When I was a young man in my 20’s, I had become a baptized member of a Christian church and I had developed very strong beliefs about the Bible, most of which were taught to me from various ministers, theology professors or other people who I knew and respected. Each new revelation would require me to read the passage mentioned in my own Bible and see with my own eyes that each thought was validated by scripture. I thought that’s all we needed to do as we studied the Bible. At that time, I had not begun to do the heavy lifting and really dig into scripture for myself. I simply let others do it, then afterwards I would just re-read the passage that they read out loud and *poof!* just like that, those thoughts were adopted as MY thoughts.

One of the expressions our church used to cite was “Don’t believe me. Read it in your own Bibles!” Obviously, this was a paraphrase of the Apostle Paul’s letter here:

1 Thess. 5:²¹ “Prove all things; hold fast that which is good.”

At that young age, I had become aware of the actual Hebrew names of both Yahweh and his son, Yahshua, but I didn’t yet comprehend the enormous importance of the name Yahshua. I, like more people of faith, used the name “Jesus” when referring to our Messiah. I was still in THIS stage of spiritual growth and had much to learn before I’d become far more mature about the hidden meanings in scripture:

Heb. 5:¹² “For when for the time ye ought to be teachers, ye have need that one teach you again which be the first principles of the oracles of God; and are become such as have need of milk, and not of strong meat.”

My faith was strong and I truly believed in the promises found in the Bible. Armed with this understanding, I began a summer job selling books door-to-door. That job opportunity actually began months earlier, in Pasadena, CA. when a recruiter arrived on campus during my senior year to offer employment for 12 weeks in the summer. I felt confident that I could succeed at the job, so after graduation, I traveled to Nashville, TN. for one week of intensive training so I could learn about the various products and the most effective methods to sell them. When the training was complete, I and several of my classmates were assigned to Warren, OH to begin that challenging job.

We worked 12 hours a day, 5 days a week and each day began precisely at 9 AM. It didn’t mean you left the house at 9; it meant you were knocking on your first door at 9, so an early start was always important in order to begin working on time.

The first few days were a little nerve wracking as I attempted to make my brief presentation on the front door step and only after a indication that someone might be interested, I’d ask if we could provide a more thorough presentation inside. Surprisingly, many homeowners were willing to open their doors and we’d sit down to engage in a fact-filled conversation where I’d present the features, benefits and cost. Often, I made the sale and it made my day.

The other part of the job that was challenging was the fact that no books actually got delivered at the point of sale. I explained that we’re in Ohio for 12 weeks and only that final week is the time we deliver all the books we sold over the previous 11 weeks. People trusted me to fulfill that promise, which I did. There were many husbands who were shocked that the young salesman actually returned. After their wives paid cash and we assured them that we’d return to deliver their books, the husband admonished his wife saying “You’ll never see them again and you just threw away $50!” Coming back to those houses and restoring their faith in humanity was another rewarding aspect of the job. More than once, I shook the husbands hand and he said “I wouldn’t have believed it unless I saw it with my own eyes.”

As the summer progressed, I had good days and bad, but regardless of that day’s results, I always worked as hard as I could the following day.

Which brings me to a fateful day in July, 1978.

That day began with a couple early successes and I’d already sold several large sets of books before lunch. I was on a roll. As the day progressed, I sold so many books that I began thinking that I can’t be stopped and frankly, I didn’t want to stop. I was determined to have a record day.

I knocked on my final door just before 9 PM, got invited inside, and made my final sale of the day. I was sky high and could not wait to get back to our house so I could tell my roommates what an epic day today had been. It would take me about an hour to return home because my method of transportation was a one-speed girl’s bicycle. When the summer began, I needed some form of transportation so I could travel further than our immediate neighborhood. A nice lady offered to let me borrow her daughter’s bike for the summer because her daughter had grown up and moved away. Nobody else was using it, so I gratefully accepted her generosity.

But the distance I had to travel was about 10 miles and on a one-speed bicycle in the dark, 10 mph was about as fast as I dared peddle. The road was a 2-lane country road that followed the up and down contours of the ground. I tried to remain as close to the right side as possible, but had to be very careful to avoid moving too far to the right, lest I slip off the road and into a 10′ ditch immediately to my right.

When a car would approach from the front, as it went uphill, my torso was bathed in pitch black from the chest down. I could see none of the road and I just held my breath hoping I stayed on the road. The same thing happened when another car approached from the rear–for a moment, I’d have perfect visibility…until that car too began the uphill section and I’d once again be in the pitch blackness, hoping to avoid the ditch. Occasionally, I’d feel the gravel under my tires and I knew I was dangerously close to crashing. But as soon as the car passed, I’d cheat to my left and go back onto the safety of the road surface.

