I left at exactly the right time to arrive at my destination. I turned up the road and immediately noticed a car to my right on the shoulder, hazards slowing time. My eyes scanned the surrounding area, wondering where the occupants were and then I saw. In the median between this way and that way, time most certainly stood still. A young child, maybe three or four, was holding tight to a woman's hand. The woman, crouched down, the child too, looking at a memorial of flowers and a cross, faded and winter-worn.
And then they rose and crossed back over the road to the waiting car.
My mind was digging deep, remembering the news of a car crash in this very spot, one that left a toddler fatherless, about a year and a half ago. It fit, too easily and not at all at the same time.
As I drove on I realized I had turned down the wrong road. This wrong turn gave me a front row seat to this very sad scene that played out before my eyes. For some reason I was meant to see this. And I know. I know why.
I prayed for that young child as I carried on in time to my destination.
"God, please watch over this young one. Tenderly care for and love this little heart."
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