A letter to the other driver in my accident.
Yesterday, I had the privilege of tagging along with four other teammates to a few local soccer clinics. The morning began early, and I honestly felt sick to my stomach. We had no idea what to expect and the longer we waited the more my mind had opportunity to run wild. What if we have to play them? What if my knee pops out? I’m in Costa Rica, and I really don’t want to have to deal with a busted knee again. What if people notice I’m not as good as they think I am? I used to be really good.
As the thoughts flew ramped, I voiced my concerns to a squamate sitting beside me. I told her that ever since middle school, before every game, even if it was scheduled to be the easiest game of the season, I would get nervous to the point of puking. She rebuked the idea and we laughed it off. Or at least she laughed as I tried to convince myself that I really was being ridiculous.
An hour later, our driver pulled up and off we went. We pulled onto a dusty road, filled to the brim with potholes, and as we neared the end my mouth physically dropped. It was the most beautiful field I’d seen the entire time we’d been here. And there were about 40 children waiting in the bleachers.
The nerves hit.
I couldn’t help but wonder, why was it that I was still getting nervous? Thinking back on the past 5 years of soccer made it vividly clear. Ever since my wreck, I half expect for things to go wrong.
Driving to my senior night. Being hit by a drunk driver. Missing senior night. Spending senior night in the hospital. Missing the rest of my season. Being the captain who couldn’t play. Fast forward: tearing ACL. Tearing meniscus. Dengue fever keeping me from playing. Tearing meniscus again.
A letter to the other driver: Why was it that you went out? Why did it have to be me? I had everything going in the right direction. You made a selfish choice and I paid the price. I lost one of the most important things in my life, at your hand. You made me angry with God. God. God who had blessed me with this incredible talent and who took it away. You made me afraid to drive my road. You took away my since of security. How was I supposed to know that this wouldn’t happen again the next time I drove?
I could stew for hours over everything that I thought you had taken from me.
Enter Corrie Ten Boom. (betcha didn’t see that coming)
Backstory: My favorite book is The Hiding Place by CTB and it also happens to be the one book that made the trip with me. End backstory.
I’m not going to launch into some great synopsis of the book, because you need to read it for yourself. But I will quote a section. Corrie’s father, Casper, is speaking to her about a failed love interest of Corrie’s, but the idea translates here.
“Corrie,” he began instead, “do you know what hurts so very much? It’s love. Love is the strongest force in the world, and when it is blocked that means pain.”
“There are two things we can do when this happens. We can kill the love so that it stops hurting. But then of course part of us dies, too. Or, Corrie we can ask God to open up another route for that love to travel.”
“God loves (enter who or whatever)– even more than you do- and if you ask Him, He will give you His love for this man, a love nothing can prevent, nothing destroy. Whenever we cannot love in the old, human way, Corrie, God can give us the perfect way. “
A letter to the driver: I forgive you for what happened five years ago. I’m sorry you were not able to walk away like I was. I’m sorry your family had to go through such a loss. I thank you for giving me the opportunity to ask God what it means to love like He does. I thank God for the opportunities that arose from my wreck. I thank Him for the opportunity to coach. I thank Him for the opportunity to play with 40 children in Costa Rica, no matter the skill level. I thank Him for loving me through my mistakes and for teaching me what it looks like to do the same.
In 9 days, it will mark 5 years since my accident. It has taken me until yesterday to acknowledge what happened and how I really felt. For five years, I’ve avoided playing a game I loved because of the fear and anger instilled in me on October 13, 2010. If I can give any advice to whoever may be reading, it is this: Don’t wait to try to learn what it means to love like Jesus does. Ask him now. Ask Him what exactly that looks like.
Loving the unlovable is one of the hardest things in the world when it means loving someone who has hurt you. But as I look at the cross, it is clear. We are not worthy of anything the Father has to offer us. We didn’t earn His favor, His admiration, or His love. But He gives it still. And as we are created in his image, should we not do the same?
How deep the Father’s love for us/ How vast beyond all measure/ That He should give His only Son/ To make a wretch His treasure/ How great the pain of searing loss/ The Father turns His face away/ As wounds which mar the Chosen One/ Bring many sons to glory.
