Three weeks ago, I was in my bedroom. It was a Sunday morning around 9:30 a.m. and
my mom sent me a text asking if I was home.
I would normally have been at church at that time, but I wasn’t. I don’t remember if my kids were sick that
week or if it was a battle with intense depression that kept me home that
morning. It doesn’t really matter. I was home, and immediately after responding
to my mom’s text, the phone rang.
She began to relay her story from the previous night. She and my step dad had driven to Idaho to
take some costumes to my sister. They
met in the middle to save them both the full drive. It was late.
My step dad saw a deer crossing sign flashing and mentioned it to my
mom. My mom was driving the speed limit going around 80 mph. She took her foot off the gas to slow her speed a bit. She noticed a car pulled
over on the shoulder of the freeway and changed lanes to give them room on the
side of the road. As her jeep crossed
over the center line, she realized what had happened. A huge moose had been hit and was lying
length-wise in the middle of the passing lane.
My heart started beating faster, my palms began to sweat and I wanted to scream or run or cry. My head started spinning and I had to pinch myself to see if I was dreaming. An internal dialog commenced as I continued to listen to the details of her story. “Okay. Just breathe, Maria. She’s on the phone talking to you right now. Don’t panic. Just listen. It’s okay. Everything is going to be okay.” My mom thinks there was probably 1-2 seconds from the time she saw the moose to the time they hit the moose. She knew she couldn’t swerve to try to avoid hitting the moose or the jeep would roll. She also knew she couldn’t run over it with one tire. She had to try to center it or they were going to roll. She put on her brakes, gripped the steering wheel and did her best to line up the jeep to hit the massive creature dead center. They were launched into the air, did a 360 turn and eventually landed on the road again. My mom described it as a reality version of Dukes of Hazard.
My heart started beating faster, my palms began to sweat and I wanted to scream or run or cry. My head started spinning and I had to pinch myself to see if I was dreaming. An internal dialog commenced as I continued to listen to the details of her story. “Okay. Just breathe, Maria. She’s on the phone talking to you right now. Don’t panic. Just listen. It’s okay. Everything is going to be okay.” My mom thinks there was probably 1-2 seconds from the time she saw the moose to the time they hit the moose. She knew she couldn’t swerve to try to avoid hitting the moose or the jeep would roll. She also knew she couldn’t run over it with one tire. She had to try to center it or they were going to roll. She put on her brakes, gripped the steering wheel and did her best to line up the jeep to hit the massive creature dead center. They were launched into the air, did a 360 turn and eventually landed on the road again. My mom described it as a reality version of Dukes of Hazard.
My heart skipped a beat.
My mom. My mother. My rock.
The one person who has been there for every major and minor event in my
life. My most trusted confidant. Memories flooded my mind. Angie and I preparing the best runaway plan ever contrived by an 8 year old, ready to escape the injustices of our middle class American lives. Our bags were packed and our matching banana-seat bikes were prepped to go. In her infinite wisdom, my mom inquired about the bags. “We’re running away and no one can stop us!” Without the slightest emotion or pause in her dialog, she replied, “Would you like me to pack you a lunch? I think you might get hungry on your journey.” Sigh. Really mom? Even running away isn’t going to rustle your feathers?
She’s compassionate. She’s nurturing. She’s full of wisdom. I don’t know a single person who does not
like my mother. Not one. To know her is to love her. Truly.
I remember having a nightmare when I was very young. It was so vivid, so realistic. I remember relaying the details of my dream
with all the drama and intensity my little girl heart could muster. I was in a swimming pool and a shark was
chasing me. I couldn’t swim fast enough
to escape. She listened and expressed
concern. And then…she empowered me. She told me that a dream is in my mind and
even though it might be scary or seem realistic, I have the power to change
it. My mind can turn that dream around
any way I decide. I hesitantly closed my
eyes and began the dream where it had ended.
Before long, I had visions of a powerful young girl who found her
courage, turned around to face the shark, punched him in the nose, and rescued
her entire family from utter destruction.
My mom was determined to teach me what I needed to know and
not leave me to my own devices. I
remember our first sex talk when I was about 9 or 10. She was sitting in the laundry room sorting
clothes and gave me a basic definition and understanding of the birds and the
bees while my wide eyes stared at her in horror, praying to be anywhere but
there. She followed up regularly with
updated bits of information she thought I was prepared to hear. I was always shocked and devastated and
wanted to escape, but she insisted on pushing through the awkward moments. There were several times in my
teens when friends whose parents were not nearly as open about answering
sensitive questions came to me knowing my mom would answer any
questions I had. I found myself avoiding
her when I sensed anything important was about to take place. So she got creative.
