Pardon Me ... I’ve Gotta Tell This Story

 


If things had played out the way they seemed headed, the fourth Sunday in July would’ve been the last day on Earth for three people I know personally—me, my wife Cynthia, and my stepson Larry.

We should be dead.

But I’m alive. I’m here. And I’m writing this one day later with a single, undeniable truth burned into my spirit:

Almighty God—not circumstances, not coincidence—makes the final call on life and death.

Let me explain.

We were on our way to Sunday worship service—a quick 20-minute drive from home. The trip started out smooth, even quiet. 

About seven minutes in, a sense of peace came over me. And without warning or prompting, a few passages from Scripture began repeating in my mind:


“The Lord is thy keeper… thy shade upon thy right hand .....”                                                               —Psalm 121 (KJV)


Seconds later, the unthinkable happened.

I was approaching a stretch of road where several cars were waiting to merge. Others sat in a turn lane across from us. Out of nowhere, a car darted from the left-turn lane and came straight across our path.

From the passenger seat, Cynthia screamed. My hands clamped the steering wheel like a vice. My foot hovered over the brake. Time froze.

There was no time to think. No time to react. I braced for impact. I was convinced a deadly crash was moments away.

But something happened.

Even though I was behind the wheel, it wasn’t me in control.

The car veered—just slightly, but just enough. The other vehicle missed us by inches. No swerve. No crash. No scrape. Just a blur of motion, and then it was gone.


It wasn’t me who turned the wheel. I know that.
It was as if God Himself took over.

I pulled over, switched on the hazard lights, and sat still, silent, and stunned, but safe. Those same verses from Psalm 121 returned to me, stronger now than before.

God protected us. There’s no other explanation.

Not luck.
Not good reflexes.
Not chance.

It was divine intervention—plain and simple.

When we finally got to church, I told my pastor. Then I shared the story with the congregation. But I knew I couldn’t stop there.

I had to tell you, too.

Because here’s what I know deep down:
Jesus is real.
The Bible is true.
And no, it’s not a book of fairy tales. It’s the living Word of God—active, powerful, protective.

What happened on Sunday wasn’t random. It wasn’t a close call. It was the hand of God.

The Great I Am.
The one who heals.
The one who provides.
The one who watches over His children.

We can't see Him with our physical eyes—but He sees us wherever we go. And ... He takes care of His own.

I’m a living witness. A humble, grateful recipient of grace and mercy I can never earn and don’t deserve.

If you already know Jesus, keep going. Keep believing. Keep praying. Keep honoring the One who is always faithful.

And if you don’t yet know Him, I invite you today—right now—to welcome Him into your heart. Don’t wait.

It’s the best decision you will ever make.

Take care. Be blessed, and remember this:

Nothing—absolutely nothing—can separate you from the love of God.


—Craig T. Greenlee


Note: Click the link and check out this song. It explains why I wrote this article. https://youtu.be/_Er80MK-Oq4?si=YemmjoiGpkJatLjB

 

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