There Are No Accidents

I was reading a friend’s blog recently and four words jumped out at me, “There are no accidents.”  I, too, believe there is a purpose for everything.  And yes, luck sometimes plays a hand.

I remembered a chapter from Sergei Kourdakov's book where he got involved in some bad business dealings with his friends.  The situation turned serious after the meeting was over and Sergei stepped outside the building:

I [Sergei] figured the meeting was over . . . “I’m going to go down and get some fresh air.  I’ll meet you outside.”  I walked down the corridor, the two flights of stairs, and out the door to the street.  The moment I stepped outside, an explosion ripped the air and blew up right in my face.  I felt a hot, burning sensation beneath my ribs and a fierce impact that knocked the wind out of me.  In a daze I looked down and discovered I was bleeding profusely; my shirt was already covered with blood and my military jacket was starting to get soaked.

I’m shot!  I’m shot!  I dropped to my knees.

“You’ve got to be the luckiest guy around, Sergei,” [his friend exclaimed] while he emptied my raincoat pocket, just over my left breast.  The bullet had gone through my thick address book, all my identification papers, plus all my clothes—raincoat, jacket, shirt, undershirt—to hit me.  It was imbedded in my skin.

-Sergei Kourdakov, The Persecutor (Chapter 9, pgs. 100-101)

Everything happens for a reason, even if we don’t understand why.  Sergei would have been killed if he hadn’t had his pocket full of thick papers that absorbed the impact from the bullet.  It wasn’t his time.  He would live to come to America.  While writing A Rose for Sergei, I had to keep reminding myself . . . there are no accidents.