Sometimes we are just in the right place at the right time. That extra minute that we wait may be the difference between saving someone's life or witnessing a miracle. One late fall day when I was driving home from work on the country roads I know so well, I watched a car coming towards me in the opposite direction lose control. It would swerve severely to avoid the pebbles on the side of the road, overcorrect, roll over numerous times in a steep culvert, landing right-side up over 50 yards from the road into a recently harvested corn field. The rocks from the shoulder of the road bounce off my windshield as I pull into the neighboring farmhouse driveway to gain my composure. I have two choices. Keep going, hoping someone else will stop, or go help. I was the only one around, so I knew what I needed to do.
Picking up my cell phone, I dialed 911 and gave the address of the accident, as I am running, dress shoes and all, through the muddy field towards the now stationary vehicle. As I am running, my mind goes to, "What if the driver is dead? Or dying?" "What will I do if there's nothing I can do?" The answer to these questions didn't matter. It was like I was on autopilot. I just ran, not knowing what I was going to come upon. I knew I had to help no matter what.
The windows of the small compact car had been blown out and the now dazed driver is sitting with one shoe missing in the driver's seat with the door open, in the mud. She is wearing an apron and a name tag that is indicative of a waitress from a local restaurant. She was shuffling around the car looking for her cell phone and speaking about how she was going to be late for work. The contents of her car were strewn about the empty cornfield, with clothes, boxes and windshield glass scattered. As her hands shook, I got down on her level, looked her in the eye, and reassured her that everything was going to be okay. Cars and phones can be replaced, but people cannot. She did not have any bleeding and she had not lost consciousness. I asked her to just stay with me, and reassured her that everything was going to be alright. I found her a sweatshirt, and we would just cover her shoulders and lap and ask her about her family. Soon after, the Sheriff arrived and I was on my way, assured she was going to be alright, in safe hands.
Leaning into the discomfort is often this same process. I never really understood what that meant until I realized that running to that car was leaning into the discomfort. Heading toward a disaster without knowing the outcome. Having a trusted counselor can help you to unpack the pain. A confidant that can be that light in the darkness when we feel like our shine is fading, to ask us if we are okay and to offer a blanket when we are cold. Don't be afraid to lean into the discomfort. I will be there to support you.