Earlier this week I had an interview for a scholarship. I was a finalist for a University sponsored memorial scholarship that would have paid my summer tuition. To the best of my understanding, the award was to be granted based on scholarship but more importantly character and friendship modeled after the amazing young woman it memorialized.
I entered the interview quite nervous, because let's be real, those are always awkward events. I was prepping myself to answer some cheesy question that can only be answered with a cheesy made-up answer. I hate these kinds of interviews so much - the competitive kind where the questions are dumb and not realistic at all and the answers are expected to make you stand out of the crowd, which requires talking yourself up, which I cannot stand to do. It's so fake and surfacey and dumb and it gives me anxiety.
So that's what I was expecting. And that's not what happened at all. The first question was a generic, "What made you want to apply for this scholarship?" I answered sufficiently and avoided getting cheesy about it. So far so good. The second question? "Can you talk to us a little bit about how you have done service in both the Catholic Church and the Mormon Church?" ...And after that, "What made you decide to become a Mormon?" ..... I was shocked to say the least. I repeated the question, trying to process the realness of it. Trying to figure out when this interview turned into a testimony meeting or a trial with my religion as the defendent. And then I answered it. Absolutely honestly and for real. Nothing cheesy about it. I didn't have to make up a thing or worry about how ridiculous I sounded.
I walked away from that interviewed confused as to how and why it took that course. I felt like I had been set up in some sense - that I had been pulled into that awkwardly and needlessly formal setting to be questioned about my religion. And some part of me felt like it was cruel to ask me such meaningful questions in a setting where the only rational response was criticism - where my answers drew a picture of me to use as a comparison to the other finalists and as a means to accept or reject me rather than as a search for truth and understanding. I felt using my answers was using and belittling me. They had fulfilled the purpose of their interview. They had "gotten to know me." But the scholarship didn't have anything to do with faith and that left no room for the realness of my answers to settle in to any of their hearts. And the shallowness of that situation left me feeling empty.... BUT, the realization of what had happened was also quite incredible.
I realized in answering those questions - granted not an ideal situation - that I had never been to an easier interview in my life. I didn't make up a thing or feel the need to impress anyone. They asked me real questions and I gave them real answers and I was confident in them and wanted them to listen. It was an unexpected situation for sure, but one that helped me to feel absolutely confident and blessed that I have an incredible relationship with my Heavenly Father and that I am rooted in truth. Their desire, even if fleeting and momentarily induced, to get to know me made me so grateful for the faith that is me.....and so grateful for the timing of things and the hand of God constantly in my life.
Because that had been a prayer of mine this week - that I would be able to see the hand of God in my life each day. And let me tell you, I saw it in a remarkable way last night. I went to the temple last night. I ironically didn't even realize it was my ward's temple night, which is super unusual for me. I found out on Thursday afternoon from a friend who was going for the first time. She wanted to know if I would come with her. She wanted me to be there to make her feel more comfortable. So I said I would without thinking. I had my last exam before Spring Break at 3:00 yesterday and for some reason I really didn't want to go to the temple after. I almost didn't go. My friend called me twice with nervous questions though, and I simply couldn't leave her. So I drove there. I felt strange all afternoon honestly, and I really had a huge desire to put on my sweatpants and just make dinner and be content with my roommate at home. I didn't want to dress up or talk to people. But I told myself that of course the adversary pulls at my heart about such important matters. It's counter-intuitive to even suggest that going to the temple could ever be a bad idea...
I went. I stayed in the chapel for a good 30 minutes after the session just praying. Perfectly at peace and perfectly content. I was in there alone and marveling at the blessing that was - to pray in the Lord's House and to have those deeply personal moments with Him. I remember reflecting on how easy it was to pray there and how many questions came to my mind and seemed to resolve themselves in the stillness. I wasn't in a hurry and felt no need at all to leave or to be anywhere else. Finally I did though. I walked back to the waiting room at the front and talked to a few stragglers from the ward before leaving. I got to my car, turned on my phone, responded to a text message and started driving. I stopped at the stop sign at the top of the hill and dialed home to talk to my mom. She picked up and I resumed driving. I was going slowly. I was listening to Paul Cardall's piano music and perfectly calm.
I turned down the road passing the Mormon Trail Center and was talking to my mom about Easter plans....and then I just remember a loud crushing noise and a weird shuttering impact. I screamed and I dropped my phone and the crushing noise was horrible. A large truck had flown through a random side street I'd never even noticed before. Two young guys inside had been drinking a bit and sped through a stop sign. They hit me. I didn't even see them coming. Their truck slammed into the driver's side of my car. The impact smashed into my hood. If I had been two seconds later, they would have slammed into my driver's side door - and into ME. I so easily could have died. So easily. The difference was a matter of seconds, maybe milliseconds even. I think I blacked out. I hit my knee on something but didn't notice anything else. I remember saying, "Oh no. Please help Heavenly Father. Please help. My mom. She's terrified. I need my phone." I wasn't thinking rationally when the impact ended. I didn't think about me or the fact that I was alive. I was searching for my phone and shaking uncontrollably when the driver of the truck appeared by my passenger side door. He opened it and told me to crawl out - that I could get out that way. I hadn't even realized my car and my driver's door were smashed up into his pick-up. I listened and craweled over. He looked at me and asked me, "Have you been drinking?" I was so stunned and confused by the question and he smelled like alcohol. I don't think I responded. But in my head I was screaming, "No. no. absolutely not. I just came from the temple. what is going on?" And I looked behind him and some nice man in a truck was there. I pleaded with him to tell me what was going on. He asked me if I was ok and said, "Honey, it's ok. It's ok. The guys in the truck ran a stop sign. You didn't have a stop sign. It's not your fault. You're going to be ok."
One of my friends appeared. He had left the temple five minutes after me. I had walked out with him but he had stopped to talk to a friend and was delayed long enough to come past the scene and to be my hero of the night. He completely took over for me. I was barely responsive and I sat wrapped in my library blanket in the back seat of my car while the cop filled out his paperwork and the tow truck was called and the details were worked out.
So many crazy things went through my mind sitting there. So many senseless things. I tried for a while to figure out why this would have happened. What the point was supposed to be. But my thoughts were just stuck on the concept of timing. I was two seconds away from dying - or at the very least horrible injuries. Instead I walked away with only a bruised knee and some form of whiplash. My airbag never went off. I didn't even have a scrape. My car was destroyed. The impact twisted the frame and the hood looked disastrous - the contortion of it extended all the way over into the passenger-side door that no longer closed smoothly at all. I miraculously was uncontrollably shaking, but fine. Alive and well.
And I'd seen God's hand in my life in a phenomenal way. And sitting in my shock and fear in that car, that interview question came back to me. "What made you decide to become a Mormon?" My answer was prayer. I told them that I asked Heavenly Father what He needed me to do and that I promised I would do it. And that I knew it would be incredibly difficult but that He would protect me.
And I thanked Heavenly Father in that moment, repeatedly in my shock, for protecting me. There was simply nothing else to do.
No comments:
Post a Comment