It was Mothersí Day, 1982. My three sisters and I took my mom out to lunch after church. Our little town of Greenfield, California did not have many restaurant options, so we elected to go to Dennyís in neighboring King City, about a 10 minute drive. When we left Greenfield I noticed the traffic was unusually heavy, but I didnít think that much about it. After a nice lunch, we started the drive back home.
Traffic was bumper to bumper, and I eased over into the fast lane. I had been in the fast lane 2-3 miles, when suddenly the car beside me began to come into my lane. I hit my horn and the brakes simultaneously, but the driver never heard or saw me, she just kept coming. My only option was to swerve into the center divider. The weather had been hot and dry: the center divider was full of soft, dry dirt, and foxtails. I struggled to bring the car under control, but the minute my tires left the pavement we started sliding. My foot was all the way to the floor, but in that dirt there was no traction. In the meantime, there was a large bush- larger than my car- and we were heading straight for it. I couldnít swerve back into traffic. We were seconds from hitting it, when suddenly my mom, my sister, and I at the same time yelled out, ďJesus!Ē Instantly the car stopped. I didnít see angels. I didnít see Jesus. But someone stopped that car, and it wasnít me. My human efforts failed. It wasnít until we called on His Name that the car came to an instant stop.
I drove home slowly that day, and parked it until we could get someone to check it. The man who did was amazed. The engine was full of foxtails. He took it to a nearby carwash and pressure washed it to get the foxtail weeds out. He said he didnít know how we got it home without the engine catching on fire. I do. My Lord and Savior protected us that day. He has never left my side.