Miraculous intervention keeps childlike hope alive

Libby Moore

Talk about a close call!

I’ll set the scene for you. It’s the last day of Thanksgiving break and I’m driving back to Tyler from Fort Worth. I’m wearing my comfy sweat pants and my soft Batman t-shirt. I have a Gatorade in my cup holder and a collection of embarrassing music playing on the stereo that I only jam out to when I’m alone. Right now “Mama Mia” is blasting at full volume.

Life is pretty good at this point. Except for the fact that it’s raining. And it’s raining hard. I’m in the far left lane going a bit under the speed limit to adapt to the weather conditions.

But my efforts at safe driving prove worthless. I’m an hour east of Fort Worth and I begin to experience the dreaded hydroplane.

For a brief second I think I’m going to be okay, but before I know it I have lost control.

I am spinning in full circles across the interstate and across lanes of oncoming traffic. My only response is to close my eyes, grip the wheel, and prepare myself for the inevitable collision.

By my fourth 360-degree turn I’m questioning God’s judgment. “You’re going to take me like this? At age 17? On the interstate? While I’m wearing a Batman shirt? Really?”

If I screamed I don’t remember. I couldn’t have heard myself anyway over the stereo. My life didn’t flash before my eyes and there was no white light. Just the same spinning sensation you feel on the teacup ride at Disneyland.

The spinning ceased and my car began to bounce. I held on to the steering wheel tighter, expecting the car to flip. I imagined the explosion, and the headline of my death as a probable edition to this very newspaper.

I opened my eyes as my car came to rest in a muddy field about 20 yards from the highway. For a fleeting moment I thought I was dead. But my stereo was still playing and I figured ABBA wasn’t played regularly in Heaven.

I looked to my left in time to see a green Acura come sliding down the grassy bank into the field. I stared in shock as the Acura came to rest in the swampy land next to me. The driver, who appeared unharmed, got out of his car, trudged through the mud, and came and sat in my passenger seat.

He sighed in obvious disbelief and I prayed silently that my good luck hadn’t run out and this guy was safe to be with. He turned and shook my hand.

“Hi I’m Jeff.”

“Libby.” I introduced myself.

We sat and marveled together at the obvious miracle we had just played a role in. How had we managed to circle through three lanes of traffic, slide down a bank, and survived with our cars completely unscathed?

Divine intervention.

Two and a half hours later, two wreckers arrived on the scene and pulled us from the mud. My dad had driven out to where I was to survey the nonexistent damage. I was able to arrive safely in Tyler, and thankful of my capability to contemplate what could have been a very tragic fate.

There is no doubt in my mind that the Big Man upstairs was looking out for me, and I’m utilizing this column as a public thank you to him. I guess it just wasn’t my time yet. Of course I can’t help but hold on to my childlike hope that maybe Batman really had something to do with it all.

I think I can dub this my first (and hopefully last) close call. At least my God came through for me once again…possibly aided by Batman.