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I have previously written about most, or all of my "almosts."
However, I am inclined to revisit the topic.
As I remember the year was 1968, and I was working as a laborer in the phosphate industry. I had offered two fellow laborers a ride home, and as we rounded a curve in the driving rain, on an old mine road, I managed to do a very realistic imitation of an action movie. My 1964 Ford Fairlane rolled three times before coming to a stop; wheels pointed skyward.
And then there was the time I was working at the same, (or perhaps a different phosphate mine), a year or two later. For lack of a better term, I was a Pit Car Man. I, and another fellow, (whose identity has long escaped me), would sit in, for lack of a better term, hydraulic trailer, and aim steel water nozzles at the phosphate feed, (or ore), which a nearby dragline deposited twenty feet in front of us. The water from our hydraulic guns washed the phosphate into a large pipe leading to the processing facility. From time to time, I would take a break, and walk over to the dragline to "shoot the bull" with the operator. However, on this particular evening, I was a bit careless, as I found myself walking across the sweep of the ten ton dragline bucket, and, unbeknownst to me, the "bigger digger" was on its way to "taking me out." Suddenly, the dragline operator noticed me in the darkness of the night, and went into emergency mode. Mr. Jenkins slammed his hand against a lever, and the bucket bumped against the curvature of the deep pit from which he had been digging. I was just seconds from "past tense." Needless to say, the operator gave me "what for."
I suppose it was about 1990, and we were driving home from church one Sunday in our 1980 something big green Oldsmobile. As we approached a stop sign on our right, a small blue car failed to yield. I could make out a man and his wife in the front seat. Peering at my wife and me from the back seat were a young boy and girl. My wife slammed on brakes! 50 feet. 40 feet. We were skidding towards oblivion for all that old Oldsmobile was worth! Six people were well on their way to the Promised Land! (Did I mention we weren't wearing seatbelts? We weren't). And it seemed that time slowed down, as if I had been granted the grace to ponder the best decision under the briefest of time constraints. Without so much as a thought, I knew, I just knew what to do. Reaching over with my left hand, I took the steering wheel away from my wife, and began to steer our vehicle to the right. And although the brakes were locking up now, our automobile had the slightest mobility of lateral movement. Now, we found ourselves passing behind the little blue vehicle, and the precious family therein, by all of 12 or 14 inches! However, what happened next might have rivaled the best carnival ride. For now, the front of our old car began doing a mind-boggling 180! By now, the offending vehicle had continued on its journey. (And given our juxtaposition, it was plainly visible out the front windshield)! We were skidding backwards at perhaps 40 mph, and couldn't do a thing about it. However, slowly, but ever so surely, we lost momentum, and came to rest in a grassy area next to the panel fence of a private home. The Lord had surely been riding with us!
About 15 years ago, I decided to cut back a tree which was hanging over my driveway. My neighbor's oak tree insisted on shedding pollen all over the concrete each Fall. Retrieving a long, aluminum straight ladder from my backyard, I walked it through my garage, and laid it down in the grass under the tree. After surveying the limbs that I planned to cut, I lifted the ladder, and propped it against an old, unused, wooden basketball post. Well, my friends, whoever said that "hindsight is always 20/20" was "onto something!" Although the square edges of the ladder, and the round lack of edges of the post were anything but symmetrical, I figured I would make it work. Whoever said, "almost is only close enough in hand grenades, and nuclear war" was also "onto something." I proceeded to climb the ladder, a handsaw in my right hand. I had climbed up five steps, and was at the height of about six feet when the ladder wobbled, and shifted to the left! I was falling; (and there wasn't a darn thing I could do about it)! My body was in the process of doing the Isaac Newton thing! Speaking of time slowing down, I once again experienced the same sensation. I had a choice to make, and the results of my choice would seal my fate; be it mild, moderate, or downright miserable. I could land in the face plant position, land on one foot, or land on two feet. I chose the latter of the three options. Having landed on both feet, I sensed an excruciating pain in my right ankle. Sitting down on the concrete, and not unlike Mrs. Fairfax in the Victorian novel, "Jane Eyre," I thought, "What to do? What to do?" Having arrived at a conclusion, I managed to crawl to the basketball post, and stand up on my left leg. Now, I hop-scotched to the front door; a space of perhaps 30 feet. Ultimately, after having the damage evaluated, and discovering I had powered the bones in my ankle, I submitted to surgery, a significant amount of plates and screws were embedded, and a fluorescent yellow cast was installed. I will spare you most of the details here, but a couple weeks later I was hobbling around the house on crutches, and my wife suddenly said, "What is that on the back of your calf; just above the cast?" Sitting down, I turned my calf so I could look at it. An almost black, valentine-shaped mole. (Well, my friends, it was definitely no valentine)! The color contrast between the cast and the mole had made the latter much more apparent. After a biopsy, I learned it was a deadly melanoma. Another surgery was the order of the day. Later, it occurred to me that had I not broken my ankle, and the subsequent fluorescent yellow cast not been installed, my melanoma might have never been discovered, it would have, no doubt, metastasized, and by now, I would not be among the land of the living!
