Reminders of Mortality and Lack of Control

On Saturday, my father was out hiking with some friends when he was struck by lightning. When they started, the sky was a cloudless blue. Once they saw the storm approaching, they turned around and headed back to their car. Lightning was on the other side of the mountain they were scurrying down when, suddenly, a bolt hit Dad, throwing him and a friend ten feet. Dad landed upside-down in a tree and his friend hit his head on a rock.

Dad survived with minor lacerations, singed arm hair, an entry wound on his left shoulder and exit wounds in the forms of a heat blistered thumb and sore on his foot. His friend was airlifted to a hospital and is in ICU.

When my husband received the call from Dad that he'd been hit by lightning, it took me a couple minutes to fully process that he was okay, or he wouldn't have been able to call. Since the incident Saturday, I've been surprised how it's shaken me and reemphasized my lack of control over life and death.

In the past two years, loss and near tragedy have been consistent companions. Isabella died, Mom killed herself, my sister had a miscarriage, Dad was diagnosed with cancer (now in remission), then he was struck by lightning.

I could also say that grace and friendship have characterized that same time period. My relationships with friends deepened in the vulnerability following Isabella, new friends came into my life because of her life and death, my sisters and I are the closest we've ever been, our son delights us constantly, we can walk beside others in their sorrow after experiencing our own, and we appreciate life in ways only possible through suffering.

I like to feel in control. Yet,I have no control over storms. No way to impact whether they hit those I love. I could not heal my daughter's body after it was deprived of oxygen. Not could I change Mom's brain so it was not riddled with amyloid proteins.

In the midst of so much out of my control, one of my first thoughts is the adage that I can "control my reaction" to situations. I can also trust "that all things work together for good to those who love God, to those who are the called according to His purpose.” But what does that look like, practically?

Right now, it means seeing God's grace in saving my father's life, praising God for it, and intentionally engaging with Dad for as long as he's alive. It's walking beside other families who trudge the roads of suicide and infant death, knowing the strength that comes when someone just holds your hand in the devastation of loss. It's continuing to acknowledge my fear that more pain is on the horizon yet giving that anxiety to God again and again. It's getting up and looking for the joys of life, particularly while recognizing that this life is fleeting. It's delighting in cradling my infant son while missing my daughter. And praying that lightning not strike my family again soon.