Multiple Choice Question:

When you are driving and the dessert trifle in the seat next to you tips over, you...:

A. Reach to grab it
B. Take your eyes off the road and look at it
C. Run into the neighbor's mailbox
D. All of the above

For Melissa Sturm, the answer is D. For that is exactly what I did this morning.

It's odd how the little things in life fill our minds. On Sunday morning I had two goals: don't forget my Bible (which I had done two weeks earlier) and get the trifle to the car without dropping it. I accomplished them both, only to meet the mailbox down the street a moment later. Obviously, this run-in was not on my Sunday morning agenda. Or on any agenda of any day that week...or lifetime.

I guess it's safe to say, I saved the trifle. The top didn't look perfect, but it didn't spill and tasted fine. I didn't save the mailbox, even though I swerved to avoid it when I saw it right in front of me. Nor did I save my car. At least, I didn't save the right side bumper.

If dying means you no longer think, then I died for about five seconds today. Because for that amount of time I literally thought of nothing. My Bible on the floor, the mailbox I sent flying or the car that made funny noises at me because I didn't have my clutch all the way in. When my mind finally reconnected to my body, I knew to do only one thing. I put the clutch in, shifted to reverse and backed carefully into the neighbor's driveway. I turned off the car and gathered what wits I had left. I was visibly shaken.

Now the phrase "visibly shaken" is often used by authors to exaggerate the feeling of their characters in a moment of fear or terror. But I mean it literally. I really was shaking. I shook all the way to the other side of my car where I checked out the damage. (Which, on first perusal didn't seem that bad, second look seemed much worse, final look later that day proved I got off easy...some scratches to my bumper, the side light/reflector shattered and bulb blown, the plastic covering of the light destroyed but light perfectly operable, and a slight dent in the hood.) Then I shook as I found the mailbox, picked it up and walked to the front door. I also shook while I knocked and waited for an answer.

A woman answered the knock, probably saw I was shaking and couldn't have missed the large mailbox in hand. The conversation went something like this:

"Hi. I'm sorry, I just ran over your mailbox."

"Are you all right?"

"I-I'm fine."

"Is your car all right?"

"Yeah...will need the light fixed, but it's fine. I'm just really sorry about your mailbox."

"Are you sure you're okay?"

"Oh, I'm all right."

Pause. The lady studies me briefly and then says, "You know, you're really very cute."

"Um, thank you."

(Upon later reflection, I determined that now I'm 30 I should be beyond "cute" but, hey, it works.)

"Are you sure you're all right?"

"Oh, I'm fine. I am just really, really sorry. I'll pay for the damages. I live just down the street."

"Oh, that's fine. I just really appreciate your honesty. That curve is awful, and more people have hit our mailbox. Usually they just leave and don't say anything. I have a teenage son. I'll get him to fix it this afternoon."

Then she gives me a hug! And I end the conversation by once more apologizing - for both the mailbox and disturbing her on a Sunday morning.

"Oh, that's fine. I'm just going to go get ready for church."

As I got back into my car, I was still shaking a bit, but it didn't last very long. I wondered how late I would be getting to church, but didn't care. (One accident is enough for one day - and one lifetime.) I wondered why I had to have a run in with a mailbox and scratch up my car. And how much was this little episode going to cost me. But, funnily enough, it never crossed my mind to shake my fist at God for this Sovereign run-in. I just shrugged, and then realized how much I had to be thankful for.

For one, the damage even with a mailbox could have been MUCH worse. In the long run, it may cost me a bit if I want to repair the bumper and all that, but up front the sole cost will be one plastic covering for a headlight and a mailbox. Secondly, it was a mailbox. It wasn't another vehicle. And I didn't harm myself or anyone else. Thirdly, the mailbox didn't fight back. For while I would have rather hit my grandfather's mailbox which is smaller, and wobbly and sits upon narrow iron bars versus the large plastic one atop a thick piece of wood I did hit; at least I didn't hit the one on the other end of the street which is entirely brick. Fourthly, the woman was very kind, understanding, and more concerned about me than her mailbox. And lastly, I can laugh about it. And laughter is a good medicine.