Today was a taekwondo day, which means a 40 minute drive to the next town.
The kiddos and I left early to hopefully do some shopping before time for class. When Greg got out of school he gave me a call to check where we were.
"H e l l o o ow?" I answered the phone with a quavery voice at least an octave higher than my usual.
"Are you ok?" Greg asked.
"Yes," I managed to squeak out, this time on the losing end of holding back full-on crying.
You may be asking the same question Greg did. "What happened?!"
This is what happened:
When Greg called, we had moments before been directed around an accident that had occurred in the middle of the highway. My children and I, along with the 7 or 8 cars ahead of us were among the first to come upon it. There were no police or rescue vehicles on scene.
That was unnerving enough, but what really brought on the tears was that about the same moment I was processing all this and about to answer Greg's call I remembered:
Less than a mile before the accident a pickup truck in front of me turned off the highway onto another road. The same pickup truck that I had been following for 6-7 miles. A pickup truck that went the entire 6-7 miles going fifty-two miles per hour in a 70mph zone. A pickup truck that held us up just long enough to be out of harm's way when two vehicles collided in our path.
The relief and the thankfulness for God's protection via a white Dodge dualy driven by a man in a baseball cap flowed freely, and still do. It was the best 52 mph I've ever driven.