“You should write the story about the time the tree fell on someone’s car in front of our old house,” Dicka said two days ago.
I replayed memories from four years ago, and the incident’s fuzzy details sharpened.
On August 15, 2020, someone had parked on the street in front of our Minneapolis home in Dicka’s usual spot, forcing her to park her Honda farther down the street. A storm blasted in and hurled a boulevard tree onto the stranger’s car, smashing its roof and shattering its windshield. Her car was spared.
The accident thrust me into contemplative mode, and other stories rolled into my mind.
The tornado of May 22, 2011, laid waste to our North Minneapolis neighborhood, its destructive fists slamming houses all around us. Our damage? The winds blew a lone shingle onto our front steps.
A stranger broke into our home on the night of February 28, 2014, while we were sleeping. Police later informed us the intruder had been unarmed while in our home and only wanted to steal from us and not kill us.
Leaving Beldenville, Wisconsin, on July 27, 2024, Husband drove the two of us west back to the Twin Cities and into the setting sun. At an intersection on 690th Avenue, he blew through a stop sign. A car, heading southbound, sailed past us, missing us by a breath. Husband’s phone trilled.
“We almost witnessed both our parents die at the same time,” Ricka said on the other end of the line from the car behind us she rode in with her sisters. “I would’ve needed counseling for the next ten years at least.”
Adrenaline whooshed through my bloodstream, and it took me more than a few minutes to normalize.
My life is fraught with evidence—with signs of repetitive rescue. I’m the recipient of deliverance, and I can’t make sense of the why behind it.
Some people see goodness in their lives and say, “I’ve done something right.” Or difficulties hit them, and they say, “I’ve done something wrong.”
No.
“Why was this man born blind?” Jesus’ friends asked him. “Was it because of his sins or his parents’ sins?”
“Neither,” He said. “This happened so the power of God could be seen in him.”
And He healed the blind man and sent him on his way, infuriating the religious leaders all over again.
And this is the way of it: a plan is assigned to each course, but we can’t know which way it goes until it does. Good comes, bad comes. I can’t figure it out any more than you can, but it’s the perfect time for faith.
I was blind too once, but now I see.
*Has My Blonde Life inspired or entertained you? If you wish to toss a tip into my writerly coffers, here's how you can do it: @Tamara-Schierkolk (Venmo) or $TamaraSchierkolk (Cash App)
*Names in this blog have been changed to protect my family, neighbors, and friends in the neighborhood, and in a nod of appreciation to the beloved Swedish author Maj Lindman, I’ve renamed my three blondies Flicka, Ricka, and Dicka.