I saw the back of the blue 4x4 truck lift slightly as its brakes were suddenly called into action by some unexpected circumstance. I pressed down on my clutch and brake pedals with every ounce of strength I could muster. I believed the effort would be successful. Soon, however, it became clear that impact was inevitable. I remember uttering, "Oh no, oh no," as the truck's tailgate and glaring red brake lights drew closer and closer. "Why is the car not stopping?" I screamed in my mind. Out of the side of my eye I saw my 15-year-old son brace himself in the front passenger seat. Then with nothing left to do, I closed my eyes and got ready to slam hard into the back of that truck.
My mind and body prepared for what would come next -- pain. But there was no pain, no jerking forward, no glass flying through the air, no air bag punch in the face. Instead, there was softness, like feathers in a pillow that swallowed up my whole body. I didn't feel an impact and figured we must have somehow stopped before we hit the truck. "It must be God's divine intervention," I thought. With my heart pounding, I opened my eyes to look at my son, Ian. I have never been as relieved as I was to see him sitting there unscathed, looking absolutely, perfectly intact. He was looking directly at me as well. Praise God! Then I redirected my eyes toward the front of the car to see how close we came to a collision.
That's when I first comprehended the miracle. You see, the hood of my car was smashed nearly to the windshield, folded neatly into the air to make a tent over the engine. The tailgate of the truck was in my engine about half way back. The truck had literally fastened itself to the engine of my car. Parts of my car were scattered here and there on the road. It looked really bad from where we sat. By the look on the faces of those in the cars around us, I knew it looked even worse from out there.
"I screwed up, Ian, I'm so sorry...are you ok?" I asked slowly. "Yes," he calmly replied. "Are you sure?" I asked again. He was sure. "Ian, did you feel the crash?" I asked. "Na-a," he replied. "Me neither," I said. "It's really strange but it felt soft to me, like an Angel was on my lap," I explained. "Me, too," he answered with nonchalant belief. That was the moment we recognized the Angelic protection that had swooped into our very car. Two angels wedged themselves between our fragile bodies and the hard dashboard and windshield to create the most perfect protective cushion.
Staring at each other in total relief and belief, we began to pray. First, to thank God for his amazing protection, then for the safety of the people in the truck we hit (they were fine!) and finally for His continuing protection as we sat in the middle of three lanes of heavy morning rush-hour traffic. I picked up my cell phone and called 9-1-1.
The next day, we did not suffer from a single ache or pain. No whiplash, no headache. A week later the insurance company declared my car a total loss and soon after came a check in the amount they determined to be fair and reasonable for my mangled vehicle.
Looking back on the sequence of events, I once wondered if God was disappointed that I did not call out to Him before we hit the truck. You see, I didn't pray in that nanosecond but He sent His Angels to protect us anyway. After some reflection, I now believe that I didn't have to pray at that moment because God already had his loving eyes on us. He had heard our daily prayers for protection for many years and those prayers never expired. They were safely deposited with the ultimate insurance provider of the universe and the comprehensive coverage was already paid in full by Jesus Christ. As we continue to face all the world has to offer, we are forever grateful that our insurance policy remains in effect each and every day because the end of our time on earth may also come in a nanosecond.
Sherrie is a believer in Jesus Christ, a freelance writer, a wife and a mother. She resides with her family on the island of Oahu in Hawaii, where she was born and raised. Mary Supebedia is her beloved grandmother.