Let me get one thing straight: I’m not in the business of crying. Crying equals weakness, so like most wannabe men growing up, my ducts were as dry as my mom’s attempt at cornbread. Opening up the still slender book of my life and leafing through to a random page, ninety-five percent of the time, the mood would be positive. I’m not saying that my book lacks trials and tribulations or moments of misery, but on the whole, melancholy moments reside in the minority, not the majority. Now crack the spine of the book. Turn to a section, about five-eighths through, blandly entitled “Chapter 24.” Witness for yourself a story in the dismal five percent. My recollection of that day begins after what must have been a dreadfully uneventful day at school.
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Sprinting. Basically flying. There was no other possible speed when a calamity lay before me. Pain. Unbearable pain in my feet made bearable by my adrenaline. In an epic final stand, panic raised its flag, gaining complete control of my body. After what seemed like an eternity, my sisters and I arrived at the scene five houses down, gasping for breath, either from the shock or the run. The scene before me was one I had only seen on the news in segments about horrific car accidents. My mom’s green Chevrolet equinox, or what had been the car, was perched on the grass between the road and the sidewalk. The front end of the vehicle was collapsed in, evidently by the tree immediately in front of the car. Metal and bark were mangled together. Glass from the shattered windshield glistened all around the crash. The glass was almost gorgeous in comparison to the grotesque …show more content…
It was found out that she in the homestretch of her pilgrimage from work to home had blacked out at the wheel. The unmanned car veered into the nearby yard and slammed into a maple tree. My parents, gone to figure out the source of the unexpected blackout, left my sisters and I at home. While my sisters kept vigil in the living room to wait for my parents, I retreated into my room to continue my sobbing. I balled myself underneath my warm sheets and prayed for it all to be a nightmare. I wanted to wake up from the dream. It was not until that moment that I understood the phrase “questioning your faith.” I began to bring into question God’s judgement in allowing my mom to get in the accident, which somehow must have been impaired. He would never let something like this happen. As quickly as the questions came into my mind, they vanished, replaced by a warm, tingly sensation. I felt peace rush through me. My crying ceased, replaced by the occasional sniffle. I felt as though God had placed his hand on me, taking on the role of father, and said, “It is alright my son.” A verse from the Bible reverberated through my head. “Give thanks in all circumstances; for this is God’s will for you in Jesus Christ.” The accident may have been unexpected and upsetting, yet God would use it for his plans. Even though I did not know what would come out of the crash as a result, I finally understood that hope, not
Sprinting. Basically flying. There was no other possible speed when a calamity lay before me. Pain. Unbearable pain in my feet made bearable by my adrenaline. In an epic final stand, panic raised its flag, gaining complete control of my body. After what seemed like an eternity, my sisters and I arrived at the scene five houses down, gasping for breath, either from the shock or the run. The scene before me was one I had only seen on the news in segments about horrific car accidents. My mom’s green Chevrolet equinox, or what had been the car, was perched on the grass between the road and the sidewalk. The front end of the vehicle was collapsed in, evidently by the tree immediately in front of the car. Metal and bark were mangled together. Glass from the shattered windshield glistened all around the crash. The glass was almost gorgeous in comparison to the grotesque …show more content…
It was found out that she in the homestretch of her pilgrimage from work to home had blacked out at the wheel. The unmanned car veered into the nearby yard and slammed into a maple tree. My parents, gone to figure out the source of the unexpected blackout, left my sisters and I at home. While my sisters kept vigil in the living room to wait for my parents, I retreated into my room to continue my sobbing. I balled myself underneath my warm sheets and prayed for it all to be a nightmare. I wanted to wake up from the dream. It was not until that moment that I understood the phrase “questioning your faith.” I began to bring into question God’s judgement in allowing my mom to get in the accident, which somehow must have been impaired. He would never let something like this happen. As quickly as the questions came into my mind, they vanished, replaced by a warm, tingly sensation. I felt peace rush through me. My crying ceased, replaced by the occasional sniffle. I felt as though God had placed his hand on me, taking on the role of father, and said, “It is alright my son.” A verse from the Bible reverberated through my head. “Give thanks in all circumstances; for this is God’s will for you in Jesus Christ.” The accident may have been unexpected and upsetting, yet God would use it for his plans. Even though I did not know what would come out of the crash as a result, I finally understood that hope, not