Inside the Spin-Mosaic Studio

On a normal day in the middle of 100 errands and 1,000 boxes to check...this happened.

We crashed. 

It's hard to explain how the physicality of a person's body can travel in motion both forward and backward at the same time without being warped into a fantasy fiction movie while saving the universe. But, it happened. And, I didn't save the universe. I didn't even save my son.

God did that.

In a moment of C-R-U-N-C-H, the car lunged forward with such crazy impact that Brandon's hot, freshly unwrapped bacon, egg and cheese Mc-bisquit combusted in his hand. I kid you not; this is my strongest memory. I was told I hit my head. So, I don't remember much else when the car was spinning around. But, I remember this: bisquit crumbs.

His jaw had just opened wide to take a bite. 1,000 crumbs exploded into the windshield. My shaking fingers picked crumbs out of his hair the rest of the day. (Why do mothers find these details of appearance so vitally important when nerves take over?)

Screeching, smoking tires spun around into a fleet of oncoming traffic catapaulting us into a backwards twist and finally a 2-wheeled balancing act bouncing down to face the direction we had just come. 

I was only trying to quietly turn left in my little black Pontiac Vibe roadster. I normally drive a dinosaur-sized SUV big enough to haul a team of teenagers, a band of guitars or giant panels for my artwork. But, today, my aim was to economize gas mileage and buzz around town with 100 errands and 1,000 boxes to check.

Mine was the smaller of the 2 vehicles which does not translate well upon impact.

The blinker tick-tick-chimed a few times. My son and I were talking and laughing about something. An instant looming shadow swallowed the rear-view mirror harmonized by splintering glass rushing horizontally past our side windows. No expensive speakers from an action movie-set can replicate this sound.

Iv'e never heard it before. I hope to never hear it again.

To the ear of an artist, it was actually a beautiful sound of power in the same way Niagara Falls corales the momentum of a million drops of water. Shards of speeding glass have a melody all their own this side of heaven similar only to the tinkling of glaze crackling from the sudden burst of air when the heavy lid of a hot ceramics kiln is opened for the 1st time. This is one of my favorite sounds save the coo of a baby in my arms.

A vehicle on our tail neither saw us or slowed down. 55 mph. Instant crunch. Spin. Breathe. 

It's okay. The story has a happy ending. It took a few weeks, but we are on the other side now. No lasting damage; stitches, chiropractor bills and colorful bruising that only a good art teacher can appreciate. My son walked away with only biscuit crumbs in his hair--without a scratch, without a bruise: no pretty colors to slowly fade from purple to blue to green to yellow. He never shed a tear.

Why do I share this? Because of God's provision. Because of the millisecond physics that spun our car into a string of oncoming traffick yet landed us on the pebbly shoal of the opposite roadside without kissing another car.

I want you to know there are alway silver linings. We choose to see them or not. We choose to look for them or not. We choose to turn our eyes into the sun and squint hard sometimes to find serendipity, coincidence or the invisible wings of angels. But, they are always there. God is always here.

In this case, I had to squint from behind a black eye and an eyelid sewn back together, but see the miracle, I did. I have. I will.

______

A standing soft salute is due to my community and the Lady in the Copper Car. In a recent era where we all seem trained by news and media to expect the worst and fear the best of each other, my community gathered around my son and I that day within literal seconds.

Before my hand could pry the jammed door open, 2 men were tugging from the outside to help us get out. A behemoth white truck pulled in front of my vehicle-turned-metal-origami to block anyone else from hitting us. An unnamed stranger climbed inside my smoking car to find my glasses. A man came running from a business down the road and began directing traffic. An off-the-clock police officer drove by and stopped to navigate witnesses. He didn't have to. He chose to.

A kind fatherly man who clearly worked out in the gym bypassed me and went straight over to my son. He knelt down to his level, smiled, tussled his biscuit-crumb-filled hair, punched him gently in the arm like guys do and said something like, "Cool, Bro!...look at that car! You made it! Your okay! You are brave!" Until my husband made it on the scene, this was exactly what my little boy needed to keep his chin up.

And, the Woman in the Copper Car...when the men were taking charge of the road, the traffick, and my son's brave little heart...she invited us to come sit in her air-conditioned car to relax and be out of the hot sun and chaos while we waited. She invited us into a place of safety and comfort and friendship.

No doubt, she, too had her own list of 100 errands and 1,000 boxes to check off in her own day. Each person who stopped to help us did, too. These people; these strangers--they each embodied a silver lining. They saw in us an opportunity to rearrange the order of their check-boxes and place us first.  

I am reminded fresh that we need not always crane our necks uncomfortably UP into the hazey clouds and squint hard to find the silver linings in our tough stuff. Maybe its hard to find silver sometimes because our eyes are looking in the wrong places. Sometimes it may serve us better to cast our searching gaze out and around; to survey the horizontal landscape and notice people who have circled with fresh eyes.

Here, too, there is a shining glimmer and a flash of light. Sometimes a silver lining; sometimes a peripheral view of the halo of an angel. 

______

A Note from Christi: Even though my art studio stood still for several weeks while my head swam in recovery of the concussion, one of the silver linings embodied by a person came in the gift of an unexpected watercolor commission.

She asked, "Do I have time?" Yes, I have time. I could do little else, but sit quietly to sketch and paint was something I could do. This little 12 x 16 celebration piece kept my spirits up and sustained a sense of purpose during this time. I am thankful. Here's a peek.