As a 15 year old with my learner’s permit, we headed out to log some miles in the big old van we affectionately referred to as “the bomb.” It was a beast of a vehicle and incredibly intimidating for a young teen learning to drive. I needed some practice on the freeway so we headed north on I-15. My mom directed me where to turn. Truth be told, she didn’t care. I was captive for at least an hour. It was nothing short of a hostage situation, and the stakes were high. She was determined to keep the lines of communication open between us even if I felt uncomfortable. We ended up driving down Sardine Canyon with the chaos of construction and shifting lanes to navigate. My mom was cool as a cucumber as I gripped the steering wheel tightly and prayed this was not a 20 mile long detour with no exit in sight. This moment? She chose THIS moment to tell me she thought it was time to have another talk about sex?
I knew the basics. I’d experienced the embarrassment of the 5th grade maturation program and aced my 8th grade health class, but apparently the time had come to have another talk. This one involved physiological details of the male anatomy. I’ll spare you the details as I prefer my blog not end up flagged as inappropriate. Seriously? Mom! Really? Can we PLEASE do this another time? NOPE! We had that talk right then and there with my blood pressure sky high as I carefully made my way through the life-sized obstacle course, bobbing from side to side with every turn up, over and around the orange barricades.
I smiled at the memories. My mom ALWAYS did what she felt was best for me despite my fears, frustrations or level of discomfort – a sign of a truly great parent.
As a 15 year old with my learner’s permit, we headed out to log some miles in the big old van we affectionately referred to as “the bomb.” It was a beast of a vehicle and incredibly intimidating for a young teen learning to drive. I needed some practice on the freeway so we headed north on I-15. My mom directed me where to turn. Truth be told, she didn’t care. I was captive for at least an hour. It was nothing short of a hostage situation, and the stakes were high. She was determined to keep the lines of communication open between us even if I felt uncomfortable. We ended up driving down Sardine Canyon with the chaos of construction and shifting lanes to navigate. My mom was cool as a cucumber as I gripped the steering wheel tightly and prayed this was not a 20 mile long detour with no exit in sight. This moment? She chose THIS moment to tell me she thought it was time to have another talk about sex?
I knew the basics. I’d experienced the embarrassment of the 5th grade maturation program and aced my 8th grade health class, but apparently the time had come to have another talk. This one involved physiological details of the male anatomy. I’ll spare you the details as I prefer my blog not end up flagged as inappropriate. Seriously? Mom! Really? Can we PLEASE do this another time? NOPE! We had that talk right then and there with my blood pressure sky high as I carefully made my way through the life-sized obstacle course, bobbing from side to side with every turn up, over and around the orange barricades.
I smiled at the memories. My mom ALWAYS did what she felt was best for me despite my fears, frustrations or level of discomfort – a sign of a truly great parent.
My mother. What
would I do without her? Just the thought
brought an ache so deep in my chest that I felt my heart might literally
break. But she was talking to me
now. She was on the phone with me. I shook my head back and forth to gain my composure. Okay.
I’m back.
My mom continued her tale.
She told me the one thought that kept going through her head was, “Don’t
overcorrect. Stay calm. DO NOT OVERCORRECT!"
The jeep landed and she held tight to the steering wheel, instinctively listening to the words echoing in her head. She didn’t move the steering wheel as they flew through the air and turned around completely. She held on tight and her body jerked forward as they landed hard, experiencing first-hand multiple laws of physics in action. She held the steering wheel and adjusted it ever so slightly as they landed, slid and eventually came to a stop. The jeep stayed upright. They were alive. They had survived.
The jeep landed and she held tight to the steering wheel, instinctively listening to the words echoing in her head. She didn’t move the steering wheel as they flew through the air and turned around completely. She held on tight and her body jerked forward as they landed hard, experiencing first-hand multiple laws of physics in action. She held the steering wheel and adjusted it ever so slightly as they landed, slid and eventually came to a stop. The jeep stayed upright. They were alive. They had survived.
Her story continues with heroic splendor. My mom kept her calm. She called the police to tell them about the
accident…and the moose. It was clearly a
danger to everyone. When all was said
and done, 10 cars reported accidents as a result of the moose in the road, but
there were zero fatalities. With an accident
involving a moose, that is rarely the case.
