I’m a college student from the Northwest. I’ve been in church my whole life and have always basically followed the rules. However, I went to Panama City, Florida with a couple of college friends for Spring Break and I have to admit that I set aside most of my convictions during that week and just went with the flow. I did several things that, if my parents or my pastor found out, they’d be horrified.

Now that I’ve returned, my own conscience is beginning to bother me but, at same time, I’m irritated about it. Why shouldn’t I be able to have fun for a week without having to feel guilty about it? Can’t I take an occasional vacation from God like I did from school?

Sincerely,
Mr. Spring-Break Student from Seattle

Dear Spring-Break,

As I was growing up, I only ever knew one person who was in a wheelchair. Lucy Emberley was a beautiful, blond-haired young woman who had a wonderful sense of humor and an infectious laugh. She also sang lovely solos at our church. It wasn’t until I was in my 40s and broke my leg, requiring several weeks in a wheelchair however, that I first became friends with Lucy and heard her story.

We were enjoying a lovely cup of tea on a rainy autumn afternoon and we sat there, the two of us, chatting over our knitting. She was working on an intricate argyle sweater in a blue, green, and grey pattern and I was fumbling over a simple red winter scarf. Lucy had just taught me to knit the month previous and during that teaching time, we’d become dear, dear friends—close enough, even, for me to ask her about how she ended up in the wheelchair.

“It’s a sad story,” she replied to my question with a smile, “but I don’t mind sharing it with you, Gabby.”

It happened, she told me, when Lucy was eight years old. Before the accident, she’d been an active girl, a tomboy really, playing hide-and-seek with her brothers and sisters in the woods behind her family’s home. “My favorite thing of all,” she said, “was running as fast as I could so the wind would stream through my hair, making it flow out behind me like it was magic.”

That magic was lost one evening when the family was taking an after-dinner drive through the countryside in their exciting new car—a Model T. “We were driving along, singing through all the verses of that song, ‘Froggie Went a-Courtin’ at the top of our lungs and laughing at my mom who was trying to pretend that the song was ‘scandalous.’ That’s probably why my pop didn’t see or hear the other car coming.”

She paused and I set down my knitting needles and reached for my cup of tea, taking a quick sip to fortify me for what I knew was going to be difficult to hear.

“The other car was supposed to stop. There was a stop sign on their side of the intersection. But the man was drunk and while he was being handcuffed and taken away, he told the sheriff that he really didn’t want to stop because it was too much trouble and because his car tended to stall when he stopped and he really just didn’t prefer to stop, just because there was a sign there. Who was the one who decided whether he should have to stop or whether he could go anyway, he whined to the sheriff. Besides, he added, he had always stopped at that stop sign in the past. But he didn’t always want to follow the rules. What fun was following the rules?”

“So what happened?” I asked.

“His car went right through the intersection and hit our Model T broadside, overturning it, and throwing me out just far enough that the car landed on top of me.”

“Oh my . . !” I said.

“‘Oh my!’ is right,” she said, her knitting needles still clicking away.

“Was anyone else seriously hurt?” I asked her, looking down at the red scarf appearing on the end of my needles and thinking of my friend’s blood.

“Thank God, no one else, including the man who was drunk, got anything more than scratches and bruises. But I…” she paused.

“You ended up paralyzed.”

“Paralyzed.” She smiled and shrugged. “It’s been so long that I’ve almost forgotten how it felt to run so fast that the wind made my hair flow behind me like magic.”

“Me, too,” I agreed with a smile, although my hair had never flown behind me because it was too curly and I’d spent my entire life trying to corral it. And I no longer ran like the wind because my knees were too old.

We sat there in silence for a few moments, our knitting needles clicking. Then Lucy sighed and said in a quiet voice, “I’ve spent almost my entire life in a wheelchair because someone didn’t choose to follow the rules just one time.”

Mr. Seattle, Lucy’s life story was what came to mind when I read your letter. And I have just one thing to say to you. Just like it’s never okay to run a stop sign, it’s never okay to take a vacation from God. Do you think He takes a vacation from you when He feels like it?

The drunk driver who stole Lucy’s mobility made a dangerous, one-time mistake. He could have died in that wreck. Lucy could have, too. You also, while you were “going with the flow” could have made a life-altering mistake that you’d never, in your whole lifetime, be able to fix. We’ve all read about the spring-break drunken accidents, the sexually-transmitted diseases that are exchanged, and even the deaths that come to someone who chooses to disregard their usual life rules for just one week each spring.

Sure it may be fun. I’m sure Lucy’s drunk driver was having fun. too, before he almost killed her. But is it worth it in the long run? Instead of considering the supposed fun, you might take a step back and reflect on the long-term consequences of such actions—not to mention the danger to your salvation.

I think, instead of a return trip to the beach, you need to consider a return trip to the altar, to see if God will forgive you for leaving Him for spring break. Maybe He’ll decide to meet you there, or maybe He’ll decide that He’s on vacation from you right now and how would that make you feel?

Think about it.

Sincerely Sincere,
Gabby

© 2006, ninetyandnine.com

----------