Editor's Column by Tess Chierici If I go 95 mph, I'll get home in four hours.

Back to Table of Contents | Back to Main Index Previous Editor's Columns | Send mail to The Voice God is merciful even when we are foolish I am constantly doing stupid things. Although God blessed me with common sense, every now and then I forget to use it. For example, I have I grabbed my curling iron by the wrong end, electrocuted myself by touching the metal prong of a cord that was in the outlet and tried pureeing tomatoes in my blender without the lid. One of the most foolish things I've done happened two summers ago while I was driving alone across state. I was returning to Idaho after working all summer at a camp near Portland. In my mad dash to get home, I didn't check to see if my right rear tire had enough air. It had a slow leak, but I didn't want to spend the time and money to get it fixed. The drive to Nampa, Idaho, from Portland takes six hours at 65 mph. After driving 30 minutes on Interstate 84, I was a twisted ball of impatience. My foot pressed farther down on the pedal. Seventy-five mph isn't too bad, I thought. I can go that fast and probably not be stopped by police. Five minutes later, 75 mph felt like a snail's pace. OK, 80. Only five miles more faster, I thought. Then I had a stroke of what seemed like genius. If I go 95 mph, I'll get home in four hours, I thought. I cranked up the radio, floored the pedal and watched for the highway patrol. Two hours later, I heard a loud clunk. At first, being ignorant of car mechanics, I thought my transmission had fallen out. Trying to remain calm, I gently tapped the brakes. My car began to rock violently from side to side until I thought it would tip over. Tess, don't panic, I said to myself. But faced with the possibility of tipping onto my side, I slammed on the brakes. The car fishtailed from the left lane to the right lane. I lost control and began heading for the median. Suddenly, a thought from driver's education popped into my head: "Drunk drivers usually survive car wrecks because their bodies are relaxed." I slouched in my seat and relaxed my grip on the wheel despite the fact that I could see myself crashing into a block of cement. Oh boy, this is going to hurt, I thought. The passenger's side of the hood smashed first into the blockade; the car bounced off and spun so that the trunk on the passenger's side slammed into the cement. Then the car stopped. I released my seat belt, which I rarely wore, and opened the door. Sure enough, my low rear tire had popped due to friction created by driving too fast. The rest felt like a dream. A family in a red sedan stopped and called 911 from a cell phone. An ambulance came and tried to carry me off to the hospital. I reassured them repeatedly that I only had a rub burn from my seat belt. The paramedics made me sign a waiver before they drove off. The highway patrol officer didn't believe me when I told him how fast I had been going. He said he had three witnesses saying I was going 65 mph and that I wouldn't have survived a wreck at 95 mph. He refused to give me a ticket. A tow truck mechanic replaced my damaged wheel with my spare donut tire, and I was able to drive the 50 miles to the nearest town, Pendleton, Ore. every tire shop was closed; so I had to stay the night in Pendleton. That night in my motel room I thanked God for protecting me. He had given me complete, miraculous peace. I had never before felt such a strong sense of His presence. He had given me presence of mind to relax even as I watched myself slam into cement. He had kept the roads clear so that I didn't involve anyone else in the wreck. He had provided the family to call for help. He had protected me from any serious injuries. He had given the officer pity for me. He had allowed my car to run so I could drive home. Every time I reflect on that day, I am awed by God's grace. What I did was downright stupid, but God still looked out for me. Psalm 145:8 says, "The Lord is gracious and merciful; slow to anger and great in loving-kindness." I don't fully understand why the Lord continues to show me mercy, but I'm thankful that He does. Back to Table of Contents | Back to Main Index Previous Editor's Columns | Top Of Page Send mail to The Voice| Journalism department website © 2002 The Voice. No part of this publication may be reproduced in written or electronic form without prior written consent from the journalism adviser of Multnomah Bible College. All rights reserved.