My eyes opened on their own at 8am this morning to the perfect vantage point to see Lilly's numerous book titles and the swiftly falling snow out the window. In that comfy bed, on three quality hours of sleep, I willed the snow to fall faster and thicker, hoping against hope to be snowed in instead of en route to work in an hour. Unfortunately, responsibility dragged me out of bed, and excessive hemming and hawing stuck me in the thick of it, driving through the messy roads of South County.
I cannot even count how many times I lost control of my car today. And it was really scary! I wanted to cry the whole way home, but I also wanted to be able to see the road. I wanted to warm my fingers up, but I also wanted to keep my hands on the wheel. I couldn't feel my feet, but I kept one foot gently on the accelerator, afraid to stop and get stuck in the drifts. The perpetual smell of burning rubber as I skidded along was giving me a headache, but there was no stopping, there was only struggling through.
At one point my car was stuck with its wheels spinning in the snow of a busy intersection, and it bucked crazily like it had a direction of its own when I tried to pull the wheel in a left-hand turn. Just as the light began to turn, I lurched forward in shock and relief that I hadn't hit anyone, only to hold my breath as my car veered left and right trying to forge a path through the slippery highway. I thought to myself how glad I was my tires had blown in August. Because as traumatizing as it was at the time, now it meant that I had fresh, not-bald tires to help me wade through the chaos of an unplowed I-95.
My heart stopped beating wheezily when I finally pulled onto my unplowed street, where the snow was a lot less abundant and a lot more attractive. Officially out from behind the wheel, I felt heady from an adrenaline rush, realizing how afraid I had been. I always talk about how I'd be fine with dying any day now, but today I was terrified by the real potential of losing control of my car and hitting someone around me. While I'm prepared to meet my Maker, I forgot how scary it was to really face the prospect.
I sound melodramatic, but I don't have near-death experiences very often. (Only every time I get in my car! Heh. Just kidding! Mostly.)
I take the fact that I am still alive as a reminder. And, I'm not sure how theologically sound this thinking is, but I wonder if my presence on earth is an indicator that my purpose is yet unfulfilled. Which on the one hand is depressing: I have not lived so fully for Christ that I have done all that He would require me to do. I have been lazy, disobedient, and misguided. And that's convicting. On the other hand, though, I am encouraged: I must be useful for some small facet of God's plan if I'm still here! He hasn't chopped me yet! And that's heartening, that He will not let me flounder in my flaws, but will rescue me from the treacherous, snowy roads of Rhode Island because He has something yet for me to do.