Bearing witness

As we rounded a bend in Dixie National Forest in southern Utah two weeks ago, we saw that two cars had stopped on the shoulder and folks were hurrying over to where a third car was off the road in deep brush. It was facing the wrong way and some smoke was coming from under the hood. Despite that drama, I was focused on the silver van that had been tailgating for several miles through the winding 2-lane road as we climbed and then started descending a fir tree covered mountain.

On Saturday, I approached a busy intersection and saw volunteers standing in the middle of the street. Once I was close enough to read the orange lettering on their bright yellow t-shirts, I recognized the annual Knights of Columbus drive. As I turned right, I wondered if in this day and age, that type of fundraising is relevant or effective. That night, as my concert companion and I were walking the four blocks back to my car, after talking about the highlights of what we had seen and heard, our conversation turned to the topic of aging, walking and falling. And then, her foot managed to hit the crack in the sidewalk wrong, and down she went.

As I thought about these three experiences, I realized that it didn't matter so much if those volunteers passed out all of their tootsie rolls or raised signifiant funds. What was more important was that they were bearing witness, they were standing up to help those with disabilities. While I did not see the car go off the road, I will bear witness that I am still bothered that I could not safely stop to help. I feel like the character in the story of the Good Samaritan who hurried by the beaten and wounded. So, I utter thanks for those who did stop and hope there were no serious injuries. The other night, as my friend fell in slow motion and I was unable to intervene, no one else witnessed the accident. But soon a young woman walked up and asked if everything was okay. Here was one grey haired woman lying facedown on the grass and another kneeling next to her, so, no, everything was not okay. I said we were discussing calling 9-1-1, so she wished us luck and continued on her way. Unfortunately, there is a broken humerus involved.

I wonder if my tailgater even saw the accident or if the young woman from the other night has given a second thought to the incident. I wonder if the next time I - or you - have the opportunity to intervene, we will have the compassion, presence of mind, and even courage to act. I sure hope so.

Marilyn