Yesterday, when in conversation with someone who was questioning our ability to effect change with our thoughts, I related three occasions over the years when I witnessed near-catastrophic roadway occurrences. Each time, I called on Spirit to intervene and each time it did.
The first took place on 95 South in Maryland in 1986. My husband, three friends and I were en route to Washington, DC on the last day of The Great Peace March on November 15th. It was around 6 a.m, and we had been on the road for a few hours. We witnessed what could have been a horrific deadly crash. A car swerved from one lane to the next, doing a 360 as the driver slumped over in her seat. I sent a silently screamed plea for the safety of all on the road. It moved, as if by unseen hands, to settle on the shoulder. A caravan from Ft. Meade pulled up behind our car and joined us as we leaped out to see if she was okay. Turns out she was a seven-months pregnant army reservist on duty who fell asleep at the wheel. Someone from the caravan drove her to the base. I often wonder how the life of this woman and her child turned out. Did she realize what a miracle it was that they survived? The baby would be 33 this year.
Another was a Ryder truck that crashed through trees on a semi-rural road in my area. I was heading in one direction and he was going in another. I held up my hand and yelled, “NO, STOP!” It halted its forward trajectory without hitting another vehicle. The driver seemed to be having a seizure, as I noted once I got out of the car. He was foaming at the mouth, surrounded by shards of glass from the windshield. Amazingly, there seemed to be no lacerations. Calling 911, I waited with him, offering words of comfort until an ambulance arrived.
And still, another took place on the 4th of July several years ago. I was on my way home from visiting friends in New York and was about to get onto the George Washington Bridge. I saw a car sideswipe an armored truck, which caused it to skid to the right and jump up onto a railing that hovered over a 50 foot or more drop to the street below. Horrified, I held out my hand and shouted with all my might “NO, STOP!” At that moment, I watched, astonished as the truck balanced on two wheels and then landed safely on the side of the road. The three men climbed out and one reached for the gun in its holster. “Whoa”, I called out and reminded him that they were safe and he need not draw his gun. My heart was already racing, without that to step it up. At that moment, I was certain that another invisible hand had brought them from the edge of the precipice. A firetruck had been on the street below and hightailed it up the ramp to intervene. Once they showed up, I went back on my way.
With none of them, did I acknowledge to the drivers or rescuers what I had done since I wondered if they would think I had gone off the rails. What each of these incidents had in common was a knowing that all was well, despite appearances at the time. I felt blessed to be present when this affirmation of grace and safety occurred. May I always remember that miracles abound.
The analogy wasn’t lost on me, nor on the other person with whom I was having this discussion. Since the election of 2016, I have been certain that we are on a course of catastrophe. The ‘drivers’ of the vehicle seem to have no concern for speed or safety. They are oblivious that they need to share the road as they demand the right to swerve at their discretion. They blare their pounding music and throw litter out of their car windows. They honk their horns loudly and insistently so that others they deem not roadworthy can get out of the way. They tailgate to intimidate. They rev their engines menacingly. They act as if other vehicles are bumper cars. They pay no attention to the traffic lights.
My father had spent much of his career as a SEPTA driver in Philadelphia. For three decades, he maneuvered the bus up and down crowded streets, aware of traffic flow and people. He took seriously, his responsibility of getting the passengers safely from point A to point B. I marvel at his skill in doing so. Would that the current operators of the symbolic bus which we have boarded be as mindful and careful.
As I read the news, listen to NPR reports of the atrocities at the border, the treatment of immigrants, the wanton disregard for the environment, the glorification of sexism, racism, homophobia, xenophobia, the reckless endangerment engendered each time the current occupant of the Oval Office opens his mouth, the hate-filled rhetoric hurled at anyone who opposes his point of view, I have an urge to once again, hold up my hands and bellow, “NO, STOP!” Would that it be as effective as it was in warding off those aforementioned accidents. We don’t have the luxury of letting the ‘road rage’ continue.
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