Justice and My Friend Mercy

I think we all go through those seasons of life where there seem to be more storms than sunshine. Scott and I went into July knowing that it would be an expensive and fun month, but we had no idea just how adventurous it was going to be. It seems that since the second of July, we've had one rough day after another, with challenge after challenge. These trials are nothing we can't handle, we have friends and family members going through worse, but they've been hard on us.

Mostly because the hardest parts aren't our fault.

I think sometimes it is easier for Scott and I to go through trials when we know why something happened--we understand agency and choices, and we try to accept responsibility for our actions and not complain about the things we ourselves have caused (with the exception of having children, I need to have a better attitude about that, but seriously, we were both good kids--where did these two miniature crazies come from?!).

Last weekend, Sly started running a high fever for the second time in a month. We debated for the next 48 hours about whether or not he would be well enough to make the trek to Idaho Falls for my Grandma's annual Float N Bloat family reunion (the name explains it all: we float the canal and eat lots of food. Scott says that the older you get, the less floating and the more bloating you do). On Friday night, we started making different plans for our weekend. Sly had just endured possibly the worst day of his life thus far, and I just didn't want to make this illness harder for him to overcome. I prayed and prayed to know what to do. The next morning, he woke up doing lots better, even though he was still not 100%. I had a strong feeling that we should go, so we packed up and headed out.

An hour or more into the drive, we were almost rear-ended by a driver who wasn't paying very much attention. Thankfully, Scott was and he was able to move our car in just the right ways to avoid an accident. We knew we were being watched over and continued on our way.

Then, when we were about 45 minutes from our destination, Scott and I were in the middle of a conversation when the semi in the lane next to us made a loud noise and started spewing debris at our car. Chunks of rubber and cement (yeah, cement!) blasted the front of our car. Scott and I both watched as the black and gray matter came straight at our windshield, and then somehow miraculously bounced over our heads and off our car without coming through (or even denting) the glass.

I wasn't scared until Scott said, "They cut our power. I don't have any brakes."

And I started praying as I pushed the button to turn on our emergency lights. It took us a couple of miles to get over to the right lane, then to the shoulder, and then to slow down enough that the emergency brake would stop our car without sending us fishtailing into a ditch.

When we looked back, the semi that we thought had pulled over was no where to be found. Apparently he didn't have enough damage to stop, so he moved on and left us on the side of the road in the July afternoon heat, wondering what on earth we were going to do now. The front part of our grill was gone, with pieces missing. The hood was so dented we couldn't open it. Liquid was pouring out from underneath the carriage.

And our kids were waking up.

We started looking for some other adults to take charge of the situation. There were none, so we began making phone calls.

I kept thinking, "Why us? Why now? I thought we had been prompted to come to the family reunion. If this was supposed to happen, why did I feel that way?"

My father wisely explained to me later that sometimes these things need to happen "to give us experience" just like the scriptures say, even when we don't understand why it is necessary.

I don't know why exactly we needed to be in Idaho that day--part of me knows we needed to spend that time with family, and another part of me thinks that Scott's smart driving skills saved more than one life that day.

If we had been in a smaller car, we would have been dead. As it was, he and I should have been severely injured and we weren't. Kevin, who would have been traumatized by the whole thing slept  right through it, and Sly was facing backwards where he couldn't see and wasn't even disturbed (until, of course, we stopped driving and he got bored).

My first thought was to call my parents. My mom didn't answer. My dad never has his cell phone, so I didn't even bother. My aunt didn't answer. I only had 2% left of my phone battery, so I hurried and dialed my Grandma's number on Scott's phone. My aunt Luci just happened to be in the house (the celebrations, already well under way, took place entirely outside) and answered the phone. I then talked to my mom, who quickly sent my uncle David Jack and Luci with her car to come rescue us, before we even knew what would be happening with our car (all we knew was that we wouldn't be driving it to Idaho Falls).

Scott called 911 and an officer responded immediately. Somehow, in all of our AC/tire replacing excitement of the week before, the owner's manual and insurance card had been taken out of the car. We couldn't reach anyone with access to our number, and then Scott just happened to find it on his email (because we'd sold his car to my little brother and gotten the insurance switched over only days before).

Luci and David Jack showed up right after the tow truck. We moved our bewildered, hot children and all of our belongings over to my parent's car, signed the necessary documents, and watched my beloved car get towed away. Seriously, I adore that car.

Though Scott and I were still a little shaky for the rest of the day, we so enjoyed our time with family and family friends. Literally and figuratively, arms were wrapped around us and anyone who could jumped in to see if they could help. My aunt Rah, who would be spending the next week in Idaho, offered to let us take her car home so that we wouldn't have to pay an outrageous price for an  out-of-state rental without the insurance company to help us negotiate a reasonable rate. My parents also offered their car, (and somewhere along the lines this equated to Papa telling Kevin that she was coming home with him) and nobody minded that we didn't float and ate more than our fair share of Steph's caramel brownies.

As Scott and I drove home that evening, we analyzed the accident from every angle. When we approached the place where we had pulled off, we started scanning the road for debris, but we saw nothing unusual. As we drove past "the scene of the crime" a quote that I'd shared at our family history conference the month before came to mind.  

“Whoever seeks to help those on the other side receives help in turn in all the affairs of life….Help comes to us from the other side as we give help to those who have passed beyond the veil.” –John A. Widtsoe, 1980

I knew then, without a doubt, that we had been given divine aid, and that we had been extra blessed because I had spent time trying to help my family members who had already passed on. I don't know which angel was in charge of keeping me calm. I don't know which angel deflected the cement missiles from our hood. I don't know which angel kept Kevin asleep, or which one guided Scott's hands and feet as he directed our car to a safe place. 

I just know they were there.

I know there were other angels there too, and these ones I can name, because they are the ones who physically rescued us and calmed our nerves. 

Last fall, Scott's car was the unfortunate victim of a nasty hit-and-run. For days and weeks afterward, we struggled to forgive our nameless, reckless neighbor for costing us so much money and taking away a car that felt like part of our family (maybe a dependable family dog is a good comparison). It was tough. We had done nothing wrong, and yet we were dealing with the consequences of another person's bad decisions. Gradually, we learned that we were never going to know who did it and we needed to forgive to find our own personal peace. 

This time around, I had the same feelings, but they resolved themselves much more quickly. 

For the past few days I have been thinking a lot about the laws of justice and mercy.  There doesn't seem to be a lot of justice going on here, and though I sometimes still wish that somebody else would take the financial hit, I am also not at all happy when I think that someday, in the life hereafter, somebody will have to pay for what happened to us. Because in my heart of hearts, I want these people to be forgiven, and I know that in the end, it is really Christ who ends up paying for the bad decisions that we all make, whether we accept his help or not. 

I have also learned that when there seems to be an absence of justice, there is an abundance of mercy. There were so many things that could have gone wrong--but most things went right. We are taken care of, we are safe, and we are together. 

And we couldn't ask for anything more.