DURING MY FIRST two years of college, I was involved with a variety of activities. In addition to classes, I was part of the cross-country team, track team, jazz band, Christian Science organization, and student government. Having a full plate of extracurricular activities was satisfying; however, my time for prayer often either felt rushed, or I felt too tired to pray effectively.
One rainy evening in the spring of my sophomore year, I was riding my bike back to my dorm after track practice and thinking about having a quick dinner before an evening class. It was getting dark, and the road was slick from rain. As I came around a corner and rode down a small hill, I crashed my bike into a moving car that was pulling out of the parking lot.
After the collision, I stayed on the ground and curled in a ball. The collision was so shocking that I turned immediately to prayer. I prayed, as Christian Scientists are taught, turning to God to feel His nearness and love. As I was praying, a thought came to me very clearly: "No! I am an idea." I reasoned that an idea is a mental concept —not physical—and that an idea is whole, intact, and complete. I understood this to mean that an idea couldn't be mangled or injured, and because I was God's idea, what seemed to be a scary picture of an accident couldn't actually touch me.
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