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Reflections from a Shattered Mirror: My First Driving Incident

I should have seen it coming. I should have seen it coming as I scampered out of the parent-teacher conference, hoping parents who were familiar with my years-long battle with seizures would notice it was Mr. Utomo’s wife who was driving home to save the day. I definitely should’ve seen it coming as I caught myself speeding down Monterey highway, clocking close to 60 mph in a 45 mph zone. Perhaps I should’ve seen it coming as early as last year, when I delighted in recounting Ivan’s humorous – and costly – collision with the newly-placed bollards separating San Jose’s bike and car lanes.

But I did not see it coming.

A couple of weeks ago, Ivan was facilitating the final informational meeting for the international trip he leads every June for Valley Christian. In 2023, we went to London and Paris, and last year we visited Japan. This year we’re heading to Austria, Hungary, and Czechia, so stay tuned for my post-trip recap!

The evening of Ivan’s presentation we arrived 15 minutes early, which allowed plenty of time to set up the PowerPoint and greet hyper-punctual parents. Until we discovered that Ivan brought his backpack sans laptop. He has been relatively inseparable from his laptop since I met him in 2013. Nevertheless, now was not the time to delve into the philosophical or psychological implications of this anomaly. Now was the time for action.

“No problem!” I beamed, delighted to be of more vital assistance than passing out medication release forms – a job that can also be performed by a well-placed chair. “I’ll dash home and grab the laptop. Be back soon!”

We live about seven minutes from school. I calculated that the meeting might start a couple of minutes late, but If Ivan opened with a Q&A instead of his presentation, there wouldn’t be a material loss. 

Ivan’s laptop was lying on the coffee table – within easy reach of the door – when I burst into our living room at 5:50 pm, adrenaline pumping and fully prepared to go to herculean measures in order to locate the missing equipment. Nonplussed, I fired off a quick “Heading back now” text and dashed out to our white Hyundai.

Something I haven’t mentioned in my posts about re-learning to drive is my lack of depth perception. To me, the world looks flat. This is not a result of my accident. I was born without depth perception, and I learned to compensate for this when I began driving as a teenager. Basically, I need to drive slower and allow more space between myself and surrounding objects than other drivers.

But that night, I wasn’t thinking about my vision. I was amused that Ivan had been separated from his laptop for the first time in over a decade, and delighted that I was earning my keep as his assistant and showing off my relatively new driving skills to parents I only see a couple of times a year.

I didn’t see the post.

Our condo has a carport. Our parking spot is flanked by our neighbors’ SUV on one side, and a wooden post on the other. Although I got my driver’s license back over six months ago, I still back out of the carport with trepidation, cognizant that even a tiny error might damage our car or our neighbor’s.

Nevertheless, that night I was fixated on the impending triumph of passing Ivan his laptop in front of a roomful of parents. I accelerated out of our carport for the first time in my driving career until –  POP! A pistol crack caused me to slam on brakes.

 Our right passenger’s mirror lay shattered in our parking spot, neatly clipped off by the carport post. There had been no warning – just instant, irreversible damage. All thoughts of a hero’s re-entry to the parent-teacher conference were instantly replaced with the realization that what I’d just done to our car was far more costly than Ivan forgetting his laptop.

I also realized that my husband was still waiting on me to deliver said laptop. And he’d get anxious very quickly if I did not materialize soon after texting I was on my way back. All I could do was breathe a quick prayer for God’s protection and commence a very tentative return journey to school, painstakingly checking my right blind spot every few seconds.

Ivan’s smile of delight when he saw me trudging down the hallway with the laptop cut like a razor. 

“Thank you so much – “ he began, but I cut him off.

“Just start.” I hissed, then added apologetically. “We’ll talk later.”

Somehow I endured the lengthy presentation and passed out the medication forms with a smile, all the while wishing Ivan had selected a chair as his assistant instead of me. Chairs do not rack up exorbitant car repair bills. 

Now that I’ve had time to reflect on this incident, I can see God using it in several ways. While the mirror is costing more and taking longer to fix than we’d anticipated, it’s also a relatively mild way to sanctify my need to be needed. My driving record is still “clean” and the only thing besides our car that got seriously hurt was my pride. Ivan responded to my confession with textbook compassion, and has not complained about the difficulties of driving – or parking – without a mirror since then. I’ve learned that, given my vision, there’s no extenuating circumstance that justifies rushing when I’m in the driver’s seat. I’ve also been reminded that any help I may be able to offer someone is a privilege, and the moment I begin taking credit for it is the moment I risk turning a God-given gift into something damaging. 

Now to finish fixing that mirror…

Posted on by graceutomo12 · 13 Comments

A Licensed Driver!

