A Close Call

Years ago I did some work for a local NGO, and part of the job meant getting out to a town roughly 250 miles away to sit in on a workshop and look over a few projects running in that region. On my own I would have taken public transport, but an office manager happened to be heading the same direction. She had just joined and needed to meet staff at the regional branch, so the company gave us a car and a driver. We left while there was still daylight.

The route ran along a long country road, and that stretch had seen more than its share of wrecks. It was deep rural territory, badly in need of repair, full of tight corners and sudden bends. I had written about this road once before, when a friend of mine barely survived a crash there.

Knowing the reputation of the road, we kept alert. I told the others about the exact spot where my friend had nearly died, and we kept our eyes open for that bend. The trouble is the dangerous point is hard to catch. It arrives without warning, the surface turns to loose dirt, and the window to brake is tiny. Still, part of me wanted to see where the accident had happened, just to understand how something like that unfolds.

One of the passengers told me we were getting close, but she added that the road looked flat and there were no turns coming up. That threw me. I remembered clearly that my friend had described a sharp turn right around here, yet the ground stretched out level and straight for miles. We all eased back and looked out over the open fields of grass and crops.

Then the road showed us exactly how treacherous it was. We were carrying good speed, everything ahead looked clear and straight, and without warning the road veered off. Before she could even finish saying we had reached the surprise turn, the tires were already sliding across the loose dirt. I started screaming and praying out loud. It moved so fast, with so much force behind the vehicle, that it felt like a dream, except the pain in my legs as we spun told me it was real.

Somewhere in those prayers I hit a point of total calm. It was strange: a complete peace, as if I was ready for whatever came, even dying. I was terrified by what was happening and quiet at the same time, certain that only God could pull us out of it. I believe we lived because of divine intervention, and that belief has taken away the fear I might otherwise carry about cars and about that day.

We came to a stop and everyone was unhurt. We sat and waited for help to reach us. Ever since, I have counted my blessings and understood something plainly: even with all the care and preparation in the world, death could have taken me in a fraction of a second. I see no reason to live in dread of that. You prepare as well as you possibly can, and the rest belongs to God.

-Anonymous Contributor