I raced down I70, late for another doctor’s appointment.
Over mountain passes and three hours along the twisty highway, and I’d arrive at Denver Children’s Hospital.
I despised the long, car trip and the too-busy doctors, and I detested waiting rooms filled with tired, empty-eyed parents.
I followed a slow-moving semi, and tried to pass, but he hugged the centerline. I had trailed the same truck through the entire canyon, and it cost me at least twenty minutes.
Then, I felt words, heavy and demanding.
Slow down. Slow down. Slow down.
Not a chance, the only thing worse then traveling to a doctor’s appointment three hours away was the look from the check-in staff when we showed up late.
Pull over. Get off the road.
Irrational. There wasn’t even a gas station on the next exit, but for some reason, I pulled off.
I sat in my car. How silly. Sitting alone in the middle of nowhere in the middle of winter.
I checked my daughter’s nasal cannula and oxygen. Fine. I got out of the car and checked the tires. Fine. What I needed to check was my head.
And so I did. I waited, and watched five slow minutes tick by. Then, I pulled away, and discovered the on ramp closed.
Frustrated, I turned onto a frontage road that ran along the highway. Surely, it would connect me back to I70.
I rounded the corner and the semi, my slow-moving semi, stood engulfed in flames. Cars were tipped and scattered around the bent guardrail.
My just-missed fate, our just-missed fate.
That day I was hauling more than my sweet daughter to her doctor's appointment. I was also carrying three, flamable, E-sized cylindars of oxygen.
And this is the part where I’d like to say that I dropped to my knees in thanks, but really, I dropped to my knees and puked.
Amazing, God's voice and perfect detours.
Question: What about you, friends? Ever experienced anything similar? Ever listened to God’s irrational whispers?
Linking with Soli Deo Gloria
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