A Few More Minutes
A few weeks ago, my family had gone to visit our extended family, who live about two hours away. We have two older kids and a toddler, so the visit involved a lot of me chasing after the little one and not too much visiting.
By 6:00, I was ready to head home and put the baby to bed, and my husband was in the middle of a ping pong tournament with his brothers. They were playing in the basement while I wrestled the crabby baby and tried to get the children into their pajamas for the long car ride home.
I was getting irritated because I wanted to get on the road, and my husband kept asking for a few more minutes.
When we finally got into the car and got going, later than I’d wanted, I felt annoyed. The baby was overtired and the other kids would be up long past their bedtime.
But then, when we were on the last stretch before we got off the highway, we had to slow down, because up ahead there had been a horrible accident.
As we crawled past it, I started counting the cars. I lost track after ten. Ten plus cars scattered about the highway. Some in the ditches on the side, some facing the wrong direction in traffic, others crumpled up completely.
The accident was so fresh that the emergency vehicles were just starting to arrive and people climbing out of their cars, looking dazed.
And a horrible thought struck me, if we had been on the road minutes earlier, we could have been part of that accident.
So whenever things aren’t going my way, when the timing isn’t what I’d like, or we’re running late and I’m feeling aggravated, I remember that I’m not in control, and maybe it’s for the best.
Because my whole world was in that car that night.
And my husband asking for a few more minutes might have been the only thing that saved it.