I was 23 and seven months pregnant with my firstborn when God or His angels stepped in between the car I was in and the one heading straight for me.
I can still see the grill of that vehicle racing through a red light, aimed right at the passenger door where I was sitting. Time seemed to slow down as I closed my eyes and braced for the impact.
Instead, I heard WHOOOOSH and felt an intense gust of wind blow against my door. I opened my eyes to see that by some strange occurrence we were on the other side of the intersection. I twisted in my seat, as much as my pregnant belly would allow, to look for the car that had almost hit us. It was nowhere to be seen. The whole event had happened in the blink of an eye.
My husband hadn’t heard the whoosh, hadn’t felt the gust of wind. He had swerved but not enough to evade a collision. It was as though we had skipped ahead in time and that the event I KNOW happened, had not occurred at all. The memory is so vivid to me. Even after all these years I can’t explain it, but I know without a doubt that God intervened that day.
I believe it was because He still had plans for me, for the baby I carried, and for two more yet to be born. He intended for me to raise three strong, independent girls to women who would impact their world and the Kingdom. He intended for them to raise children of their own, to impact the Kingdom and their future world. This is no small thing.
There have been countless times in my life when God’s strategic providences were evident. Not all of them have been as time-warping as this one. But each event has added a brick to my wall of faith, making it stronger every time, so that when life takes a dive into the muck I can trust that He sees the Big Picture from His vantage point. And I can keep slogging it out in the sludge below, knowing He will help me through in His own timing.
He can be trusted.
He can be trusted with my writing too.
On those days when I wonder why in the world I think I’m a writer (which, to be honest, is most days), I can trust that there must be some reason He gave me this passion. He must need my voice for something. So I will write, and trust Him with whatever He wants to do with it.
Maybe, just maybe, God intervened that day so that I would be around to write this post. To give Him glory for the unimaginable yet very real impact He has on all of us who are privileged to call Him Father.
Joylene writes from her home in Edmonton where she lives with her Cowboy, her third strong, independent daughter, and a cat named Calvin. She writes at
Photos by Pixabay.