Speaking of automobile accidents which almost, but not quite, happened, my wife was driving (again), and we were pulling out of a service station. A couple of cars were coming up from the left. Had it been me, I would have scooted on out, and gone about our business. However, my wife made the decision to let them go by; before pulling out behind them. Now, Jean and I made our way across a railroad track, and now about thirty feet in front of us, a utility truck stopped at a stop sign; perhaps rather too quickly, because now, a 20 foot long aluminum ladder sailed off the top of the vehicle, and across our line of sight! Grace, Grace, God's Grace! It occurred to both of us. Had my wife not stopped to allow traffic to go by, (or had I been driving), that ladder, and two aging travelers would have intersected, and the former would have entered the passenger window, and exited the driver's window, in turn decapitating each of us!
About seven years ago, I was serving as staff counselor at a residential center for women who had been newly released from prison. Our resident bedrooms were upstairs, and it was not unusual for me to assist our ladies with their personal possessions. A new house mother was moving in, and I grabbed her duffle bag, (the kind with strings, not straps), and I proceeded to climb the staircase. Unfortunately, I threw it over my right shoulder which left me holding the bag, and not the banister. Steps one through four. Check. Ninety degree angle at the landing. Check. Steps five through eight. Check. Now, however, it all (literally) began to fall apart! Either the bag was heavier than I expected, or my legs were weaker, but I began to lose my balance. The duffle bag went first. Off it went, and fell to the floor, below. I took a somewhat different route. I found myself falling backwards! Step Eight, Step Seven, Step Six, Step Five. Check. And whereas, I should have crashed, and come to a painful rest on the landing, I didn't! By now, I had gained too much momentum, and I found myself completing a reverse 90 degree angle. Check. I was only half done! Step four. Step three. Step two. Step one. Check. And now, and only now, I landed with a sickening thud on the ground floor. (Check)! Whereas, I should have been paralyzed, or dead, I was neither! Now, having heard my impressive 220 pounds "hit the deck," the house administrator appeared. "Don't get up! Don't get up!" But I did! Only the new house mother saw my calamitous fall. She told me later that it was the most violent thing she had ever witnessed.
What I have described to you here represents some, but not nearly all of my "almosts;" which God saw fit to grant to me during the course of my life. I cannot account for having experienced more "almosts" than some people might have experienced in five lifetimes. However, as I review the stories which I have previously shared with you, I notice that out of six accounts, four of the events can be attributed to abject carelessness. And the other two were simply circumstantial in nature, my wife was the primary party, and I was "just along for the ride." (Do we see a trend here)?
I plead guilty. I'm just a dangerous kinda guy! Always have been. (Hope, I won't always be). However, where does this leave us in terms of those among us who have not been blessed with even one "almost?" I simply can't account for it.
I think of my high school classmates who were deprived of long, satisfying, meaningful lives. One young lady, a minister's daughter, a person of potential. She was 60 seconds from home. A rainy night. Coming back from a date, her boyfriend turned into what he thought was the entrance to her subdivision; only to bottom out in a deep, rain-swollen ditch. The young man lived. My dear classmate didn't. "Julie" was only 17. She was not granted even one "almost."
The closest I have ever come to a possible "heads or tails" to it all is something I once read about the subject. Short of the person who knowingly takes unnecessary risks, or chooses to take their own life, I think one scripture, in particular, rings true.
"My times are in His hands." (Psalm 31:15)
In regard to the previous paragraph, given the disclaimers I mentioned, and import of this scripture, whomever philosophized about the topic said,
"When a young person dies, it was foreknown, and approved by the Creator, and it was simply their time. They had simply lived out their appointed days on the earth."
Somehow, it seems God has provided me, and many others far too many "almosts," and not nearly enough "almosts" to many others. There is something which rings so unfair about it. However, I think as long as we live here, we must be grateful for each new day which He has granted to us, and wait patiently for a better explanation; which may only be available on the other side of eternity.
by Bill McDonald, PhD
