Scar on a Tree. Scar on a Heart. Pt. 1

As I was peddling my bike down the sidewalk in the wee hours of the morning a couple days ago, I chanced upon a one vehicle accident. I saw the police cars first. At least their flashing red and blue lights. And as I got closer, I noticed the car. It has come to rest at (what appeared to me to be) an unusual 90 degree angle to the street, and was wedged against a 10 or 12 foot oak tree, and a steel barred fence which surrounds a gated community. 

While the vehicle was upright, the front bumper was lying on the ground, and the passenger side doors were flung open. A couple of sheriff deputies stood in the street talking. And I surmised that the occupant of the car had either passed away, and they were waiting on a hearse, or that he or she had already been transported to the hospital. 

I later learned that the accident occurred about 130am, (I passed by about 430am) that the young lady was alone in the vehicle and headed west on SR 540, that her name was ‘Morgan,’ that regrettably she was only 23 years of age, and that she had lived in my neighborhood of perhaps 250-300 homes. 

While the investigation is ongoing, there is no evidence of the use of substances, and she was wearing her seat belt. It seems she somehow lost control of her vehicle, drifted across a couple of parallel lanes to her right, and slammed into the tree and fence. Although, the front and side airbags deployed, it was simply not enough. She was rushed to the hospital, but succumbed to her injuries.

Last night as I once again pedaled that same pathway, I stopped by the scene of the accident. Although it was dark, I could make out a 10x10 space where the fence had been, the tire marks in the grass, several bouquets of flowers, and a large scar on the tree. Evidence that something unexpected and traumatic had occurred here.

A precious young lady who had her whole life before her. Taken from time and into eternity, and rudely deprived of her potential.

One dear saint whom I have come to know and love offered a small commentary on the unexpected passing of her own dear daughter. 

“She was simply done. It was her time. God was through with her here.”

But for all the words, and phrases, and attempts to reconcile untenable circumstances and the resulting pain, the scars which linger on the hearts and minds and psyches of those who are left behind are as present, and deep, and abiding as that scar on the tree ever was; while the wound within remains largely invisible and almost impervious to touch. There’s a phrase in the volume and movie, “Jane Eyre” which speaks to the impact life exerts on God’s creation.

“Your wounds are sad to behold, but you are not your wounds.”

And yet, at such a time as this, the woundedness is almost impossible to contemplate or behold, and in spite of the previous quotation, those who have been so outrageously impacted too often become their wounds.

Thankfully, there is a grace that is bigger than our circumstances or ourselves, and many have found it, and have experienced the wherewithal which comes with the Giver of grace, the passing of time and the perspective of healing. 

(To be continued) 


 By William McDonald, PhD. From (Mc)Donald's Daily Diary. Vol. 43. Copyright pending

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