One chilled Saturday morning in mid-March, on my way over to meet my friend at a track meet, I sat in my Honda Accord at an intersection, ready to turn left onto a new street. From the meet, we planned to converse over a much awaited lunch at Jimmy Johns, and then I would head home to slave away at homework and sleep comfortably.
Yet, God's plan differed vastly from my own.
As I was turning, something large and white and growing exponentially larger and whiter entered my peripheral vision. Before my mind registered what was happening, a deafening smashing sound mixed with screeching brakes consumed my consciousness.
After my car stopped spinning, so did my brain.
Overcome with terror, the only thing I was able to do was cry. My realization of what had just occurred plunged my mind into a state of shock in which I had lost track of time. I am not sure exactly to this day how much time had passed between the crash and the face of a young woman appearing at my window.
After making sure I was physically undamaged (more to come on that subject), the woman told me how glad she was that I was wearing a seatbelt.
She didn't tell me what would have happened had I not worn a seatbelt. She didn't have to.
Two days later, I sat in the athletic training office at my high school, trying to recall the details of my crash without bursting into tears. That day, I had a significantly difficult time focusing in class, so I decided to confirm that I wasn't concussed before heading to track practice. Thus, I explained to our school's athletic trainer why I should be tested for a concussion.
I broke down a few times, remembering the crash, and he agreed to give me the test.
After recalling a wide variety of words and shapes, counting forwards and backwards, and tracking a light with my eyes, my concussion was confirmed.
"Now, I don't want you to stress out or think about homework," the trainer lectured to me as I was already beginning to stress out and think about homework. I was immediately quarantined to my living room couch for what would become the longest week and a half of my life.
During my recovery, I experienced overwhelming cycles of worry, sleep, confusion, and more worry. Although I was isolated for only a short time, I felt bogged down by the unexpected turn of events.
Why was God putting me through all of this?
Yet, in a strange and wonderful way, my concussion was a blessing.
Amidst the time I had missed from school, practice, and socialization, I experienced an overwhelming amount of love and support. Some of my teammates visited my house one day with a giant, handmade card. I had received enough candy and desserts from friends and family to give me type 2 diabetes. Most importantly, as I battled against overwhelming fear, God was right there in my living room with His overwhelming love.
My perspective was vastly shifted.
I, of course, cannot pretend to know why God does the things He does all of the time. As a sinning human with a narrow perspective, I often don't understand God, and I wish His plan would align with my own.
But, I am eternally grateful that it doesn't.
While some would consider a car crash, especially one resulting in a totaled car and a concussion, a setback, God gave me an opportunity to spring forward. An overwhelmingly type-A control freak, I was placed into a situation I could not control. Defining myself by my performances in school and athletics, I struggled when these activities came to a halt, if only for less than two weeks. Yet, while several things in my life were shaken, my eyes were opened to God's constant love and faithfulness.
As humans, we are more than our circumstances, our GPAs, or our personal records in the mile. We are each wonderfully and uniquely made by God, who loves us enough to send His only son to die for us.
And that, in my opinion, is the greatest blessing of all.
