My minister-father believed that God walks beside you day by day, lending you a hand whenever you need it. He shared this faith with his four children.
I remember one summer night about nine o’clock when we were all returning from a day’s outing in the family jalopy. Suddenly, a car with glaring headlights swerved around the bend and sideswiped our car. My father, blinded by the headlights, veered off the road. We crashed through a fence and came to a sudden stop. Our car was leaning precariously toward the right.
“Don’t anyone move,” Dad warned. “We don’t know what’s below us. Just sit still until someone comes to help. God is with us.” We scarcely dared to breathe. We were even afraid to call for help. Dad said the noise might make the car lean still further. My baby sister slept in Mother’s lap. Time dragged on. Cars whizzed by us on the highway. Nobody stopped even though our headlights were on.
When my little brother began to whimper, Dad said quietly, “Just hang on. Help will come. All of you pray.”
Soon the baby woke up and started to scream. Mother couldn’t quiet her. We heard a car drive by slowly, slam on its brakes, and stop. Our ears strained as a car door opened and then footsteps approached.
“Great guns,” a man exclaimed when he saw all of us in the car. “I’ll go get help. There’s a garage nearby.” The tone of his voice frightened me as he added, “Don’t anyone move!”
He disappeared but soon returned with another man and a tow truck. In no time at all, we were safely back on the road. “You’re lucky to be alive. There’s a river about thirty feet below that fence you crashed through,” the garage man explained. “One little move in the wrong direction and you all would have been pitched right into it.”
“If your windows hadn’t been open,” said our benefactor, “I never would have heard that baby and figured something was wrong.”
“The Lord was with us,” said my father.
That night, and for many nights, our family prayers were words of gratitude to God for watching over us.