Look For Miracles

 I'm working on my latest book, tentatively called Beyond Second Chances. There's a chapter called "Miracles Big and Small" and I'll include one story that I've named "A Mere Twenty-four Hours".

“How much longer do I need to hold this?” I said in a whiney voice.

 

“I just need to tighten the bolts one more time and I think I’m done,” Bill said.

 

He was installing a new roll bar for the little sports car we owned. An MG Midget with a rag top, it was a sporty new car and whizzed around the streets easily. Both of us loved to drive it but the car really wasn’t safe without a roll bar, even though roll bars were not considered standard equipment by the car manufacturer. Bill had plans to race the car and in order to race, the SCCA—Sports Car Club of America, had safety standards for equipping the cars to compete in their races. You had to have a roll bar, and a military aircraft seat belt—four inches wide with three clips to close it. The seatbelt was installed and now, the roll bar.

It was late that February night in the unheated garage, and I was freezing. I wanted to get home to our warm bed plus I had classes to attend next morning. I heard the final clicking of the ratchet wrench and Bill said, “OK. I'm done. We can go now.”

He was glad he’d completed the job. I was glad to be done holding onto the roll bar while he installed it. The car was safer for racing. I didn’t know how useful that piece of equipment would be exactly one day later….

“Bye,” I said, closing the front door of my parents home. I dropped by for a couple of hours while my husband Bill worked the night shift. We’d watched "The Andy Griffith Show" and now it was time to go home to my studies. 

“Thanks for stopping by,”Mom called as I closed the door. I hopped into the car with my black miniature poodle named Mike, snapped the three clips of the seatbelt to secure it, and was on my way.        

It was dark and I was the only car on the back country road. As I was speeding my way home, all of a sudden in front of me, I saw road barricades. I immediately swerved to the left to avoid hitting them, the very sensitive steering on the little sporty MG. It jerked back toward the right, swerving out of control. Before I could even react, I was in the front yard of a house with the car flipped over on its top. I could hear the clacking of the fuel pump in my ear, the engine still running, not getting the gas it needed. I shakily turned the car off, looked around unable to place where I was. I was upside down, hanging from the top of the car, firmly strapped in my seat belt. I screamed, for I thought I was trapped—I couldn’t move my knee. After a moment, I realized all I had to do was unhook myself. I flipped the three prongs of the belt and dropped down onto the top of the car. Disoriented, I felt for the door handle and pushed open the door. Everything was opposite of what it should be. I heard voices and the sound of a siren, and crawled out. I stood up and looked at the car’s upsidedown-ness, resting on the front lawn beside a telephone pole. "What was I going to tell Bill?" was my first thought. We were told I'd have broken my neck and died, had that roll bar not been installed just twenty four hours earlier.

 

A few days later, we found out some teenagers for a prank, had put some road barricades in the middle of the road. After reading about my accident in the newspaper, the parents came forward and paid for a new windshield. That’s the only damage done to the car. A broken windshield. A large bruise on the side of my knee from it being pressed between the roll bar and door, and one scared poodle. 

My dad said later when they came to pick me up after the accident, it looked like no one could survive in that tiny upturned car. Had he not heard my voice on the phone, asking him to pick me up, he said he thought I should be dead. 

Obviously, I wasn’t for that was nearly fifty years ago now. A gift of fifty more years. 

Bill with the MG. Note how small it is--he was a big guy at six feet tall

An MG on the racetrack--very much like the one I drove

I'll bet you can think of a miracle that has happened to you. Perhaps not as dramatic--or even more dramatic! And when you do, be thankful for God's presence in your life.