It was going to be a perfect day. It was one of those Southwest Washington summer mornings that began with light fog but quickly burst into full sunlight. The sky, often gray and overcast, was the same blue as the tiles of an Olympic swimming pool, beckoning you to dive in. This day called, “All is well, come and enjoy!”
That is exactly what I had planned. Our daughter, still in high school had slept in a bit because it was summer, but still rose earlier than normal; her baby niece, Anika was here! Our oldest son and his wife, along with our younger son, had all gathered for a few days of happy family time. Mike and Julie lived in Richmond, VA at the time, and Jonathan, living in Minneapolis, was about six months away from being deployed by the Peace Corps to Guatemala. We debate, laugh, play and eat more passionately when we are all together.
I was just finishing the last lines of a bit of writing in my office, and was ready to shut the computer down and go home. A dear friend happened to be online, and we had been chatting a bit as I wrote. She understood my constant battle with depression, so I asked her, “Please pray for me. I don’t want to fall into the pit while my family is home. I do not want to be the center of attention.” She promised her attentive prayer.
I turned out the lights, locked the office behind me and headed home. We had a brush pile I had put off burning, and today was perfect for it. We would burn it down to embers, then have a nice bonfire that evening. I went into the garage, found my necessary tools and accelerant, turned on the water, dragged the hose to the brush pile and doused four corners of the pile well. As I lit the match to start the burn a ball of fire exploded, engulfing me from the knees down. I leapt and screamed at exactly the same time, rolling to put out any residual flames on my jeans. I am very fortunate that I was not wearing shorts that day.
In pain, my boys pulled me away from the fire and onto the patio while my wife called 911. I now know why shock is the first way our bodies respond to trauma. Until the pain set in, I was able to think clearly and focus on what were the right things to do. My oldest son cradled me in his arms with my younger son sitting on my left; both my boys holding on to dad. That’s when I looked up at them both and said, “This is too funny; I just finished chatting with a friend before I came over. I told her, “Please pray, I don’t want to be the center of attention this time.”
Michael replied, “That is funny.” Both my boys are fully aware of my struggle with depression. Then the Early Responders arrived, swept me up into the ambulance and hurried me to the hospital 25 miles away. I had third degree burns over about half of my lower right leg.
It was going to be a perfect day; instead it turned into moments of fear punctuated with moans of pain and a laugh or two. The worst pain was during the weeks of recovery. If I stood up, the entire fluid that had built up in my healing wound bulged near my calf. More than once I fell down from the pain, right in front of my daughter-in-law. (I have long ago stopped worrying about embarrassing myself in front of my own kids.)
After coming home, thinking things through and looking at what I used to start the fire, I realized my mistake. I took down a can of “camping fuel” to douse the burn pile, thinking that camp fuel was kerosene. I was so wrong…it was “white gas.” White gas is even more volatile than gasoline and the fumes had already settled about wading pool deep around my legs. The match set that entire area aflame!
I am well now, with a story to tell, and a goofy tan line on my legs (if I ever get out in the sun). On a smaller scale, though, we all have days that don’t measure up to our plans. We may even have an entire life that ended up far differently than we planned.
I started these thoughts remembering that I will celebrate 40 years of following Christ in December. It made me think of all the ups and downs, the things I thought God had to do, the things God refused to do, and the many times I have simply let Him down. That will be for another posting. For now, let me say that my life is nowhere near what I imagined 40 years ago when I said “Yes” to Jesus.
Some if it is far sadder than I imagined, some more content. There are times I regret decisions I made because I thought I was following God’s “leading”, or at least the leading someone suggested was God. In the end, none of that matters much. What does matter is, no matter my failures or misunderstandings, or how often my flesh or my heart has failed, God has truly been the strength of my heart and my portion forever. I never would have chosen this path apart from Him.
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