Choosing to tell The Story

I'm sorry for telling so many post-accident stories here. When I started this blog I thought it was going to be about my trip Africa. And it is! It's just that the two stories seem so intertwined. And here's why.....

That's Bill Savage standing by the car. On our way home from the hospital in Bend we stopped at the junkyard in Stayton to clean out the car. Bill and Diane met us there. Rather than rewrite this part of the story, I'll copy and paste something I wrote a year ago on my facebook page as we were heading into Walk 4 Water 2--

I woke up in a Bend hospital bed at 11:20 on Wednesday morning. My memory logged nothing between 10:30 Monday morning and that particular Wednesday morning moment. Despite my memory deficit, I clearly recall waking fully engaged in a conversation with the doctor and David as we discussed the fact of my 3 week pregnancy. I felt aware and clear about my circumstances. The memories began to record at that point, but in retrospect, it was a brief moment of lucidity amidst a swirling storm of confusion and fear. 

In that moment I knew that I was newly pregnant. I knew that I had been a driver struck in a terrible car accident. I knew that 3-year old Ryan was safe and my in-laws were also alive, though seriously injured. And I knew that, in contrast to several previous pregnancies, this one was still viable.

Nearly four years later, I know much more of the story....the depth of fear, pain, anger, grief, loss. The love, kindness, support, joy, and hope. 

And I can trace the path of an odd tangent to the story. 

My parents have some friends who met us at the Stayton junkyard to empty our broken car about a week after the accident. Because my in-laws and I had been returning from a long weekend in Bend the contents of the car were not only torn up from the violence of the accident, but they were also splattered with food from the cooler, now rotten. It was a mess. It was dramatic. It was the symbol of all that was lost in a moment. Somehow it was a place of raw vulnerability. And Bill and Diane met us there. Some friends meet you in places of pain and walk alongside. Bill and Diane were those friends for my parents and the consequences set the foundation for this part of my story.

Time passed, but there was no putting the pieces of my life back together in the same way. The puzzle had changed and there was not a picture on this new box. My head injury was significant. I faced the reality that I wasn’t going to teach that fall, or maybe ever. There were questions about the health of my pregnancy. There was anxiety and fear and pain and great loss. And an insurance settlement. 

At that time, Bill and Diane were just getting started on their mission to serve as volunteers raising funds for World Vision’s water programs in Zambia. David and I knew a bit of Bill & Diane’s vision and we were impressed with World Vision’s mission/methods. The remarkable piece is that giving a portion of our settlement money was never a question for us. It was timing. It was a moment of choice. And we gave. 

I will never adequately describe my overwhelming emotions one fall evening the next year. We went to church to hear a report from the group which had traveled to Zambia that summer. They told stories. And showed pictures. Reports on new wells. Reports on the life-changing, life-giving impact of those new wells for Zambian villagers. Our choice to give mattered. I could see that. My life had been forever changed by one moment of car accident trauma. Bill & Diane touched my soul in one moment of friendship with my parents. Zambian villagers joyfully drank clean, hope-filled water because of one moment when we chose to give.

It seems I’ll never have back the part of me I lost that Monday morning in June 2005. But I know choices matter. I will forever be tied to Zambian villagers because of choices. 

It’s baffling that I can walk to the sink and turn on the faucet for clean, abundant water. I can throw my clothes in the washer and turn a dial, push a button. I can run filtered water for a perfectly brewed, french-pressed cup of coffee. I can flush the toilet. I can water my strawberries. I can bathe my boys with a turn of the faucet. I can. 

A mother in Zambia makes 6 to 8 one-hour round trips every day to collect water. Water that isn’t even safe to drink. But she does not have a choice. She does not have the choice to click around on facebook or pick up a book or knit or garden. She does not go out to dinner or buy a bottle of wine. She walks to get water. Dirty water. She does not have a choice. I have a choice.

To share. 

35 dollars provides one Zambian villager clean water for the rest of his or her life. Right now World Vision has a matching donor for this money. 35 dollars provides two Zambian villagers clean water for the rest of their lives. 

This is a tangent to my story. I don’t understand it, but I’m living it. And I pray it matters.

So. As I sit here a year later I realize this isn't so much of a tangent after all. It is THE story. It is God's story and He's been busy filling in the details. My job is to tell it.