinking and doing and speaking things that are Christlike? Somehow the idea of not being careful enough driving has become this bigger idea of being careful with my life and the lives that have been put in my care - my husband and child, my parents and siblings, my in laws and extended family, my students and co-workers. No, I am not deliberately bad, I am not deliberately careless, but I also think I am not always consciously choosing to be careful with what I have and who I am responsible for.
Deliberately. Carelessly. Thoreau went to the woods to live deliberately. I would like to think I am deliberately living - choosing for my life to be be meaningful. I know that mercy beyond measure has been shown to my father, to me and mine, in simply having Dad alive. Perhaps equally merciful is a reminder to live carefully, to make each day matter in the right ways. I want to have that peace and confidence in God's mercy and faithfulness toward me. I want to know that better than only doing no harm, I did something good. I think I needed reminding about the choices I make, while there was time to be reminded.
I look at this day of Thanksgiving that approaches. I cannot believe that November is half over - I still feel like I missed half the fall. Blessedly, we have been given so much more and been reminded to savor each moment of it.
