The truck struck me from behind. The points of impact were my lower back and left side. As I lie awake in bed tonight some three and a half years later still nursing some of the aches and pains that continue to reverberate in my body, I unexpectedly hear your words in my head: "I've got your back." You posted it in response to my blog entry (For once and for ALL) but you've said it before both directly and indirectly. And, in the end, it isn't the words that matter. It's that you actually do it in a hundred little and really big ways.
Interestingly, these words come from the same person that told me that rearview mirrors are only good on cars. I remember the sting when I read them even as I knew the truth and the intent for good and not harm. As one of my favorite authors, Barbara Kingsolver, says: "The friend who holds your hand and says the wrong thing is made of dearer stuff than the one who stays away." Ironically, those "wrong" things are often precisely what I need to hear. I'm sure that you will protest that they are wrong at all since you are, nearly without fail, always right.
The most challenging, life altering, and debilitating occurrences in my life, including my accident, have unexpectedly struck me from behind. They have taken my feet out from under me and brought me to my knees. To say that you have my back, while ultimately not something any person can ever fully do for another, is a the greatest act of friendship you could offer me. I sometimes find myself living with one eye cast over my shoulder and the other obsessively glued to those rearview mirrors (both literally and figuratively). Your effort to stand in that place of protection helps me maintain my focus on the road ahead; to relax in a way that helps me thrive; and to trust God with my future knowing he is redeeming my past.
While I might expect that your having my back is primarily about protecting me from those outside forces which might do me harm, I'm grateful that you know that I'm quite capable of inflicting that harm upon myself. That you have the sensitivity, insight, and honesty to protect me from my own overly self-analytical mind is perhaps the greatest act of courage you take on my behalf.
So. Have my back. I'll concentrate on the road ahead.