“Please – I just got my picture taken three minutes ago. Does that mean we can leave and my driver’s license will come in the mail?”

The DMV manager – no doubt frazzled by an onslaught of similar questions – shrugged.

“I don’t know what to tell you. Computers are down statewide. You could hang around to see if the system comes back up, or you could come back tomorrow and restart your application.” She spun on her heel abruptly to signal our conversation was over. 

Her words threatened to extinguish my sputtering hopes like a bucket of ice water. My original road test – scheduled for October 14th – had been canceled after I arrived due to an administrative mix up. At the time, we’d been told it would be several weeks before we could expect my case to be reviewed, or the test rescheduled. 

But God intervened, and last Monday we received a nondescript envelope in the mail  from the DMV. This puzzled me since we’d been told to expect a phone call to discuss my current medical status in greater detail. The envelope’s contents were even more puzzling: All it contained was a form letter stating I could renew my driver’s license at any DMV field office. This seemed like another administrative error since there was no mention of a road test; however, when I called the next morning to verify, the voice on the phone assured me that the letter was correct. My medical case had been been closed. We’ll never know what changed between the test being canceled on October 14th and then waived last week, other than God wanted to teach us extra patience – and give me extra time practicing my driving skills. And I practice for tests very seriously! 

In God’s good timing, Ivan was available to take me to the DMV last Wednesday afternoon. This is significant because Ivan’s work schedule has evolved a lot this semester. School technically ends at 3 pm, but between private piano students and administrative duties, he often works late or returns to school at night. Hence my dismay at the DMV manager’s suggestion that we restart my license application on a different day. It could be weeks before we had another open afternoon.

Oh Lord, I prayed. We’ve waited so long. First there was the road test cancellation, and then you intervened to take that off the table. A statewide system shut-down is nothing to you, Lord. Please, if there is some way, any way, please let us leave with my license today. 

The manager told the disgruntled crowd that everyone waiting for driver’s licenses should go home and come back a different day. They’d keep processing car registrations, but licenses were over. I kept praying. The clerk who had been processing our application when the system crashed quietly told us not to leave. Ivan and I ambled back to the rows of blue plastic chairs and sat down dejectedly as half the crowd left and the other half selected fresh numbers and reformed a line. 

“What do you think we’re waiting on?” I asked. 

Ivan shrugged.

“She didn’t give us a number.”

“Maybe she’ll call us if the system comes back,” he replied. 

We sat in silence as the clock ticked inexorably toward 5 pm. The car registration line moved quickly, but new driver’s-license walk-ins continued to be turned away. 

Please, Lord, I prayed. All we need is one computer to come back. I realized God could have allowed this bizarre turn of events to teach Ivan and me even more patience, but it all seemed so strange. We hadn’t anticipated getting my license for several more weeks: why would the Lord surprise us with hope so unexpectedly, only to have things not work out at the last moment?

“Okay, let’s go check again.” Ivan’s voice interrupted my musings. I looked up at the clock. The office would close in a few minutes. We shuffled back to the station that had been processing our application.

“Still down,” the clerk shook her head and sighed. My heart plummeted. Then – “Hold on a sec.” She gestured for my paperwork and disappeared. Ivan and I exchanged confused glances. I no longer knew what I was praying for if the system was still down, but I kept praying. The woman’s absence felt even longer than the time we’d languished in the waiting area. 

When she reappeared, she was holding a thin slip of paper. 

“There was one computer still running in the back.” The clerk smiled faintly. “Here’s your license.” She passed the slip under the glass partition. 

“Oh! Thank you! Thank you so much!” I beamed as I snatched my prize.

The lady couldn’t have imagined the all the feelings she triggered by double-checking: Seven years of relying on others anytime I needed to go anywhere, followed by the nerve-wracking process of reacclimating to the road, followed by a canceled road test and the uncertainty of when I could actually get my license. Perhaps, for her, checking was simply the “nice” thing to do. For me, it was the beginning of a whole new world. 

Both Ivan and I are overwhelmed with gratitude to God for this new chapter in our journey. Our suspenseful DMV visit reminded us that my driving again has never been guaranteed, or even expected. It’s a gift, and one that God can give and take back at any time, whether or not it makes sense to us in the moment. We’re very grateful that in God’s love and mercy, he’s decided that my driving again will bring him glory. But that, like all the healing he’s done in my life, is an undeserved blessing. We pray he will help me to be a good steward of it for as long as he allows me to be on the road. 

***

P.S. Here’s an in-depth post about some of the stroke and TBI deficits I still have to manage while driving, and here’s a more light-hearted post about what it was like to actually get reacclimatized to the road. Thanks so much for walking with us!