VIRB

I don't blog. I don't journal. Hell, I rarely put myself out there in such a way as to give anyone the impression that I am even capable of emoting. But something happened to me today and I'm having problems processing it.

We had one of those Father's Day rides at a local church (all you post-modern-emerging-reformational types have my permission to substitute the word "church" for "faith community" or whatever else seems to be the terminology of the day...I've chosen to stop trying to keep up with all the changing verbiage.) Even before we started, I had one of "those feelings" (for my charismatic homies out there... my gift of discernment was telling me that something was amiss.) About an hour into the ride, on a mountain road, it happened. I watched my friend crash. It's one thing to hear about someone going down, it's another to hear of it happening to a friend, and entirely something else to see it happen. Beginning to end unfolded in front of my eyes and I was helpless. All I could is say "No", look for a place to safely pull my bike over, and run to check on my boy. I've ridden many hours with him, he's good, and it still happened. I don't think the specifics of "how" are important here, and the bottom line is that he's going to be OK. He broke his collarbone, a busted blood vessel in his ankle, and has a bike that's going to need some love in order to be pretty again. Fortunately he was wearing his helmet and leathers or else it could have been worse. A lot worse.

In the midst of all this I got to put on my "friend hat" while I sat and waited with him for his wife to arrive at the ambulance station. I also got to wear my "pastoral hat" as I prayed for him in the ambulance and tried, probably very poorly, to be a support for him and his wife. But mostly I've been wearing my "man hat", pretending I'm alright with the whole situation. I'm not. I wonder about all the things that could have happened. I wonder about the degree of worry my wife has every time I start up that gorgeous-beast-of-a-motorcycle I own. I wonder if the worry is warranted. I love my wife and my family. I hate staring at and acknowledging my own mortality. I hate that I'm sounding effeminate right now...

I hate blogging.