On a cold February night in 2014, I flew into Des Moines in the middle of a snowstorm. I had just gotten back from a successful mission trip to the Philippines where over 150 people were baptized.

My son picked me up at the airport and, after enjoying a meal together, I headed home to Charles City.

The roads were slick and snow-packed. I knew my wife would be worried, so I decided to pull off the highway to call her and let her know I was on my way. As I took the next exit my car veered to the left and slid off the ramp. I hit two road signs, one bouncing off the side of my car and the other crashing into the center of my windshield. I came to a stop at the bottom of the median between the highway and off-ramp.

I put the car in four-wheel drive and tried to get to the off-ramp, but I just kept sliding back down. Then I tried making it back to the highway and was somehow able to climb the steep embankment like it was dry ground.

I came back up onto the highway just in time to see a semi hurdling right toward me. Before I could react, my car was jerked out of its way, and the semi passed safely by.

I sat there for a moment, stunned at what had just happened. Why was I able to climb that steep embankment but not get back to the ramp? The timing with the semi seemed hard to ignore. Was Satan attacking me because of the work we’d done in the Philippines? And how had that semi missed me? I believe God intervened and saved my life.

The rest of the drive home was uneventful. As I peered through my smashed windshield, I thanked God for the shove and wondered what it looked like from truck driver’s perspective.

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