The Hand

by | Jun 12, 1997 | Protection

My daughter, Kathleen, was 15… too young to seriously date but she had a boyfriend.

One evening, when I was leaving to pick up my son, Paul, from baseball practice, she asked if she could just go with her boyfriend to pick up his little brother at a friend’s house. She said they would come right back. I said, “Alright, just make sure you wear your seat belt, and come right home.”

It was my father’s birthday and my youngest daughter, Therese, was already at my father’s house waiting for us to come over with the cake I had yet to pick up at the store. I left to pick Paul up at school, but decided to take the highway, rather than the shortcut along the back roads.

After leaving the school, Paul and I ran in the store for the cake and some last minute goodies. As we were getting into the car, we heard and saw paramedics, fire trucks, three ambulances and of course a multitude of police cars.

I got a sick feeling in my stomach and said to Paul, “Somebody needs our prayers, quick.” I wondered if there was a fire or a bad car accident. At one of the intersections I had to stop to let more emergency vehicles through, and prayed, “Lord, those people need you right now, go to them and place your protective hand over them.”

We stopped at my parents to drop off the food, before going home to pick up Kathleen, but my father met me at the car and told us to postpone the party because Therese had fallen asleep.

“Which way did you go to the school?” He asked, “Because there was a bad accident on the backroad, I heard someone was killed. It happened just about the time you had to pick up Paul at the school and I know you always go that way. I was so happy to see you pull in, I had a gut feeling it was you.”

As Paul and I drove the short distance home, I could see our house was dark and when Kathleen is home alone, she always burned every light. As I turned off the ignition, tears fell, “It was Kathleen,” I told Paul, “I know it.”

I ran in the house and checked our answering machine, no one had called. I breathed a sigh of relief, thinking that someone would have called by now. “Paranoid,” that’s what Kathleen always called me, and that’s what I was telling myself, “Your just paranoid!”

Then, the phone rang. It was her friend’s mother, who worked in the emergency room of our local hospital. She only told me that the three of them were in an accident and were being transported to the hospital. I didn’t call my husband at work, nor my parents. Paul and I just left for the hospital. As I pulled into the parking lot, one of the paramedics, someone we have known for years, met us at our car.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” he said with tears streaming down his face. The next thing I remember after was talking to the doctor in the hallway of the ER. He asked me if I believed in God, and with that my knees gave way. “No,” he said, “you don’t understand, do you believe in divine intervention?” I stammered, a weak, “Yes.” Not having a clue what he was talking about. He smiled at me and asked, “Do you know what shirt your daughter is wearing, tonight?”

Nodding no, he told me to go down the hall and look. “Your daughter is blessed with angels and so are you. From what the emergency personnel told me, there is no way that your daughter should be alive, let alone only have a few scratches.”

Kathleen was laying on a cart, waiting for more x-rays. When I got to her, we both sobbed. As I was hugging her I had the urge to check her shirt, unzipping her jacket. I read the words, “Jesus Saves.” I knew then, what the doctor had meant.

All three were treated and released.

On the way home that night, Kathleen told this story:

“It was really weird, about a quarter of a mile before the accident, I said, ‘Wait, we forgot to put our seat belts on, my Mother will kill me.’ Then a car was coming towards us in our lane, he swerved, and I knew we got hit on the passenger side of the car, where I was sitting. We got hit a total of three times because the car kept spinning in a circle. I felt his little brother’s hand on my shoulder, holding me tightly in place. “But Mom, after it was all over, I could still feel the hand on my shoulder. I looked and his little brother had flown out the back window of the car, as we later found out, on the first spin.

“It was an angel, Mom, I know it!”

I knew it too, especially when we went the next day to look at the car, it had been split in half, right underneath my daughters seat. The driver of the other car, witnesses said, was traveling 90-95 miles per hour and the point of impact at that speed was directly at Kathleen’s door.

The police report stated that the car door was found fifty feet away from the accident scene, with the seat belt attached. So when the door broke loose, “the hand” was the only thing that saved my daughter’s life. The Lord, knew, long before I did that my child was in trouble, and I will always praise Him for saving her life and restoring mine. I have been meaning to write this story for the past couple years. Kathleen just turned 21. While I was writing this I smiled and cried, but it’s all true. Author unknown. If anyone has a proprietary interest in this story please authenticate and I will be happy to credit, or remove, as the circumstances dictate.

Author unknown. If anyone has a proprietary interest in this story please authenticate and I will be happy to credit, or remove, as the circumstances dictate.

Thanks to Sherry M. Keith-Rudd


The Hand