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Saturday 15
November 2003
I was riding my motorcycle from home to the cinema today,
at about two
o'clock in the afternoon, when a four-wheel drive vehicle,
a bit smaller
than a Cherokee, approaching from the other direction,
indicated a right
hand turn and slowed down to make the turn.
For those of you in the US who drive on the right, the
situation was
parallel to someone approaching in the opposite direction
and signalling a
left hand turn, which as they turned would be across your
path.
Seeing that the 4WD had slowed, I assumed he had seen me,
so I continued on,
doing about 45 kilometres per hour (30 mph) in this quiet
suburban street.
To my horror, when I was about 50 metres (50 yards) away
the 4WD began to
make the turn in front of me as if I wasn't there. I
braked as hard as I
could and veered away from him, but had nowhere to go. I
got my speed down
to around 10 kph (6 mph) but still made contact with the
front of the
vehicle, my right leg hitting his front bull bar, my right
hand squashed
between his bullbar and the handlebar of the bike, and my
right pillion
foot-rest breaking off. The bike fell out from under me,
tipping onto its
left side, but fortunately I got my left leg out from
under before it did
so.
I gingerly stepped back, putting my right foot down
carefully and found that
I could stand on it and walk. It was hurting though. I
pulled up the right
leg of my jeans to have a look and found I had quite
severe scrapes on my
shin, with three bloody patches and purple bruising
already starting to
show. My right index and second fingers were also
bleeding. The driver
reversed the van and helped me pick the bike up and get it
to the side of
the road. "I didn't see you, I'm really sorry," he said.
"How could you not
see me?" I exclaimed, worried about my bike and about my
promise to meet
Annie, my partner, at the cinema. I tried to start the
bike but it coughed
and refused.
He said again "I'm really sorry. I wish I could hug you."
I looked at him.
"You can hug me," I said and he did. He was very grateful
I had not been
killed or seriously hurt. I burst into tears, and find the
tears flowing
freely as I write this now. I am grateful too. I told him
it was a miracle I
had not been seriously hurt and he said yes it was.
I got a lot of help. Someone from the nearby caravan park
(=trailer park)
called an ambulance, and brought me water and painkillers.
The ambulance
came and they treated the scrapes with the equivalent of
iodine. The cops
came and took statements. My friend Mal who happened to be
driving by
stopped and at the cops' insistence agreed to take me to
the local hospital.
The van park manager called the cinema and got onto Annie
just before she
went in (she even got a refund).
Yes, it was a miracle. You don't collide with a four-wheel
drive on
a motorcycle and walk away. That just doesn't happen. It
was as if I had
died and resurrected. I must have been a fraction of an
inch away from
having my leg snapped in two, and if I had been just a
millisecond slower in
my reaction time, it would have been all over. But to me
the real miracle is
the forgiveness I was able to offer to the other driver,
who was mortified
at what he had done and at the realisation that it was his
fault. When I was
about to leave with Mal and he said, "Can I have a hug for
me?," I gave it
gladly, telling him not to worry about me and that I would
be fine. He said
he would pay for the damage and gave me his details.
Even my forgiveness is a gift of grace, because on my own,
without divine
help, I would be very angry about having my motorcycle
damaged, missing the
movie, spending time waiting at the hospital and then
giving another
statement to the police, and the inconvenience caused.
Also I would be tempted to make it mean something. "I
caused this to happen
to myself so there must be something wrong with me." No!
Nothing I see means
anything, but has only the meaning I give it. I choose to
have a new meaning
written on it for me by the Holy Spirit. I am being
reminded that I am in
danger nowhere in the world, and that I am in God's care,
and that
forgiveness works.
I am virtually unhurt. After I had been treated in
hospital, and the wounds
dressed, Annie took me back to the bike and it started.
Since I was only
three minutes' ride from home, I decided to try getting
on. Painful, but not
bad enough to prevent me from using the footbrake. I rode
home safely, with
Annie following in her car.
Next, I wanted to see if I could still play the guitar
because I have
scheduled a recording session tomorrow in my friend's home
studio. My right
hand is my strumming and picking hand, fortunately, since
the damage to my
fingers would prevent me from applying pressure for
fretting chords. But
they can move just fine. I can do the recording tomorrow,
since I don't have
to walk to play the guitar. I'm limping a bit, probably
won't be able to
ride comfortably for a few days, but otherwise completely
intact.
So very grateful to be here telling you about this and
grateful for the
miracle of forgiveness on the roadside this afternoon.
Thanks for being here to participate in my thankfulness. I
love you all.
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