They were lucky. Or more
accurately, they were blessed.
The officers took them to the gas station down the road, and they shared stories with strangers now forever bonded together by a unique connection with a dead moose on the highway. The car who originally hit the moose started talking about the second car to hit it and how they watched in horror as the jeep flew through the air, spun around, landed and slid. My mom hesitantly replied, “Um, yeah. That was us.” The police officers turned to her in wonder. “Where did you learn to drive like that? How in the world did you manage to keep the jeep upright?” I couldn’t help but SMILE as I listened to this portion of her story. Yep! She’s pretty amazing! Just try to picture my cute mom in her silver jeep driving Dukes of Hazard style. The jeep lands, she realizes they are both okay and takes a deep breath. She proceeds to dial 9-1-1, reports the accident, informs them that there is a moose in the passing lane that needs to be removed and then sits and waits for the police to arrive.
As much as I admire my mom and her super human abilities, she is but a mortal. It would be foolish and prideful not to acknowledge divine aid that was clearly an integral part of this experience. The words, “…I will be on your right hand and on your left, and my Spirit shall be in your hearts, and mine angels round about you, to bear you up…” echoed through my mind (D&C 84:88). Yes. That’s EXACTLY what happened.
The officers took them to the gas station down the road, and they shared stories with strangers now forever bonded together by a unique connection with a dead moose on the highway. The car who originally hit the moose started talking about the second car to hit it and how they watched in horror as the jeep flew through the air, spun around, landed and slid. My mom hesitantly replied, “Um, yeah. That was us.” The police officers turned to her in wonder. “Where did you learn to drive like that? How in the world did you manage to keep the jeep upright?” I couldn’t help but SMILE as I listened to this portion of her story. Yep! She’s pretty amazing! Just try to picture my cute mom in her silver jeep driving Dukes of Hazard style. The jeep lands, she realizes they are both okay and takes a deep breath. She proceeds to dial 9-1-1, reports the accident, informs them that there is a moose in the passing lane that needs to be removed and then sits and waits for the police to arrive.
As much as I admire my mom and her super human abilities, she is but a mortal. It would be foolish and prideful not to acknowledge divine aid that was clearly an integral part of this experience. The words, “…I will be on your right hand and on your left, and my Spirit shall be in your hearts, and mine angels round about you, to bear you up…” echoed through my mind (D&C 84:88). Yes. That’s EXACTLY what happened.
I tried to say something, but I was speechless. Other than a few weak attempts at humor acknowledging
a potential career as a stunt driver, I didn’t say much of anything. I tried.
My thoughts bounced like a ping pong ball from past to present to future
and back again, but I could not find words to describe it. What was I
thinking? What was I feeling? Is this really happening?
We finished the conversation with a small discussion about her thoughts for canceling the birthday dinner she had planned that night with the family. “We didn’t get home until after 2 in the morning and I didn’t have time to shop. Plus, I think I may have injured my shoulder. I don’t know if I’m just sore or if maybe it’s out of the socket or something from gripping the steering wheel so hard when we landed. It kind of jerked my arm when we hit the ground. I think I might need to take some Motrin and see how I feel tomorrow.” Oh my goodness! Just the idea of her logic and apology over needing to cancel dinner makes me laugh. "Yeah, mom. I’m pretty sure it’s okay to postpone a family dinner when you are involved in a traumatic car accident in the middle of the night."
We finished the conversation with a small discussion about her thoughts for canceling the birthday dinner she had planned that night with the family. “We didn’t get home until after 2 in the morning and I didn’t have time to shop. Plus, I think I may have injured my shoulder. I don’t know if I’m just sore or if maybe it’s out of the socket or something from gripping the steering wheel so hard when we landed. It kind of jerked my arm when we hit the ground. I think I might need to take some Motrin and see how I feel tomorrow.” Oh my goodness! Just the idea of her logic and apology over needing to cancel dinner makes me laugh. "Yeah, mom. I’m pretty sure it’s okay to postpone a family dinner when you are involved in a traumatic car accident in the middle of the night."
I hung up the phone and just sat and stared at the
wall. It was so much to process. “Thank you for keeping my momma safe, Lord!” Tears streamed down my cheeks. I sat in silence. And like a broken record, the words so
clearly spoken to my mom repeated over and over in my mind, “Do not
overcorrect. Do not overcorrect.”
