I was riding my bike the other day while carrying two banners for a work event, when one of the banners got caught in my front wheel and I fell over in the middle of the road.

My left shoulder felt the asphalt first and I felt no pain, simply a wave of numbness. A searing pain then shot through my left leg. When I looked down, there was blood oozing from three areas of peeled skin. My pants were already stained red. Next to me, my bike laid in the middle of the road, banner still caught in its wheel, ready to be run over by incoming traffic.

Thankfully, it was a Sunday morning and few cars were out. In fact, it was oddly quiet. All the shops around me were closed and the street parking was empty. There was a green traffic light ahead but no vehicles drove by. As I laid there, waiting for my shoulder to regain sensation, an immense sadness suddenly came over me.

The feeling reminded me of my niece, who would cry whenever she fell while learning to walk. She would never be in danger – she usually fell on carpet and there were always adults around – but no matter how harmless the fall, she would always burst into tears. It initially struck me as silly, but as I laid there on the street, I began to understand her anguish.

Of all misfortunes that exist, there is something uniquely awful about self-induced pain. If a misfortune occurs from a clear external force – bad boss, bad weather, bad traffic – there is clearly something else to blame. But if you fall while walking, or fall off a bike from your own stupid decisions, there is nobody left to blame but yourself, and with blame follows shame and pathetic self-pity. When you suffer and know yourself to be the cause, I think you come close to hell.

As this mix of emotions began to stir and mix and threaten to explode, a woman’s voice came up behind me.

“Oh my God, are you okay?”

I said nothing as she pulled my bike off the road and removed the banner from its wheel.
“Jesus, that is heavy.”

She dropped my banner on the sidewalk and looked me up and down.

“You’re bleeding,” she said. “Do I need to call an ambulance?”

“No,” I finally replied. “But thank you.”

As I looked up at her, emotions ready to overflow, something in her eyes made me pause. What I saw in her eyes was genuine concern. She had been carrying a grocery bag, but I now saw it lying behind her on the floor next to my bike. She must have dropped it when she saw me.

“Here, let me help you up,” she said. And as our hands met, my negative thoughts were dissipated by a more powerful emotion: hope.

When my niece cries from a fall, there is a moment when her attitude shifts from raging despair to simple discomfort. It is when she sees her mum. Her mum represents hope, a light out of the hell she has found herself in. When her mum picks her up off the floor, cooing her name and showering her with hugs, some physical pain may persist, but the greatest spiritual torment has been cured.

As I stood face to face with my saviour, she said some words I didn’t hear. The hope that suddenly flooded my body drowned all other sensations. Before long, she was gone. The whole time, I had been too moved to ask for her name, or even say thank you.

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James Baldwin once wrote, “I have always felt that a human being could only be saved by another human being. I am aware that we do not save each other very often. But I am also aware that we save each other some of the time.”

For the longest time, I did not understand what he meant. But I think I now do.