The Tangled Split-Second Crash

{ Cycling the Rails to Trails bike path with Ron, minutes before the crash }

It happened in a split second.

First, I was happily peddling down the bike trail, veering a little too close to my husband’s handlebars — the next moment I was in an ambulance, sirens blasting down the freeway.

After our handlebars locked, we went down hard. Ron untangled himself then bent over to help me up. Except I wasn’t there. My body was there — torso twisted in an unusual way, arms and legs deeply scraped up, hands clenched tightly. My eyes were rolled back, vacant. Kind of freaked him out.

First time I’ve ever experienced a concussion or broken bone. Ironically, it’s also the first time a week on my calendar has been clear for the past, oh, 30 years or so. Coincidence??

God and I both know that I need to slow down. Apparently, it was on one of our ‘To-Do Lists’ to allow that to happen this week. He also seemed to be happy to begin knitting my skin and bones back together again.

Contemplative prayer is the perfect thing to practice after you get a concussion … no visual, no audio, no intellectual input. Straight to the heart.

In the fog, it’s a little easier to focus on the Jesus Prayer. Distractions don’t seem to come as fast and furious as with a clear mind. I wonder if this stripping away of compelling thoughts will be an added feature of praying in old age. If so … bonus!

I don’t use the word ‘Perfect’ lightly. But I just realized that the constant ‘turning back’ to stillness in contemplative prayer teaches us this important life lesson.

Returning to contemplative prayer over and over again is both a metaphor and actual practice for our minute-by-minute return to God in our lives. A choice that becomes more natural the more you do it. Prayer is like a microcosm, a distilled sample, of rooting our whole lives in God.

Prayer teaches us how to BE with God. The Philokalia explains,

St. Basil the Great says, ‘Good prayer is that which brings about a distinct sense of God in the soul. This is God dwelling within us, when through our mindfulness of Him He is rooted in us and when the continuity of such mindfulness is not interrupted by worldly concerns, nor is the intellect disturbed by unexpected passions, and when by shunning all things in our love for God we take refuge in Him.1

Through our mindfulness of God, we can give thanks in all things. In this way, we take refuge in the God who dwells within us. We can sense God in our soul.

Whether going through our normal, busy week or experiencing an unexpected slow-down in our days, we can continue to grow our relationship to the God who knit us together in the first place.

As the Desert Fathers say, “Go sit in your Cell and your Cell will teach you everything.” Sometimes it helps to be wearing gauze bandages and an arm sling.

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Q: Where do you go to ‘sit in your cell’?

Spark: Set aside time for extra contemplative prayer this week (no crash required!)

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