If I Had Died

Well, it’s not every day that one gets to say, “I just got ran over by a drunk driver in a pick-up truck.”  But on Monday I was able to say this.

I was on a bicycle, at 10:30 AM, crossing at the crosswalk after the pedestrian signal said “walk”.  I was just leaving a residential area and crossing through a main street.  I had previously checked to my left and there had not been any vehicles waiting to turn.  They would not have had the right of way, but I still usually check because sometimes the drivers are looking only left for oncoming traffic and not right for pedestrians – even though this was in front of a college university and there are ALWAYS countless pedestrians crossing there!

So after I was already in the intersection, a red pick-up truck came flying at me from the left at a tremendous speed – much too fast for someone turning out of a residential area.  I did not see the driver at that time, only the front of the truck and I thought, “Holy crap!”  I swerved to the right, but he was going at such a velocity that he hit me anyway.

I went down, me and my bike together, and the perplexing part of it for me was that he did not stop after he hit me; on the contrary, he went faster – or at least it seemed that way to my in-shock state of mind.  I also imagined that he was purposely trying to murder me.

I rolled over four times under his vehicle, screaming all the while (because I thought he was trying to kill me) and since he was not stopping, I imagined that he was planning to drive over me forward and then backward, then forward and backward again until I was completely dead.   So the moment the truck stopped, I crawled out, thinking it was about to start running over me again. Luckily, a friend came to visit me in the hospital and offered a more realistic perspective – which was that the driver likely hit me because he did not see me, and then accelerated because he was panicked and/or trying to hit and run to avoid the consequences.

There happened to be two police officers that had just pulled up to the intersection.  They did not actually witness it, but they immediately came over.  Between the two officers and my enormous bike, which was effectively hooked under the front of the truck, the driver had no opportunity to hit and run whatsoever.  When he got out of his vehicle (while leaving the vehicle still running), I was able to observe that he looked drunk.  At the very least, he was under the influence of some kind of drugs.  He appeared severely groggy and had no emotions on his face.  He did not look happy nor sad, excited nor angry.  No expression.

I was X-rayed at the emergency room and came out with no broken bones. I was released the same day, rested the next, and went back to work the following.  I am walking with a limp; I have a nasty black eye; and I have some marks on my shoulders from where one of the truck tires ran over them, and marks on my tail bone from where some metal thing under the truck hit.

So what is my point in saying all this?

I’ve been thinking: If I had died (and it’s rather a miracle that I didn’t), I would only have been upset about one thing – that my book is not yet published.  Since I’m very certain that God told me to write my book, I have trouble believing he would let me die before it was published – or at least written all the way so that it could be published after my death.

Other than my book not being done, I feel that it would not have been a bad thing to die on Monday.  I’m not overly concerned with how many years I’m provided with on this earth (let’s admit it, this earth kinda sucks anyway) but I’m extremely interested in whether or not the years I’m given are spent wisely.  One of my favorite verses in a letter from Paul says to be careful how you live and make the most of every opportunity because the days are evil.

Maybe this is normal to reflect on your life when you have a near-death experience; to re-evaluate it and ask “Is it everything I want it to be?”  I tend to evaluate my life almost daily, since I live with a strong purpose and a constant awareness that life is unpredictable and everything – jobs, friends, etc. – can be taken away as easily as they are given.  I don’t put my hope in those things.

The day before my accident, I had just been telling my coworker about my relationship with God.  The night before my accident was spent playing the guitar for and singing with my former residents and the nursing home.  A lot of special memories were made that night.

I feel that my life is incredibly full, extremely productive, and 90% of it is spent in prayer – prayer for myself and prayer for strangers and prayer for friends and prayer for anyone the Holy Spirit tells me to pray for.  I pray while I’m walking, while I’m at work, while I’m on the bus, while I’m sitting at coffee shops, while I’m in the shower, while I’m having conversations.  I’m always, constantly, consciously communicating with my Savior and interceding for everyone I come into contact with always.

If I had died Monday, I would have died having not wasted my life.  Sure, I was a hooker.  Sure, parts of my life did seem (at the time) like they were unfruitful.  But even THOSE horrible things were turned around and used for good by God.  For example, if I had never met my pimp (and I’ve often cursed the day I met him), my little son would not exist in this world; I would have never met my son’s beautiful adoptive parents who are now two of my closest, dearest, most supportive friends.  When my son sings to me, and pushes me on the swing, and plays with his little plastic cars, I wonder “What if he had never existed?”  I can’t imagine how different my life would be if he did not exist.

And so my life has not been wasted.  I tell people about Jesus constantly.  I live my life passionately.  I’m always praying and always following His lead, even when it’s not easy, and I LOVE the friendship I’ve discovered with the Creator of the Universe (and of my heart) – the one who knows how many hairs are on my head.

I don’t know why he spared my life on Monday; I would honestly prefer to be with Him in person instead of stay here, but I can only assume that he still has more plans for me and more things to accomplish – both in me and through me.  And so I look forward to what lies ahead, knowing that there will be more adventures.

And since that miracle on Monday was the eighth miracle I’ve experienced this month, something is happening in my heart: my fear is diminishing.  I have not felt afraid at all in these last two weeks (except for when I was rolling underneath a moving truck).  I’m having a new awareness that if God is for me, it really doesn’t matter who is against me.  If God wants me to live, it doesn’t matter how many drunk drivers run me over; I will live.  If God wants me out of prostitution, then I will be out of prostitution, even when I’m stupid and I relapse.  If God wants my book published, my book will be published, even when “friends” come against the book and attack it.

This month all my enemies have turned into ants – even my ex-pimp (who was the primary reason I never shared my photo or my name on this website) who would like to murder me if he could.  This month, they are all ants to me, because this month I have come to believe that my God is VERY.  BIG.