I'm the kind of person who skips to the conversation when reading a book.
Last week Hannah and I were out driving when we shouldn’t have been. The roads — winding, hilly, country roads — were slick with snow which was still coming down. About 10 miles out of town we passed a mini-van on its side in the ditch.
I looked at it, wondering how it ended up there.
Hannah piped up from the back, “Should be stop to help?”
“I’m not sure what we could do,” I told her, “plus there are already a lot of people on the scene.”
There were a probably four or five pick-up trucks and sport utility vehicles pulled off to the side and several people walking around. We were driving a car that didn’t have snow tires and I was more than a little worried that if I pulled off, I wouldn’t have the traction to pull back on.
So we continued on, driving up and down on winding, hilly, country roads.
“This is bad,” I said to Hannah. “I think we need to go back.”
“Okay,” she agreed.
So, we stopped at Dunkin’ Donuts because we had to make our outing worthwhile. (See “Everything I Ever Wanted“) Then, we headed back home.
Again, I looked at it and wondered how it got there. And now, I wondered, too, how they would get it out.
How to get it out seemed a better thing to think on — and I think that’s true for the car wrecks in our lives.
Yesterday, Deirdre called. She sounded like she had been crying. A student at her college had committed suicide. It rocked the little community. And it brought me back to the car wreck.
We can look at the broken relationships and broken people in our paths and wonder how they got there. Or, like Hannah, we can think about stopping to help. The guys with their pick-up trucks couldn’t do much. In this case, professional help was necessary. So we arrive at the tow truck driver who isn’t thinking so much how they got there, but rather how to get them out.
Were there no pick up truck drivers to help this student? Was there no one to call the tow truck?
It gives me pause.