Over and over again I see the image of Simon lying there on the floor with a broken leg, the leg twisted in an angle that immediately tells me that it is a very bad break indeed.
Over and over again I go over the events that led up to that moment finding all the little decisions I could have made that would have changed the outcome of that evening. Only to realize that its a futile exercise only designed to hide the real thought that is gnawing at the back of my mind.
As I go back over the memory for the millionth time hoping it will end differently this time, I find myself Assessing the situation and rushing up to the appartement to call the ambulance. Now, I am a spiritual man, I believe in the healing powers of Jesus. Why did I not stop turn to Simon and pray for a miracle right then and there!
Why is my faith rock solid when it comes to believing in miracles where I cannot see the miracle happen (in my bank account, in the tank of my car, in the computers of an airline company, in someone elses home) but when it comes to healing of myself or any injury that I can actually see, all that faith seems to vanish like whisps of mist at sunrise.
Oh me of little faith, why do I doubt!
