Surface

A small Bible carried in his uniform pocket stopped a lead shrapnel bullet from ripping through the heart of Lance-Corporal Evan Jenkins on the shores of Gallipoli during a fierce battle. I heard this story as a child, from a parent or grandparent or maybe Sunday School teacher, and the deeper message was clear: God protects the faithful.

I thought of this yesterday. I was putting away groceries in the kitchen and Charlie was milling about. I didn’t know he had regurgitated the water he’d just drunk, which formed a small slimy puddle on the floor next to my bare feet. Stepping in it, I did a cartoon legs-in-the-air flip onto my right hip. I hit the tile floor hard, but providentially my wallet was in my back pocket, cushioning the impact.

I think it speaks to the person I’ve become that what my takeaway message lacked in depth was made up in unvarnished clarity: good thing I had my wallet on me.