Chalk Lines

It's been a busy summer...and the blog has gone on the back burner. I've enjoyed time reading other's blogs and loving on my family! :)

About two and a half months ago, I left home headed to work. I left a few minutes late since I was hugging and kissing some cute little boys at home with Daddy before I headed into the office. As I drove the familiar county road and ended up at the stoplight I come to everyday, something was very wrong. The stoplight was working...but no cars were crossing the intersection. I was in the right turn lane about to turn when I saw it...a horrible wreck across the intersection. A pick up truck with its front end smashed and a few seconds later, I saw the motorcycle on the ground. My pulse quickened, my stomach knotted, and I knew it was time to act. You see, I was the first one out of my car...not an ambulance, not a police car...nothing but cars and people in shock and panic and one lonely victim lying painfully still on the ground.

Jumping from my car, running across the pavement in my dress khakis and snakeskin flats, I came over to the accident and the image will forever be ingrained into my mind. A woman...with her backpack on, her helmet on had been thrown from her bike landing quite awkwardly and without any movement and without a pulse. As the words, "Oh... my... God" rushed from my lips as a prayer, another woman came up behind me. She was an ER nurse and with myself as a nurse practitioner with a trauma background, we quickly began to figure out together what we needed to start doing. The next man on the scene - an off duty paramedic. While the other bystanders called 9-1-1...we started working to try to save her life.

The paramedics arrived quickly and took over and continued working on her en route to the hospital. With the help of the newspaper, I found out she did not make it. Her life was cut short at that intersection that Tuesday morning.

I went on to work that morning while the police worked to figure out the accident. When I came back home for lunch, the site was clear and the street had been hosed down. The blood and all other evidence there was ever a crash was gone...

It wasn't until a few days later driving past the same intersection, I noticed new marks on the ground. Spray paint marking the outline of the vehicles involved...unnoticeable to those who didn't know.

It's been months, but I still think of her face every time I pass the intersection and I see the outline reminding me what happened. As a nurse, I've seen death...but it doesn't get any easier.

God keeps speaking to me through it...and I finally have the words to put down what He is teaching me.

You see...we all have these marks on our lives. Points in our lives that are forever marked by small marks on the pavement of our lives. Marks that may or may not be visible to others. But we know...

What are these marks?
Death of our dreams or desires
complete surrender of our lives
(insert your own...)

Maybe our marks signify the death of our former selves and we cloak ourselves with the righteousness of Christ...there are some people that are left wondering what happened, trying to figure it out...

Whatever your mark is...hold fast that Jesus doesn't forget your marks...He carries His own from the life He lived and gave for us.

Until the next MOMent and mark...
Rachel