A History of Preservation – Oh Sweet Basil

I watched the arm come out the window of the car in front of me and normally someone would say, “Everything was blurry after that,” but not for me.

The times have indeed changed. The world slowed down and I remember every movement, every breath, every feeling as I watched a metal ball being hurled out the window right at me.

I didn’t want to duck, somehow knowing how important it was to stay calm and keep my focus, but somehow, as soon as that thought crossed my mind, someone else told me to bend my torso slightly to the right.

No scratch

The impact was deafening.

The glass was a raging storm of destruction. I later discovered that the glass, which we occasionally still find even after full detailing, had punctured my coat and sweater. I literally had to get it off my skin. How?! How is that even possible?

Still, I didn’t have a scratch.

I crossed a lane on the freeway, thankful there was a hard shoulder, and stopped.

The car rocked like we were in a wind tunnel as car after car sped past us, unaware of what we had just survived.

And at that moment, the windshield began to sag towards the dashboard.

The sounds of breaking and shattering glass as new cracks chased each other across the windshield, like a playground of children finally being released from the confusions of a classroom into the freedom of recess.

A small voice from the back seat: “Mom, what happened? I am scared!”

Not the first time

This wasn’t the first time my life had been spared.

In fact, with 3 kids, countless other stories to tell, and a future ahead of me, this is one of many stories I could and will tell.

And I guess that’s why I’ve been waiting to share it.

Blessed by a stranger

When I finally got to one of two police stations, I told them what had happened and that I was worried about driving, as the constant shattering and groaning of the glass indicated it was about to give way.

But the police insisted that I come to the nearest exit.

I slowly withdrew, grateful to be only two exits from home. I took the first one and drove the car to a gas station where a man immediately came to check on us.

The kindness of his instant attention to a stranger he saw walking in was heaven sent. Really. I see that and am grateful.

I was still

The only thing the police could do was apologize.

No license plate and no witnesses, we were on our own.

But amid the broken glass and chaos, I was silent.

Grayson too.

Unshaken by a tremor.

A History of Conservation

I know it would be a better story if we were chasing the punk who could have killed us by throwing that thing, but it was what hit me the next day that bothered me.

Why is my life a story of preservation? Why do these near-fatal disasters keep happening?

The shovel.
Hyperemesis gravidarum.
The New York hotel elevator.
The Chicago Basement (undivided story) and countless others.

It kept me busy for a good week as I brooded over this unsettling sense of vulnerability, like I was constantly trying to be destroyed.

My faith was most important

I am nothing wonderful or even good. I am flaws and weaknesses.


So many crazy experiences, but I’m always conscious of calm and preservation.

I can not explain.

You have to feel it to know it.

But I can be completely honest with you, completely transparent.

I am not.

I believe in that.

And I mean, my faith in Christ was more important than insanity.

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