It's about 9 p.m. and we're heading down a two-lane highway, one that
leads in and out of Dallas.
We're heading out, with Allen at the wheel.
Before we exit the Big D, we notice it's hopping tonight; it IS
Saturday after all.
Cars pack into the parking lots of homogenous restaurants (the same
ones everywhere, Olive Garden, Red Lobster, Chilis, etc). They dangle
off the sides of Highway 81 like ticky-tacky souvenirs on a charm
bracelet from anywhere.
We're just passing through, so we buy no souvenirs. For a little
while, I watch the neon fade from my rearview mirror. Soon, the city
and her excitement dissolve, so I settle back in my seat and turn to
watch the road.
There's no one ahead of us, but there is a line coming toward us. I
imagine it's a line of date-night hopefuls, heading into the Big City
for an evening of boot-scootin' fun.
The traffic is fast, about 65 MPH. And suddenly, in this fast traffic,
I see headlights coming straight for me. In my lane. Heading the wrong
way. Heading toward me. It's hard to reconcile what I am seeing.
Finally, my brain regains control and I shout: "He's in our lane!"
I can tell by Allen's calm approach to the impending disaster that he
knows this already.
He waits to avoid a collision until he can wait no more (hoping the
offending driver corrects himself). At just the moment Allen begins to
veer to the right, I know Jesus took control of the wheel of the
oncoming car. The car, aimed directly at us for a head-on at 65 mph,
swerves across our lane to the outside berm, then into the grass at
the very moment we pass.
Allen checks his rearview and sees the car slow toward a safe stop.
God and his grace spares lots of people tonight because there are lots
of cars on the road right now. Going both ways.
Imagine the deadly pile up. That didn't happen.