Definitions

I want to stop right here for a moment and explain some things. This is not a pity party. Never has been. And its not me shopping for your sympathy. Was it a horrible thing that happened? Yes, and you can feel that way because it was. But don't do the "you poor thing" routine.

Was it hard? Yes.

Did it change me? Yes, but it changed everybody, not just me.

Was it a defining moment in my life? Yes, but it was "A" defining moment, not "THE" defining moment.



Pick up any dictionary and look up virtually any word. What do you find? Various uses and definitions. Change the context or the language and the definition changes. My point is, we are not "one definition" beings. At least we shouldn't be. People should have many defining moments in their lives. That's what helps us change and grow. If you are stuck with just one definition of who you are, you might want to re-evaluate some things. If you are that same teenager or little kid that you use to be, you're not growing. If you are the same parent that you were when your child was born and now your kids are grown, you're not growing. If your relationships with people are exactly the same as they were when they were new, you're not growing.

This is even more true for Christians. If you are the same exact "Christian" you were the moment you became one, you're not growing.

Don't get me wrong, you're "definitions", if you will, stay with you. How often you choose to use them, in what context you use and why you use a particular one is up to you. If you choose to use the same one over and over again, no matter the situation, it's not always going to work out the best. In other words, don't use them as excuses. They may help explain why you are a particular way in certain circumstances but don't use them as excuses for your behavior.



What makes a defining moment? It can be anything that changes your perspective, your attitude, your well being, anything. This moment changed my perspective. I saw people differently. In fact, in some instances, I saw people, really saw them, for the first time. This was true with my family.



My dad was, well...strict? stern? not sure how to some it up. Let's just say he wasn't one of those touchy-feely people. Not that we didn't know that he loved us, he did and we knew it. You just always approached him with cautious respect when you were in trouble. He was (and still is) fairly funny though you can't encourage that kind of behavior, especially when you are a teenager because parents just look for ways to embarrass you. I don't know about my siblings but I thought he was kind of tough too. You know, like that whole "my dad can beat up your dad" thing. I remember listening to him sing in church one time and thinking, "I've never heard John Wayne sing, but I'll bet that's what it would sound like." Ok, that's probably not a compliment to his singing voice but you get the idea.

Anyway... up to this point I can only remember ever seeing my dad cry one time, when my great-grandma died. I was in my full teenager mode when it happened, cynical, not fond of most adults and questioning everything that I could. I remember it struck me as strange. The two of them, at least from my perspective, had fought, a lot. Maybe "fought" is too strong a word but I always thought he was kind of hard on her. If she had frustrated him so much, why is he so upset now? Of course I would understand later that he had, in fact, loved her tremendously. He was just honest with her, wouldn't get sucked into her "woe's me" drama and tried to push her to be better.

My dad cried after the accident and seeing him cry was hard because I felt responsible. He stepped up and took care of some things that my in-laws couldn't face. He didn't have to do that, but he did. I saw him differently after that. He wasn't just the wall you had to get through to get what you wanted. He was vulnerable.



I saw my sister a little differently too. The nosy, always in my business, little sister that cried if you looked at her sideways stepped up. She knew who my friends were and took on the task of calling them to let them know what happened. That's a serious job, having to tell the story over and over again. He had adored her, maybe he had seen some of this before that I had ignored because she was "just the little sister".

I don't remember much about the first few days after the accident. Just little pieces here and there. I remember sitting on the bed, my brother and sister sitting there too. I don't remember any body saying anything. Just sitting. I don't remember if I was crying or if I was in between bouts, but we just sat there, not saying anything. There was nothing to say and nothing that needed to be said. I can not think of a time when the three of us had ever sat together like that. I saw them not just as the brat and the twerp. They were people.

They were family. They were there.



Sometimes there are defining moments within defining moments. Little, extra bonuses that can be good or bad. I would love to say that everything was peachy all the time after that. Nope. We were still family after all. It started a process for everyone though. I think we all saw each other and the world differently. Glimpses into who we might really be or who we might become. Priorities and plans changed. Decisions were made, either openly or sub-consciously, about what weaknesses had been exposed and what would remain so and what would have to be covered up.



If Mr. Webster himself showed up at your door to write a dictionary of your life, would it be a short visit?