How It Feels

As English speakers, we tend to use a lot of superlatives. You're the best, we say to people who help us. That movie was the greatest, we remark casually to a friend as we leave the theater. These kinds of statements (which I am guilty of making) diminish our ability to convince people that we've really had a significant experience. It's like we're constantly the Boy Who Cried Wolf (or Wolfiest?)

Anyway, all of this is to say that I had one of the scariest experiences of my entire life a week ago.

I was driving with our new Partnership Intern, Katie, from our apartment to a house where we were house-sitting for a few days. The house is only a few streets away, and the roads are all familiar. It was about 10 p.m., and we had been out for a few hours (I had my hair cut) and had just picked up a bunch of Katie's stuff for the week. I was turning left at a darkened intersection when Katie gasped. It all happened quickly. I spotted the motorbike, slammed on the brake, and the moto crashed into the side of our car (an SUV). He had been speeding, without his headlight, and even now, he hit the car so fast and so hard that I can only recall a vague outline of his face. For a few long moments, I was afraid I had killed a man.

Praise the Lord that he got up. We could smell the alcohol soon after the crash; our windows were rolled down; this probably saved Katie and I from being cut up by glass when the side mirror came through the open window. There was blood and broken glass all over the road, and crowds were forming. I called a friend to come, and refused to get out of the car (or move it, as some passers-by urged me to do). In Cambodia, an accident can quickly turn into a mob scene, and I was incredibly frightened of what would happen next.

Turns out the driver and his passenger were in a gang, and shortly after my friend came, the rest of the gang rolled up on their motos, claiming that they had "caught the car who did it, and [we] wouldn't get away." Some police came (not the traffic police) and told me I could leave, but we had to wait for the insurance adjuster to come first. When he arrived, he told us it was too late to do any negotiating and we would have to wait until the next day. The car went to the police station to be evaluated, and my friend drove us home.

It's one of those circumstances where culture comes into play in weird ways. I know, in my head, that the protocol for car accidents is very different here. There are negotiations, and fault is not based on any kind of scientific measurements (no CSI here). Yet as we pulled away, I said, "I guess we pray for justice," thinking that we could pray that the police would see that it was not my fault and I would be cleared of responsibility. And my friend said, "Well, you have to be careful. That guy probably has no money and he's injured. It's his fault, but how will he pay for the damage to the car or his doctor bills?" I walked away unharmed, the car was taken away in the care of the insurance company. The guy I hit? No protection other than what the gang provides.

I felt awful in that moment. I felt awful for hitting him in the first place and awful for wanting it to be his fault. Awful that this kid (he was pretty young) was out late drinking and carousing with his friends when he should have been home sleeping. Awful that his parents would get a phone call that he was seriously injured. Awful that I had damaged a work vehicle. Just awful.

I've had to examine my motives since then. Do I want to be cleared of fault because I will feel less guilty? It was an accident. There was nothing that could have prevented it (on my side) and nothing about it can be changed. Is it so that the financial repercussions will be less? The insurance company has covered everything. And lastly, most convicting: Do I want to be cleared of fault because of my own pride? Do I want "justice" in order to maintain a good driving record and my own assurance of my driving skill?

I sometimes toss these words around, "justice," "equity," "fairness," because I think they are important, because they make societies run smoothly. But the justice I should be seeking is the kind that comforts the broken, the kind that provides for those in need. I shouldn't want justice because it makes me feel good, or look less guilty, or because of my reputation.

In the end, they said it was the other guy's fault. They also said that I turned improperly (not at a 90 degree angle). Since then, I've had to drive numerous times, and each time is scary and makes me feel vulnerable. I am more sensitive to the dangers on the road, more attuned to the fact that I am always a heartbeat away from injuring someone, from the circumstances turning on me once again.

But isn't that always the case? Aren't we always only seconds away from something going wrong? In Cambodia, on the crazy roads, the answer is yes. More and more, I'm realizing that we truly rest in the grace of God, in His protection. "For in Him we live and move and have our being," says Paul (Acts 17:28). It's true, that verse. So when our Cambodian driver today made us pull over and pray before starting our hour-long journey, I bowed my head, folded my hands, and said "Amen." And then I continued to pray as I rode nervously in the front seat, watching in fear as he narrowly avoided collisions, pedestrians, and ramming the car in front of us.