Snowman left yesterday for a summer job at Land O'Lakes Arts Center. Two friends picked him up at an airport along their route, and the three continued on together. When a deer ran into their path, the young driver swerved, and the car went off the road.
With the top down.
The car flipped, and despite a seatbelt clinging hard enough to bruise him, the force of the accident threw him from the car.
Many things flew out of the car, suitcases and wallets and eyeglasses and cell phones and clarinets. Even a cello, in its impressively fashioned protective case, flew out of the car.
And with those things went my boy.
Snowman hurtled out of the car.
Oh my God! He *hurtled* out of the car.
In shock, cared for by a nurse who happened upon the scene and bundled him in blankets, he made the journey via ambulance to an emergency room, where medical staff checked him for every kind of thing you can imagine: broken this and lacerated that, internal injuries and external disasters.
How can it be possible that he is only bruised? Yes, the bruises are "serious," and he must rest and elevate his legs, but how can it be possible? How is he not lost to us?
A friend asked, "Did he see the angel that caught him?"
I have trouble with theology that says God purposely protected this person or that one, because it suggests a divinely cavalier attitude toward so many other people not encased in metaphysical bubble wrap.
But for today–and probably for some time to come–I am grateful, thankful, relieved.
Today, I believe in miracles.
(The driver climbed out and walked away; the other passenger required stitches in one of his two cut knees.)