The other day I was driving on the freeway at 60 mph when I heard a loud bang, and my car began to shudder and decelerate.  I tried to drive to the next exit, but my car was shaking too hard to drive it.  So I pulled over to the side of the road and called a tow truck. 

While I waited, I tried to figure out what could be wrong with my car.  I had plenty of gas, and I’d recently had the oil changed, so those didn’t seem likely culprits.  My Saturn is 11 years old, so it’s not inconceivable that something major, like the transmission, had gone out. 

I thought about popping the hood and taking a look at the engine, but that didn’t seem like a good idea – partly because I was on the shoulder of a major highway with less than 6 inches between me and speeding traffic, and partly because I know absolutely nothing about engines. If I did look under the hood, it would just be for form’s sake, not because I could actually recognize or fix any problems.

When the tow truck arrived, the mechanic helped me out the passenger’s side and over the concrete divider where I could watch him work from a safe distance.  As soon as I looked back at the car, I immediately saw the problem: my rear tire had blown out.  It was flatter than flat, with shards of rubber hanging from the rim. 

The mechanic hooked my car up to his truck, and towed it off the closest exit.  He drove into an abandoned lot, changed my tire, and handed me back my key.  “You’re really lucky it was your back tire that blew out, not your front tire,” he told me.  “When the front tire blows out, most people lose control of their car.” 

I thought about losing control of my little 2 door coupe in rush hour traffic, and shuddered.  I thanked him profusely and, without thinking about it, threw my arms around him and hugged him before I climbed into my car.  (I’m pretty sure he didn’t see that coming).

He waved at me as I drove away.  I made it to my dinner date, only 10 minutes late in spite of the misadventure. 

And I didn’t think much of it after that. 

I didn’t raise my fist to heaven and ask, “Why, God, Why?  Why would my back tire blow out instead of my front tire?  Why didn’t I wreck my car?  Why wasn’t I seriously injured?  Just tell me why!”

That would have been ridiculous, right?  But it is a fair question.  With a 50/50 chance of back vs. front tire blow out, why did the odds fall to the safer of the two options, the one that didn’t get me killed in a fiery wreck?

Because, while I intellectually recognize the equal potential for good and bad in most situations, I instinctively want and expect the good things to happen to me.  Bad things are what happen to other people.

A surgeon who lectured to my class in grad school gave an insightful answer to the question of the difference between major and minor surgery.  “Minor surgery is the one you’re not having,” he said.

I think that egocentric perspective is part of being human.  I certainly recognize it in myself.  I am not nearly as surprised that young women get breast cancer as I was that I got it.

I work in an ER and it does not shock me to see sick people, but it sure throws me for a loop when I get sick.

I am quick to complain when I get the short end of the stick, but think nothing of it when things unexpectedly go my way. 

My parents are happily married and I didn’t have to grow up in a broken home. 

I got to go to college and even grad school. 

I have an interesting job and great friends. 

I love the church I go to. 

I’ve been snorkeling in Mexico, Bermuda and Hawaii. 

We often ask why bad things happen, but maybe that’s the wrong question.  When we live in a world where entropy and the second law of thermodynamics are in effect, and everything seems to be in a process of disorganization and decay, maybe the real question is…why do good things happen to bad people?  Why do good things happen to me?