Chicken Soup for the Christian Soul 2 by Jack Canfield Mark Victor Hansen LeAnn Thieman

Author:Jack Canfield, Mark Victor Hansen, LeAnn Thieman
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2018-11-18T16:00:00+00:00

Southbound Miracle

M ay the Lord bless you and protect you.

Numbers 6:24

I was heading south on I-5 from Seattle, joyfully singing along with the contemporary Christian tunes blaring from my car stereo. There were a few hours left on my trip home, so I settled comfortably in my seat, tap-tapping my steering wheel to the beat.

“Our God is an awesome God, He reigns from Heaven above . . . ,” I sang loudly.

Suddenly a bizarre question flashed through my mind. What would you do if someone in the lane to your left crashed right now and stuff flew into your windshield blocking your vision?

I went silent.Where had that weird thought come from?

Yet I did ponder what I might do in such a case. I counted the lanes on the freeway: one to my left, two to my right. I decided that if such a strange thing were to happen, I’d quickly check my right rearview mirror for traffic, move across the two lanes if they were clear and stop.

I shrugged, then began listening to the music again. Yet I was more keenly alert to my driving.

About five minutes later I heard a tremendous crash to my left. Instantaneously my windshield was covered with debris.

Oh God, oh God . . . It’s happening, isn’t it? Help me! I prayed. I instinctively looked in my right rearview mirror. As if on autopilot, as if I had been commanded to do so, I crossed the two lanes and pulled over onto the shoulder.

I quickly got out of my car and saw a car crushed against the concrete barrier separating the southbound and northbound lanes. Several other people parked on the shoulder near me, exited their cars, and ran to the mangled vehicle to open the passenger side. Inside a man was crumpled on the floor of his car. My fellow Samaritans pulled him from the wreckage and quickly carried him across the four lanes to where I stood. I fretted a bit as he was carried: If he had a spinal cord injury, moving him might make it worse. Yet our side of the road seemed the only safe place to lay him.

As he was placed on the ground near me, I saw him bleeding from the mouth. I feared the worst. I ran to my car and grabbed a yellow sweatsuit from my suitcase, covered the injured man with my sweatshirt, then rolled up the sweatpants to form a pillow between his head and the roadside gravel.

As I tucked the fabric under his head, he weakly muttered something strange, “No, no. Don’t help me. Don’t help me.”

It suddenly struck me that the man might be suicidal. Could he have crashed on purpose? It seemed a stretch. But since I’d worked for three years on a psychiatric unit with suicidal patients, I didn’t rule out the possibility that the accident hadn’t been an accident.

A policeman appeared and asked all who had witnessed the accident to describe it. I shared my impression about the man’s comments.

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