“May the knowledge of my mortality inspire me to spend myself wildly and wisely rather than hold tightly to my hours, my minutes, my strength, and my time.”
It was pouring down rain as we entered the I-15 freeway in Corona when a truck swerved into our lane. I watched this happen in my rearview mirror. He came quickly and his front bumper caught the rear part of our car in an efficiently executed pit maneuver. You’ve seen cops do this in their chases on TV. Our car spun around crossways in front of him. Looking out of my left window all I could see was his huge radiator. He sped up rapidly, trying to enter the freeway at full speed. We slid helplessly sideways in front of him, feeling the ever-increasing speed. I blew the horn, knowing it would do no good—his engine noise was louder than our horn.
A thousand thoughts raced through my mind. Driver’s ed never taught me what to do in this circumstance! Rapid-fire advice came from both my wife and daughter who were also in the car. Desperate prayer for God’s help came involuntarily. Would it be better to press on the gas or the brake? I tried both—no effect. “Father into Thy hand I commit my spirit,” also came involuntarily. I decided to rev the engine and keep my wheels spinning; that way if he slowed down we might stand a chance.
I don’t know what exactly happened then. Did the truck driver shift his gears and slow down momentarily? Did our guardian angel reach out and give us a shove from the rear? Anyway, we slid onto the dirt shoulder, the truck’s momentum spinning us around to face the oncoming traffic. We stopped, facing the traffic, fortunately off of the pavement. Our daughter was in the process of calling 911. The truck raced by me at incredible speed. He was so close he was peeling off the paint on that side of our car. I expected to be crushed under his rear-wheels.
Hopping out of the car as soon as he was passed, I surveyed the damage. My bumper was lying askew behind us, the far side still delicately attached to the car. I couldn’t open the hatchback; it was jammed. But I could reach over the back seat and fish out some zip-ties. I clumsily reattached the bumper on the near side. My hands were shaking so badly from the experience, that I had a terrible time actually getting them attached.
The last car in the line stopped next to us, “We saw all that! That was terrible! Are you okay?” We chatted a bit and they commiserated with us. I got their name and address. Just in case. Another car in the line, sped up, and flagged down the truck. He stopped, got out, and checked his truck for damage. I was unaware of all that. I was still trying to gain control of my trembling and get off the on-ramp. I couldn’t get back in the car; the driver’s door wouldn’t open, nor would the passenger door behind it. They had been mashed into their frames.
Sylvia opened the driver’s door from the inside and I got in; I pressed the starter on the dashboard. The car started just fine. Gingerly, I turned the car around and started down the on-ramp. The truck driver was walking back up the on-ramp towards us.
I pulled over and indicated we could talk if I got on the same concrete apron he was on. My fierce red hair flamed within me, even though it is white on my head. My fierce Scottish Highlander blood boiled within me. I wanted to give him a piece of my mind. I was fuming inside.
He apologized profusely. He was shocked that he had almost killed a whole family. He hadn’t seen our little white car. I knew he hadn’t seen us, of course. You can’t see anything, even as big as a car if it is close to the cab. He didn’t even know that he was pushing anything. Fortunately, there had been enough time between the accident and the time I met him, so I could cool down a bit.
I tried to write down his license information, but I was still trembling too much. He took a picture of my license, etc., and encouraged me to do the same with his, too. By this time, I had forgiven him, even though I didn’t want to. I actually felt sorry for him.
The accident certainly gave me a renewed sense of my mortality. I was reminded that the Lord has been so good to us. I wanted to give the truck driver a piece of my mind. Instead, the Lord changed my heart toward him. And, in a moment, I was free.
Wil Clarke is a retired professor of mathematics from La Sierra University and helps facilitate activities for the Better Than 50 Club of the church.
These reflections stand alone, but if you want to enjoy the prayers from May It Be So that they’re based on, please click here to request a copy of the book.