I've looked Death in the face on three different occasions in my life.
When I was 16 I sneaked out of the house because my stupid parents wouldn't allow me to go to a dance. I loved to dance and still do ... so I climbed out of the window and went. It was on the other side of the viaduct in Port Wentworth at the community center. I had a good time. I caught a ride home in the back of a pick up truck. Stopped at the red light in front of Daughtry's gas station and Cowart's Drug Store, I saw my Mom riding around looking for me. Jumping out of the truck to turn myself in I was promptly hit by a car full of college students returning from Spring Break in Florida.
It knocked me to the gas pumps at Daughtry's where I rested with a shattered leg, multiple cuts and bruises. When my eyes finally opened, my Dad and Mom were staring at me, full of concern. Dad was sweating. Mom was crying. What I remember most though is the darkness of the night. There was a crowd around us but I looked at the sky ... into the stars ... listening to my own breathing ... and then hot tears poured down my dirty face.
That was the first time.
Standing in the receptionist office at the Jefferson Street Baptist Chapel in Louisville, Kentucky I was the 24 year old pastor of the place. No one understands why God lost Her mind and allowed this to happen but it did. I was arguing with a homeless man over something I no long recall. He was madder than hell and I was resolved that he wasn't going to get what he wanted.
That's when he pulled out the gun and stuck it in my stomach.
It's funny how time really can freeze.
He yelled. Janice Money, the red headed fundamentalist, receptionist, jumped up. A bunch of homeless guys who loved me formed a circle around him. I could hear them talking. Again, I could hear myself breathing.
He pulled the gun back and the homeless guys beat the shit out of him in the Church office. I remember just standing there with the world spinning around me.
That was the second time.
My 8 year old son Jeremy and I were zipping down a country road in Meriweather County, Georgia on our way to lunch. We were inseparable. Kristen rode with Janice in the car we were following. Jeremy and I were laughing when the car in the other lane hit us head on in the pick up truck we'd borrowed from Claude Drouet.
The truck flipped over three times. Jeremy was thrown out through the windshield and landed in tall grass. He had a scape on his knee. I was pinned inside of the upside down truck with crushed cab.
I remember opening my eyes ... listening to myself breath again. Then I sucked in air and started screaming for Jeremy. I pulled myself out and there he stood looking at me. "He's OK," I thought as I collapsed with a broken arm, ribs, and glass cuts all my body. I woke up in a Country Hospital sometime later.
That was the third time.
I know there will a forth one day but I really don't look forward to it.
Yesterday, Sarah and I were on our way to Laurel's birthday party when I got the text that Tanner had been killed in Afghanistan. Tanner is the son of my dear friend Patti. We understand it was a skirmish with the Taliban in an open area.
It makes you stop dead in your tracks.
Which is better than stopping dead.
I heard myself breathing and remembered all of these things. Love and concern filled my heart for Patti. There are no words. You don't know what to do.
I ended up doing the only thing I knew what to do. I prayed. I thanked God for Tanner and how he graced so many lives. I asked that Patti be taken care of, along with her other sons. I cursed the Goddamn war and the politics that put us there.
Life is a gift which none of us asked for, yet each of us share.
Until we don't.
Celebrate it while you have. Celebrate the lives of those you love ... while you have them.
"This day I call before you heaven and earth as witness ... I have set before you life and death, blesses and curses. Now choose life ..." we are commanded.
Sometimes, we don't have the choice.
