ONE AFTERNOON AFTER my husband and I had lunch together on our veranda, I tossed a couple of items into our recycle container located on a small landing between two floors. In a blurry instant, I fell from the landing and tumbled down a flight of uncarpeted wooden stairs—with my head leading the way—to the first floor.
Hearing the commotion, my husband hustled over and found me sprawled at the bottom of the stairs, my mangled glasses lying on one of the steps.
My initial response to the shock and pain were tears and a moment's fear, but all that quickly left. I realized immediately I had a choice to make: accept the aggressive suggestion of pain and fear, or rebel against it. I chose the latter. And what gently took hold of my thought was the firm conviction that I was God's child—not a fallen mortal. I knew that because I am, as the Bible says, the image and likeness of God, my life is indestructible and intact. I am the very evidence of divine Spirit, not matter, and nothing could ever change that fact. I realized that I didn't have to be afraid, and that I didn't have to accept any consequences from the fall because God, who is entirely good, could not be the cause of it. This reasoning wasn't based on positive thinking, but years of accumulated evidence in my life that God protects us and heals us.