Crash: (n) noisily breaking into pieces

 Each and every one of us is the survivor of a crash.

Ironically, most of us don’t exactly remember the point of impact. It is not the horror of the event that strikes terror in us. It is the aftermath that haunts our souls.

The treatment.

The recovery.

The lingering, chronic pain.

The unanswered questions.

The insecurity that such a disappointment could happen again.

We become protective. We look on ourselves as foolish because we were gliding along, believing everything was just fine, when we were speeding our way to a disaster.

So we slow down. Caution becomes our nature.

But worst of all, suspicion makes a home in our hearts. We are no longer free to love without having a questionnaire in our minds, needing to be filled out by those who would apply to be our friends.

We are damaged.

We’ve been given insurance—maybe even a measure of assurance. But the crash has left us leery, frightened to freely embrace, interact, experiment or give of ourselves quite as easily again.

So we not only miss opportunities, we turn our blessings—which have been with us for many years—yes, we turn them away at the door in anxiety that they might bring in dangers.

Once the crash has occurred, once the human being has been startled—whether emotional, spiritual, mental or physical—the rest of the journey is about regaining the childlike heart that allowed us to run breathlessly, without intimidation, before we were so rudely interrupted. 

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