I had traveled about 5 miles, so I was halfway home when the worst case scenario happened. It was difficult enough to ride a bike in the dark on this humpty dumpty road with ONE car approaching from the front or the rear. But suddenly, there were cars approaching from each direction. Making matters worse, at the moment they were nearing me, each car was traveling slightly uphill which blinded both drivers and made it impossible for me to have any idea where I was in relation to the edge of the road and that huge ditch. I didn’t feel the gravel, so I knew I was still on the road surface…but how far into the lane was I?

In a moment, everything was topsy turvy. I was confused, disoriented and unaware of what was happening…and what am I doing in this cold, wet ditch? Suddenly, I understood what had just happened. Voices up on the road were shouting “Can you see him? Where is he? Are you sure I hit someone?” I’d been struck by a car traveling at 60 mph while riding a girl’s bike at probably 8 mph. The right front of the car slammed into my left leg, catapulting me into the air and down into the ditch 50 feet away from my bike. The enormity of the moment made me focus and I knew I had to get up out of that slop and let them know I’m here.

I made an attempt to move. The pain was a searing white-hot kind of pain that almost makes you faint. My left leg felt like it had been shattered. Throughout my life, I’d experienced pain at various levels but never anything remotely close to this. We used to play tackle football without helmets or pads just to prove who was the toughest and could stand the most pain.

This was different. This was bad. Really bad. My thought immediately went to my friend who I’d planned our Europe trip with and I knew instantly if my leg was broken, so was that dream.

The voices were getting nearer. I had little time to waste, so as I laid in the cold darkness, I said a silent prayer that went something like this:

“Father in heaven, you’ve promised that I can receive anything that I ask for. I’ve not asked for much, but PLEASE–my leg can’t be broken. I must be able to finish this job I’ve started. I don’t want to let down my friend who’s relying on me this fall, and don’t let these people find me like this. Please heal me now, in this instant, in Jesus’ name. Amen.” It probably took no longer than 5 seconds.

I was paraphrasing this:

Matt. 7:8–For every one that asketh receiveth; and he that seeketh findeth; and to him that knocketh it shall be opened.

A moment later I heard “There he is!” and several people scrambled down the hillside to help me up. The man who’d been driving asked “Are you alright?” I told him “No, my leg is shot.” He replied, “Well, we can’t let you remain down in this ditch, so let’s try to get you onto your feet.”

I braced myself for the intense flash of pain once again because this would mean I’d have to try using my left leg and knowing how severe it was moments ago, I prepared myself for another torturous feeling. Two people began lifting me, using my armpits to help me to my feet…and when I stood, I knew immediately something was different. I placed weight on both legs and felt no pain and as we carefully navigated the hillside, I wondered whether I might be in a state of shock, which erased the feeling of pain I’d previously felt.

We made it back onto the road surface and I began placing all my weight on my right leg, then my left. Pain free. Nothing. Not even a hint of soreness, let alone blow-your-brains-out-kill-me-now kind of pain. Zero.

The man asked if I’m okay. I confidently told him yes, keeping secret the miracle that had just occurred to me. Again, he asked if I was SURE I was okay and I said yes, I’m fine.

Disbelieving, he insisted that we go to the emergency room of the local hospital and have those professionals check me for injuries because he knew there was no way I was uninjured so I must be in a state of shock. I agreed to go.

Our visit to the hospital proved me right. No broken bones. No ruptured organs. No visible signs of trauma anywhere. Afterward, he drove me to our house where my other three roommates were still up, sick with worry and not knowing what happened to me. The day was supposed to end at 9 PM, but here it was, well past midnight.

I described what had happened to me on the road and how I miraculously walked away from it without a scratch. They seemed equally as incredulous as the car’s driver, unbelieving how I could be unhurt after being launched from a car going 60 mph.

The following morning (it already WAS morning when I’d gotten home!), I began my day as normal, except for one thing. I began with a thank you prayer for what my heavenly Father did the night before. But then, something curious occurred. The medical professionals agreed that I was unhurt and could go home, but they didn’t mention whether there were any visible signs on the back of my leg where the car struck me. I turned and looked into the mirror.

I didn’t even have one single bruise. My answered prayer was complete, immediate and it made me whole without a shred of evidence that my leg had ever been in contact with anything other than night air.

This was not the only moment that my life was spared in a life threatening accident. It has occurred multiple times. Yeah, you could say I’m a slow learner sometimes, but it was moments like this that my faith became galvanized and unbreakable and I am living proof that guardian angels exist…and in my case, they’re working overtime.