Beyond The Collision
A True Story!
It was another typical early Sunday morning – or so I thought. I was driving down a two-lane highway on my way to a women’s activity at church. Driving alone gave me precious time to meditate and reflect. Although alert to my surroundings, my thoughts were of various friends. From a distance, I spotted a California Highway Patrol heading toward me. Although the siren was not blaring and the lights were not flashing, it was clear that the patrol car was traveling at an extremely high speed. Gosh; he sure must be in a hurry! I glanced in my rearview mirror to see he was in pursuit of a vehicle or if something odd was happening behind me. Only the tanker truck that had shortly passed was in sight. As the patrol car began to line up his front bumper to mine, the passage of time slowed like if a movie projector switched a movie to slow motion.
Like most individuals who suffer from black and white fever, I checked my speedometer the second he was in view just to make certain he was not coming to get me. The meter read 55 miles an hour. I would surmise that the highway patrol officer had to have been traveling at least 75 to 80 miles per hour. With this fact in mind, one experienced driver would know that it is virtually impossible to get a clear view of the driver or passengers of an on-coming speeding vehicle; but I did.
Not only did I notice that the officer was alone, I also noticed his features in meticulous detail. His skin was fair colored. I saw the hazel color of his eyes, his straight sandy brown hair, his matching full eyebrows, and the shape of the military-style sunglasses that he wore. There were three tiny gold stars pinned to his collar. I saw the rectangle-shaped face with lips tightly shut set in a firm angular jaw, and the rifle that hung beside his head. He had to have been of Nordic descent.
One feature I did notice more so than others, was that his brow showed lines of concern, as if deep in thought. He did not look my way, yet I could easily draw his full face. His image was engraved in my memory like a wood-burning artist engraves creations. His vehicle passed me as if it had been traveling less than five miles an hour. My eyes were fixated on his face until I could see him no longer. Although only it was really seconds that had passed, what I was able to remember should have taken several minutes. Instantly, I knew that what had just occurred to me was not humanly possible.
As his vehicle came within view of my rearview mirror, the sensation of time moving in slow motion ended. He passed the water truck within seconds. Soon his vehicle became only a spec. As God is my witness, I understood without question that there was a purpose for my experience. Past similar experiences had taught me to heed to paranormal events. A loud voice within my head said to pray for him. I did not question the command for I recognized the expression on the police officer’s face as being preoccupied. His speed was another indicator that perhaps he was not at peace that day. I felt an exceptionally strong sense of urgency to pray for him.
So I prayed for his unknown need. My prayer for the rest of the journey included that God’s mercy and protection be over him; for only God knew what he was going through and what was to happen. Before I realized it, I had parked my vehicle in the church parking lot and entered church with thoughts of him pushed away; that was, until about two hours later, when I overheard a member of our ladies auxiliary make a comment as to why she and her family had not arrived on time to the special activity. As I heard her story, goose bumps appeared and the hairs on my arm stood on end.
She said that as they were driving north on Hwy 195, they came up to a terrible car accident involving an old white truck and a highway patrol car. Immediately, my attention went to their conversation, and I asked for more details. They saw the actual accident take place. The patrol car collided with the truck. The car went spinning and twirling. The truck landed upside down. They stopped to help. The old man was able to walk out of his truck shaken, but not in the grave condition, as was the police officer. They could not tell me whether the he was alive or dead. As I listened, my doubt of what had happened to me was reassured, and I realized I had been chosen to intervene for this dedicated man. Could my prayers have made the difference between his life and death? Although I believe God is the giver of life and dictates when it is our time to die, is it possible for an individual to intervene for another? Does God change His mind because of prayer?
Throughout the afternoon service, I felt miserable and uneasy. Every spare thought was about him. I had to know the officer’s fate. Every time I closed my eyes, his full-color, vivid image filled the black void that occurs when one closes one’s eyes. Little did I know this was just the beginning of a vigilance I had not planned.
After church, I again drove along the route I had taken earlier that morning. When I came to the intersection of Highways 66 and 195, a cop was standing there to redirect the traffic away from the southbound travelers on Hwy 195. I stopped to ask him about the officer’s condition. He asked me why I was curious, so I mentioned how he had been seen earlier, and how I was later told about the accident. He ended up asking me for personal information. Later that day, two sergeants came to my home to inquire as to what I had seen. I told them and, as most respectable individuals would do, they just listened. It was not until I began to describe his features that they decided to listen a little more attentively. I could imagine them thinking I was some lunatic woman. It is very difficult to explain a phenomenon, but to get people to believe the story is even more challenging!
This took place in May of 2001. For three solid months, this man’s image did not leave my every extra spare thoughts or dreams. His face was engraved on the inside of my eyelids. I knew that the second I closed my eyes, I would be visited by him. Day and Night, my spirit was tormented. I am not exaggerating. Every time I saw his image, I felt the urgency to pray for him. As hard as I tried, I could not shake the memory of him. One day in the middle of our hottest summer months, suddently I felt inspired to write him a letter, so I did. In detail I told him what I had seen and had happened to me over the previous three months. Although he knew me not nor I him, I had been commissioned to pray for him. It was like an obsession I could not control. Late into the night, I scrutinized his letter before sealing the envelope. I attached the lyrics to the song, one of my favorites, “Someone Is Praying for You.” I personally delivered the package to the Highway Patrol station in Indio, California. One lonely officer sat at the desk. The lobby was frigid, but he was kind to me. I asked him if he would deliver the envelope to the officer who had been in an accident on Hwy 195 in May. The administrator opened the package and viewed its contents before assuring me he would do his best to make certain the delivery was made. He was also kind enough to tell me what my unknown friend’s name was and that he had lived. When I heard his name, my guess as to his descent had been accurate. Although he had lost an eye, recuperation through therapy was going well. I asked if the officer was a Christian. He answered that they both attended church where he also attended; therefore, it would be easy to give him the package. As I walked out of the station, I felt like a wild bird freed from its cage.
To this day, I know not this man, nor do I know if he ever received the package. I did not include my return address for I felt it was unnecessary. It was on that same hot August day that I was delivered from the obsession of his images. When I closed my eyes that day, he image was gone – gone – gone. I cried, “Free at last; free at last. Thank God almighty, I was free at last!” Many years have passed since, but when I reflect on that experience my spirit is comforted. If and when I am in a grave need, I have no doubt that someone, somewhere out there will be saying a prayer for me.