I love stories. I
love analogies. I devoured the scriptures last year as I
taught parables spoken by the Savior in the New Testament to 10 and 11 year
olds. I love the simplicity of such
stories and yet the continued LIGHT and KNOWLEDGE that come from studying and
pondering them over a lifetime. The Lord
speaks to me in a similar manner.
As the words, “Do not overcorrect” swirled through my head, I immediately saw myself in this story. The past three months have been extremely difficult, possibly the most difficult extended period I have ever experienced in my life. And now I saw my trials through the eyes of the driver of the jeep. I was behind the wheel. I was obeying the law. I was appropriately cautious. I saw the sign warning of deer and moose and slowed my driving accordingly. I changed lanes to make room for a car stopped along the side of the road. And then I saw the gigantic obstacle in my path, fully aware there was no way around it. I could not swerve and avoid it. There was no time to stop. I had to grip the steering wheel, center the jeep and allow myself to hit the moose. I flew through the air, spun around until I was dizzy, and landed hard and rough with the momentum of a 6th grade science experiment gone awry.
I wish I could say the moose analogy currently finds me at the gas station with a grin on my face as those around me comment on my incredible driving skills. I’m not even sure I can tell you what part of the analogy I am currently experiencing. It seems that unlike my mom’s real life experience, the moose analogy finds me flying through the air, spinning and landing hard and rough over and over again. The words that likely saved the life of two people very near and dear to me echo in my own mind as I ponder this analogy: “Don’t overcorrect. Do not overcorrect.”
This is not one of those trials that happens over the weekend and you are able to move on with a fist bump and a smile. It is proving to be a much longer trial of intense proportions. One of those fall-to-your-knees, sobbing hysterically, hoping you remembered to feed your kids that day, talking to yourself in the car on the freeway kind of trials. It’s hard! I’m not going to pretend otherwise. I barely make it through the day more times than not. I see the wisdom. I catch a glimpse of God’s purpose and plan in all this chaos. But the reality of this experience is less than glamorous. Learning is uncomfortable. Personal growth is painful. And scary. But I’m beginning to believe that like the car accident, surviving this moment in my life may actually be possible.
As I am metaphorically launched through the air, spin around and come crashing down over and over again, I remind myself again: “Don’t overcorrect. Stay calm. Don’t panic. Make minor adjustments as necessary. DO NOT OVERCORRECT!”
As the words, “Do not overcorrect” swirled through my head, I immediately saw myself in this story. The past three months have been extremely difficult, possibly the most difficult extended period I have ever experienced in my life. And now I saw my trials through the eyes of the driver of the jeep. I was behind the wheel. I was obeying the law. I was appropriately cautious. I saw the sign warning of deer and moose and slowed my driving accordingly. I changed lanes to make room for a car stopped along the side of the road. And then I saw the gigantic obstacle in my path, fully aware there was no way around it. I could not swerve and avoid it. There was no time to stop. I had to grip the steering wheel, center the jeep and allow myself to hit the moose. I flew through the air, spun around until I was dizzy, and landed hard and rough with the momentum of a 6th grade science experiment gone awry.
I wish I could say the moose analogy currently finds me at the gas station with a grin on my face as those around me comment on my incredible driving skills. I’m not even sure I can tell you what part of the analogy I am currently experiencing. It seems that unlike my mom’s real life experience, the moose analogy finds me flying through the air, spinning and landing hard and rough over and over again. The words that likely saved the life of two people very near and dear to me echo in my own mind as I ponder this analogy: “Don’t overcorrect. Do not overcorrect.”
This is not one of those trials that happens over the weekend and you are able to move on with a fist bump and a smile. It is proving to be a much longer trial of intense proportions. One of those fall-to-your-knees, sobbing hysterically, hoping you remembered to feed your kids that day, talking to yourself in the car on the freeway kind of trials. It’s hard! I’m not going to pretend otherwise. I barely make it through the day more times than not. I see the wisdom. I catch a glimpse of God’s purpose and plan in all this chaos. But the reality of this experience is less than glamorous. Learning is uncomfortable. Personal growth is painful. And scary. But I’m beginning to believe that like the car accident, surviving this moment in my life may actually be possible.
As I am metaphorically launched through the air, spin around and come crashing down over and over again, I remind myself again: “Don’t overcorrect. Stay calm. Don’t panic. Make minor adjustments as necessary. DO NOT OVERCORRECT!”
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