An Angel in My Car

An Angel in My Car

From Chicken Soup for the Latter-day Saint Soul

An Angel in My Car

For he shall give his angels charge over thee, to keep thee in all thy ways.

Ps. 91:11

It was early in the afternoon on a rainy November day as I left the restaurant in Park City, where I worked with my younger sister Debbie. She didn’t have a car, and had gotten a ride with our father to work. It would be about a half-hour drive to take her from work to my father’s house.

Something just didn’t feel right as I eased my little green Volkswagen Beetle out of the parking lot and onto the road; I felt like something bad was going to happen, like there was going to be an accident. I silently prayed that there wouldn’t be an accident—and that there was another reason for my feelings. I kept my feelings to myself, and talked and laughed with my sister about the day at work. I figured there was no reason to worry her.

Nearly a third of the way home I could no longer keep the nagging feeling that there was going to be an accident to myself and told my sister.

“Oh, I sure hope not!” she gasped. There—I had said it, and now she was worried—exactly what I had wanted to avoid. Now I was no longer praying that we wouldn’t be in an accident, but that if an accident were to happen, it wouldn’t take place while my sister was in the car with me.

We reached my father’s home safely, and I reasoned with myself that my fearfulness had been unnecessary, possibly a result of being tired after a long day of work. I stayed and visited with my sister for a while before heading back in the direction from which I had just come. It would be an hour-long drive to my apartment in Heber City. As soon as I left the country road and merged on to the freeway, I had the feelings again—only this time the apprehension was stronger than before. I began to silently pray again that I would not be in an accident and that my feelings would vanish.

I don’t know if you believe in angels, but I do. As I neared Heber City, I felt as if someone was sitting on the seat beside me. “Slow down,” I could hear someone say, “you are going too fast.” I lightly tapped on the brakes, and my car slowed down for a while. But as I started going downhill, I was soon speeding again—and the warning came once more. And I slowed down again.

The rain had finally let up, but the roads were still quite wet, and there were puddles of water here and there. Suddenly and without warning, my small car started to hydroplane on the wet road.

“Please, no!” I screamed. “Heavenly Father, don’t let me hit anyone!” I had lost control of the car. As my Volkswagen spun around, I thought I could hear a laugh as a voice said, “Here we go—we’re going to flip over.” I thought of my dad and all he had gone through when my mom had died a few years earlier. “Please don’t let me die—my dad has gone through enough,” I pleaded as the car hit the dirt on the side of the road.

My little green Volkswagen flipped backwards and flew through the air. With a deafening crash, it landed upright in a swamp on the side of the road. I found myself on all fours, bouncing on the back seat. I don’t know how I got back there, but I slowly opened the door and crawled from the car. I wasn’t hurt except for a small cut on the back of my shoulder. The officer that came to the scene later told me that I was very lucky to be alive: Most accidents like mine don’t end so well.

I don’t know if you believe in angels, but I do. There was one riding beside me the day I wrecked my green Volkswagen Bug.

Heidi Butters

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