Fleeting

Estimated reading time: 4 minute(s)

On our way home from a night of re-stocking our cupboards, we came upon a line of stopped cars. It was very odd, and, from where we were we couldn’t quite see what was happening (or had happened), but it soon became apparent that an accident had just very recently occurred.

There were cars pulled off to either side of the road, and people out checking on the wellness of all parties involved. I rolled down our windows to assess the situation and see if assistance was required, and/or if we could actually be of any help (with our van full of groceries and very tired tiny people). As we passed one fairly smashed up vehicle, we could hear the driver crying: though not hysterically, she was definitely audibly shocked by the preceding events.

There were a half-dozen people around her, tending to her, with one man on a cell phone, so, being satisfied that she had enough aid, I continued forward. To our horror we saw on the opposite side of the road a fairly large fire coming from a vehicle that was completely engulfed in the flames. Those who were out next to the vehicle (whether they were the passengers or had arrived to the scene after the crash, we don’t know) all seemed fairly calm, despite the burning vehicle. We surmised—quickly at the scene, and then later down the road—that likely that meant the occupants of the burning vehicle were either safely removed, or it was much too late.

And this has me pensive tonight, as indeed I could see in the countenance of all our children. (Well, except the babies. They were just crying for want of sleep…) Life is so, so fleeting. Had we been to that very spot but a few minutes (at most) earlier, that may have been us in either of those two vehicles. We had been complaining (ok, again, perhaps I had been complaining) of many frivolous things leading up to our encounter with disaster: mostly tiredness, some incredulity at the rate with which money can leave our hands, and sundry other insignificant things.

But we may have been witness to the end of someone(s) lives tonight.

Again, upon further reflection, I said out loud to everyone in our vehicle, “Life is very different than they were expecting it to be tonight, the people in those cars.” All nodded. I commented to our oldest son as he was helping me unload, “That was pretty scary, wasn’t it.” He again, agreed with a hearty and thoughtful, “Yeah…”

One other thing observed tonight—in the positive—was how great we (people) are at responding to disaster and emergency. Complete and total strangers, whom I am certain had other things to get to (though, perhaps not) were stopped on the side of the road offering assistance, compassion, and just human comfort to people whom they may never see again: but treating them like family.

There is an amazing quality of our souls that shines brightest in disaster.

As I reflect on the scene once more tonight with you, I am simply struck by the fleeting nature of our days. Not just that we can die so suddenly, though that is certainly the main thought in my head. The title of this post is that word, “Fleeting,” because these moments that shape us come and go so quickly, and but for a slight change in time or place, our lives could be very different than they end up being. Whether it’s the hand of Providence or not (though I tend to believe it is, even in the allowance in this broken world for some great disasters, as somehow He is so great at bringing life and hope through and even from those) all I know is that it is so fleeting, so fragile.

So all we can do is live it: now, here, today. We never know what twists and turns we will face. We can’t know, and don’t need to. We know that God will go there with us (I will never leave you, nor forsake you). That in itself is quite truth enough. But we also have been placed in the lives of all those people we interact with every day (and, in reciprocity, they too have been placed in ours).

Moments like the one we saw tonight—some great, most really hard, really bad—remind us just how much of a speck our lives are on the timeline of eternity. Our very existence, so replete with richness and complexity, is equally so miniscule, and fleeting.

Don’t put off today what you think you may be able to do tomorrow. (I know I’m not the first to say that, but at the moment, I can’t recall who was…) Live life well today.