A Stranger's Blood

Someone once told me that she had received a phone call from someone who was crying, saying something to the extent of, “I just watched a young girl die.” Though I am sure the event did not look hopeful, the young girl had not, in fact, died—the young girl was me.

It was strange to hear about the crash from a stranger’s perspective. Considering I did not even recall my own perspective, it was impossible for me to grasp what it would be like to witness something so tragic. I hope that the experience I had today is as close as I ever get to understanding the feeling.

I was sitting in the passenger seat, the light was green, and we were making our way through the intersection. A car from the opposite side failed to yield, quickly turning left in front of us. The brakes were slammed, and a collision was avoided, but the other vehicle did not stop. I turned my head to follow its path, and what I saw next keeps playing over in my head—it cannot be unseen.

The vehicle struck an elderly man crossing the street. It was awful, and I could not grasp that it was really happening. It was so much worse than a scene out of a movie—it was real—and it required a response.

In the commotion, I missed how the vehicle got away, but the man was left lying in the middle of the street—yelling out in pain. Praise God, he was alive and conscious, but he was clearly hurting. Not knowing what injuries he may have incurred, I tried encouraging him to stay still, but he continued to demand being helped up. It was so hard to watch him struggle on the frozen road, when I wanted nothing but to help him and make it all better. I do not believe that there has ever been a moment that I have felt more helpless.

A nursing student showed up, so I listened to what he had me do. As I held the man’s arm, I hoped that he could feel even the slightest bit of comfort and care. Memories of my own inability to move proceeding the crash came flooding back, and I felt helpless as I acknowledged the powerlessness this man must have been experiencing.

The emergency team soon arrived to take care of the man and go in search of the vehicle that had left him there. An officer told me she would get me something for my hands—I had not even realized they were covered with the stranger’s blood. I was not bothered—just surprised. Everything happened in a blur.

Going home, I was tempted with so many regrets about what I could have done—and what I maybe should not have done. I felt completely unprepared for the situation, and it was frustrating; however, I know that God actively prepares us for every moment that comes our way. I had been so focused on what I was not able to do, that I missed opportunities to care for the gentleman in ways that are more familiar and specific to me. I cannot change what has already taken place, and I cannot map out how I will handle a different tragic event, but I can pray for all those who were involved and move forward.

For the past few years, hospital ministry has weighed heavily on my heart, and it was already on my to-do list this week to get involved at our local hospital. After today’s event, I do not think I could possibly avoid the urge to pray and spend time with those who are suffering in this way. And, in all moments, I hope to be better attune to the needs of others.

It is much rarer to witness the actual moment people receive an injury than it is to encounter them during the suffering that follows. They may have visible scars that point to the wounds, but often times they are not even of a physical nature.

How can we all be more intentional in making ourselves available to the people suffering silently next to us? They are the people God has intended for us to serve.