A Blessing in Disguise

     I suppose you'd call me an agnostic, though, should you say those words to my mother, she'd likely hear, "Your daughter worships Satan, has a tramp stamp that reads '666,' and throws darts at pictures of baby Jesus."  What I'd like her to hear is that I believe in something.  I sometimes call him God, and I've been known to tell people I'll pray for them.  And I do.

     I guess there are only two sides to this story:  why I believe in something, and why I don't know what it is.  

     The easiest place to start is with why I don't confess to be Methodist or Baptist or Presbyterian or any other number of religions.  You see, growing up we moved fairly frequently, and, although we always landed in a Christian church, it was always one that seemed to be picked on the sole merit of who had the most popular congregation.  Add to that the fact that my high school boyfriend-turned-husband comes from a family of Buddhists.  I now live in a community of Catholics who brought their religion with them from Mexico; I teach their children, and they are amazing people.  A friend who works down the hall from me is Mormon, and you'll never meet a more loving family.  Mennonites are currently building on the land behind us, and I've only had kind conversations with the members of the that family.  I can't -- won't -- believe that I know more than they do -- that I know something that will get me to Heaven and not them.  I hope that Heaven exists.  I hope to hug my Grandma there.  And I hope to, someday, see the kids I taught, the lady down the hall, and my in-laws there, too.  

     I simply can't get over the fact that God placed me on one place in the planet and others somewhere they'll never hear his name. 

     I'm accepting of any lifestyle, so long as it's played out with love and respect.  Marry inter-racially (I did).  Marry in the same sex.  Have five wives.  I don't care, so long as everyone is being treated with kindness.  That said, what church do I belong in?  There's not one in town that would have me should I be honest with my views.  I won't not be honest.  

     So why do I believe in something?  I'm always taken care of.  I've yet to be given more than I can handle, though I've sure been tested on occasion.  And I whole-heartedly believe that things happen for reason.  The reasons aren't always obvious to us, but, on rare and beautiful moments, they are.

     On the morning of May 8, I placed my kids in the car.  My almost-11-year-old is 150 pounds and still sits in the backseat.  My daughter, who will be four in July, is still in a carseat with a five-point harness.  Once they were in, I buckled myself in our minivan and took off down the road.  When we got to the highway, we soon stopped at a school crossing to let a group of elementary students walk across the street.  We had been stopped several seconds when a car rear-ended us.  We were at a dead stop, and the driver has reportedly told his friends he was driving "at least 55."  My kids were terrified, but okay.  It's been three weeks, and I'm still in physical therapy for injuries to my back, neck, and shoulder.  As I write this, I'm on pain killers, muscle relaxers, and an anti-inflammatory medication, plus I have a TENS unit hooked up to my shoulder.  My back pops and gets stuck -- things it has never done before -- and my neck has a decreased range of motion.  The back third row seat in my van is currently sitting in the second row, and I seemingly spend all my spare time talking to insurance companies and billing departments.  And I wouldn't change a thing.

      You see, had that motorist not hit me, he would've killed four kids on a crosswalk.  Something used me as a barrier that day.  It was against my will and at my expense, but my kids were spared all but minor injuries, and four others were spared their lives.  Their lives.  

     Obviously I get pissed at what happened that morning, but I'm quick to remind myself that I witnessed a miracle.  I got to see one of the reasons I am here.  Every decision I've made in my life led me to that crosswalk on the morning of May 8.  

     And, to whomever orchestrated that morning, I'm thankful.