“Mom. I’m ok. Everyone is okay,” he said.
People start by saying they’re okay when they almost weren’t.
Last night, after the Seahawks’ defeat, my son and his buddy drove on a two-lane highway en route to a friend’s house. The night was black, except for sporadic headlights and the remaining snow’s reflection. The condition’s cover lured a deer to cross about a meter from of their early 2000’s Suburban.
Instinctively, my son’s friend smashed the breaks. Their grip failed, and the car hydroplaned. It skidded across the oppositional lane, jumped a curb, and mowed a tree and a fence. The passenger side’s front wheel and door-side dangled over a twelve-foot drop.
Because of the awkward position, my son could not get out through his door. He told his friend to exit the driver’s side door carefully, as to not disrupt the balance which held, he surmised, by another, more sturdy pine. After his friend climbed out, my son, maneuvered his 6’1” frame through the same side.
A man passing by pulled his F150 near and helped them assess their next steps. The man agreed the Suburban needed rescue from the embankment. He called a nearby neighbor because his truck was unable to endure the load. A few minutes later, the neighbor brought his F350 and wench. Soon, my son’s friend’s dad and police arrived.
After the notifying authorities and the Suburban hitched, my son returned to his friend’s house where his car was parked. He shared the evening’s events with his friend’s mom. The adrenaline gifted for survival left him with a headache. She gave him some Advil and green tea and asked if he was sore. “The soreness of muscles can be delayed. Call me if you experience any.” After he felt stable enough to drive, he returned home.
I was, of course, glad my son and his friend were alive. I waited until he finished sharing and asked, “Why didn’t you call me? You know I would have been there in a second.” My son told me his phone battery was at one percent. He said he wanted to call, but considered what my experience would have been like if the call dropped mid-story. His kindness to me was familiar; and if it were possible, I loved him even more at that moment.
I thanked God for their safety and the community’s care in my absence. I confessed to God I didn’t ever want to face losing a son as he did. And I was overwhelmed by my son’s consideration of me during one of the scariest moments of his life. How did he do that?
Then, in the midst of my prayers, God impressed upon me, in a new way, of his consideration for me in his worst moment, too.
At His Worst, Jesus Considered Me.
While Jesus was tortured—slapped, punched, crowned with thorns, mocked, beaten with reeds, betrayed, and sweated blood from distress—he thought of me. While nails pounded through his hands and feet, Jesus said, “Father, forgive them; for they know not what they do.”
The word incredible fails to convey the majesty, generosity, and selflessness of a God who considered me, and you, while enduring his worst moment—the hostile, horrific cross. This is the God who declares his love for us—abounding, steadfast love for you and me.
May Christ dwell in your hearts through faith,—that you, being rooted and grounded in this love, have the strength to comprehend, with all the saints what is the breadth and length and height and depth, and to know the love of Christ that surpasses knowledge. May you be filled with all the fullness of God.