I heard a Los Angeles man interviewed on KNX earlier this evening. He had traveled to Boston for the marathon, and was remembering the moments after the first bomb went off.
He was about to finish the race, arms extended for a photo finish, when an explosion shook him. And then another. He sustained no injuries, but said that it wasn’t lost on him that had his pace been different by 10 seconds — in either direction — he may have been wounded by one of them. Wounded, or worse.
There are times when we realize how fragile our lives are, and how quickly ours could be gone. Maybe it’s a traffic jam from an accident up ahead — an accident you could’ve been in…had you not left work late. Maybe it’s running errands in a different order that kept you from being robbed. Maybe it’s staying in because of a chilly drizzle on a dark night, instead of going out for a run and encountering an assault, being hit by a car or falling and breaking a bone.
You never know. You never know what difference 10 seconds can make in your life, but tonight I am thankful for all the delays, the plans that shifted ever so slightly for seemingly no good reason and for His hand that has guided all of my days, as well as those to come.
Prayers for Boston.