Today on my drive to a 3-day conference, I had just passed Willard when traffic came to a halt. Both lanes of vehicles that were just going 75-mile-per-hour stopped.
I looked at the clock, and looked ahead. I couldn't see anything. I hoped that we'd get moving soon, or I'd be late for my conference. I put the car in park, drumming my fingers on the steering wheel impatiently.
Five minutes passed. No one moved an inch.
Ten minutes passed. I've turned my car off now. No change.
And then a Life Flight helicopter landed. And my impatience vanished.
Oh, I thought, someone is really hurt. I sure hope they'll be okay.
And as I continued to sit at a standstill in traffic, I began thinking about these cocoons of steel that we hurtle down the road in at mind-boggling speeds. At any moment any of us are just moments away from disaster. Obviously someone ahead had experienced just such a moment.
It sobered me.
Was it going to be so bad to be a little late for my conference? No.
Would being impatient effect any change? No.
Would sending up silent prayers hurt? No. And, if nothing else, it would help me realize my own blessings and remain calm.
After 25 minutes, traffic began to move. As I inched by the accident scene, there was Life Flight, an ambulance, an extra-large incident vehicle, and numerous police cars. And off to the far right, through the barrow pit and through the chain-link fence and into a parked tanker truck was a mooshed red sports car. No one was near the decimated car. Instead, they were gathered some 20 feet away attending to someone unseen lying in the grass.
As I passed I said one more prayer for the driver and resolved to slow down and be more aware.