One day in the spring of 2002, I had a very tedious day at work. I was shot, really worn out. I worked up Big Cottonwood Canyon in Salt Lake City and had to drive 40 minutes home. One section (on I-80 West headed to North I-15) I needed to drive a narrow one lane road which curved and was surrounded by concrete barriers. I must have been a little distracted as I started to veer off the left side of the road and hit some gravel. I thought I could quickly regain control of my Ford Taurus but I was wrong.
My car and I soon became a human pinball. My car hit the left side of the concrete barriers, then hit the right side of the concrete barriers, then hit all four corners of my vehicle as I rotated and turned. When my car came to a stop, I soon realized that I was facing the wrong direction. Upcoming cars would not be able to see me until it was too late. I said a prayer and discovered that the only way out was a three-point turn. I anxiously and quickly maneuvered and pulled over to a small space on the right-hand side. As soon as I did this, several cars whizzed past me. If they had come a moment earlier, I wouldn’t be writing this blog now.
I thought about what I could learn from being a human pinball. You might be surprised. I already knew the obvious, that I’m supposed to be alive and that I have a purpose in this life. I was going through serious trials, as usual. But this was the lesson I learned. My trials are like dings in a car. Like my car, I may get dings in this life but I’m still alive and okay. It's just a ding. It can be fixed. I don’t need to sweat the small stuff. I may barely miss being taken out of this life but I’m going to make it. Perhaps my trials are really as small as pinballs in the grand scheme of things.
