It was mid-afternoon, and Jean and I were on our way home from church, (or some other place long since forgotten.) She was driving our old green 1980 something Oldsmobile; a somewhat larger and heavier vehicle than one generally sees on the road today. We were traveling at 50 MPH, or more, and as we neared an intersecting road on our right, which was marked with a stop sign, a small blue car pulled into our pathway.
I could
plainly see a man and woman in the front seat, and a little boy and girl in the
back seat. I will never forget those precious little human beings as they sat
there, eyes wide open, peering helplessly out the window, as our car swiftly
approached them. Less than 50 feet
separated our two vehicles, and Jean proceeded to lock up the brakes. An
accident was inevitable. As with so many traumatic events, time seemed to slow
down. (Interestingly enough, I have read that this syndrome occurs because the
brain is processing more information than usual in a miniscule amount of time.)
It was
obvious that my wife had every intention of plowing headlong into the smaller
car, (and no doubt, all the occupants of that vehicle would have been seriously
injured or killed.) And though we were driving a much larger automobile, we
also would not have been spared, since foolishly we weren’t wearing our seatbelts.
Suddenly, I just KNEW what I had to do.
I reached
over with my left hand, took the steering wheel from Jean, and began steering
it in a direction that would take us around the rear of the small vehicle.
Amazingly, we cleared the back bumper of the little car by a foot. Both my wife
and I found ourselves leaning hard in the direction of our passenger window.
(As a result of that event, I can easily relate to the G-forces astronauts
endure as they reach maximum acceleration.)
But our wild
ride was only beginning. Our ungainly old car began a 180 degree slide.
Suddenly, the back end was where the front end was just seconds before. Now we
were sliding backwards. As the car lost momentum, we neared a wooden fence to
our left which paralleled the side of a house. We finally slid to a stop in a
grassy area, a few feet from the fence, very shaken, but not a scratch on
either of us.
As we ended
our unexpected journey, I saw the little car as it turned left into the
opposite lane of the four lane highway. The man didn’t even have the courtesy
to stop and inquire about our well-being. The decent thing to have done, the
only thing to have done, would have been to stop, especially since he had
pulled in front of us, and caused a near fatal accident.
However,
while this traumatic event was in the process of happening to us, another car
pulled up to the stop sign. Having seen the spectacle falling together around
him, I have no doubt that the driver watched in awe. The motorist asked if we
were okay, and after we assured him we were, he drove away.
Only God.
Only God. Nothing less than an abject miracle. The two occupants of our car and
the four occupants of the other car might easily have died that day. And the
spot which Jean fills in the audience tonight would be vacant, or filled by
another, and I would be just as invisible now, and you would not be listening
to the sound of my voice, nor been exposed to my obvious charm, or handsome
face.
And I have
no doubt He gave His angels charge over us that day, and when we needed a
miracle, well, He gave us one. And I have no doubt, any one of you could step
behind this podium and share something equally wonderful and amazing that our
Lord has done in your own lives.
by William McDonald, PhD
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