Last night when Brad and I were walking after dinner I was reminded of something that happened 18 years ago. And this morning as I sit in front of my computer, it is what keeps coming into my head. So I will tell the story.

On December 8^th of 1988 I was driving down Bullard Avenue in Fresno. I had just left my sister’s house. We’d had babies three weeks apart: Emily (mine) and Jacob (hers), who have just gradated from Bullard High School together.

In those days I was driving a Volkswagen Vanagon just like the one in the picture except considerably dustier and more run down. The stick shift was always sticking, the giant air-conditioning unit made lots of noise but zero cool air, and the sliding door flew back so fast and hard it rattled the teeth of the passengers… but other than that it was a great car for a growing family.

On this day, Emily was in her infant seat on the bench directly behind me. She was two months old. The stick shift was not cooperating again, and I was looking down, working at conjuring up the magic touch that would cause it to engage. Suddenly there was a deafening sound and the wheel just jerked out of my hand.

The next part is hard to describe. I’ll start by telling you what had happened.

In front of me was a PG&E truck carrying power poles. They were strapped to the back of the truck on some sort of flatbed thingy and jutting out behind. I had somehow not noticed the truck (or the poles, obviously) and had simply plowed into the back of the whole contraption.

The power poles came crashing through my front window and filed past my head to the rear of the van. They were huge, of course, being power poles and all, so it seemed as though my van was suddenly filled with wood. Big wood.

There was a moment when I was afraid to turn around. I will remember it forever. I had pieces of glass covering me, and I was dazed, but unhurt. All I could think of was my baby. Emily. Recall that she was in the seat behind me. I remember breathing out the name of Jesus, and turning around slowly to face what was behind me. I didn’t even know if my baby would be there. In tact. It is horrifying to think about, even now.

And what I saw is something else I will never forget.

There was Emily, in her car seat, power poles lodged a scant inch over her head, sprinkled with glass, sleeping soundly. I was stunned.

I jumped down from the car and started around to get to the other side where the sliding door was. Suddenly there were two men on either side of me, asking me questions I don’t remember, and I was just pushing past them to get to Emily. “I have a baby,” I remember saying, and the men stopped in their tracks. I went to the door and slid it open. There she was, awake and blinking now--looking for her mama.

I tried to undo her infant seat belt but my hands were shaking. One of the men next to me was able to get it loose. I can still see his hands as he reached in to get Emily. He had to slightly lift her little body and then duck her head under the giant pole to get her out. Then he handed her to me.

In that moment, when I brought her to my chest and held her against me, breathing her in, I knew I had seen a miracle. I knew God had held us in His hand as we crashed. I rested my cheek on her fragile little head and could feel the pieces of glass coming through her soft hair against my face. All three of us just stood there. It was as if we could not move, for the moment was so huge and powerful, and we were so small.

All of the expected things happened next. Police showed up, and people pulled over. It was quite a sight, after all. The Vanagon was skewered all the way through, power poles entering in at the windshield, and exiting a good four feet out the back window. Much of this is rather blurry. I know my brother-in-law somehow showed up, and he used a big sponge in a bucket of water from his truck to gently wash some of the glass off of Emily’s head. The PG&E guys were trembling. One of them was crying. A police officer told me to always remember this day, December 8^th, for did I know it was the day God had saved me? I knew He had saved me long before, but the officer’s point was not lost on me.

A couple of months after the crash I was home making dinner, and had just sat down to feed Emily. The phone rang and when I answered it this is what I heard:

“Hello. I don’t know if you remember me. My name is Manuel. I was in the PG&E truck you hit. I pulled your baby out.”

Manuel went on to tell me that what happened on December 8^th changed his life. He had, the very day of the accident, just left his wife and daughter. His daughter’s name was Emilia (the Spanish form of Emily). At the time of the crash Emilia was two months old.

When Manuel put his hands on my baby to lift her out, he felt his baby. When he looked at me holding my infant, he saw his wife. He was so moved to his core that he left the accident and went home to his wife and child, asking for forgiveness and pleading for another chance. They were now doing well, and he had to admit he had seen God at work. His faith and marriage were both restored.

After that phone call I sat for a very long time, my baby safe and well at my breast. I cried out to God, and wondered at Him, and the precise and powerful love He has for us.

As I looked down at Emily, thanking God again for sparing her, He told me something. His presence was real, and peaceful, and felt very natural. He told me that He has great plans for Emily. That she will touch people. That she is very special.

And I knew it to be true.

Today, 18 years later, Emily is away at a camp where she will have the opportunity to serve and love many children. For the past couple of years she has faithfully and with intense devotion loved the kids God brings to Dakota House. She has wisdom I sometimes find astounding, and enough of a rebel spirit to keep her on the edge—her eyes searching and her heart full of questions. She is a treasure.

I thank God for His command of us. When I worry and fret and endeavor to manage and control, I need to stop and remember. Remember that God has it all in hand. Things set in motion by us can be thwarted by Him in a heartbeat, and often are. Sometimes what seems to be disaster is in truth a stroke of His hand.

And I thank Him for His whispers to our heart. A mother can hear nothing better than her God proclaiming His love and design for the child He has given her. Many times over the years God has shown His love for me in this way. He knows how to speak to each of us…knows our hearts intimately… I believe we could all share moments when God’s voice or presence or intervention has stirred our souls.

How great is our God. And how deep is His love for us.

Always His,

Jamie