The Canyon

If you aren't into God you probably won't be interested in this post. It's just part of my personal testimony of the reasons why I know, without a shadow of a doubt, that my Father in heaven is real and very much a part of our lives.

First, let me say that I am anything but a perfect Christian. To be honest, I don't even know what a perfect Christian is. I don't follow any particular religion and have gone to many different denominations since I was a child. My belief is in God and His Son, Yeshua, and Yeshua's teachings. Mind you, that doesn't mean that I always follow His teachings or that I could even dream of being able to be that sinless, that loving, that understanding, that selfless and giving. I do try, though, as much as I can, to strive for it even if I fall short every day. My faith has dipped and soared over the years and there have been many times when I have railed against God for the things I felt He'd put in my path. For years, there were times that I fought my own knowledge of His love for me and His intervention in my life, even after being shown proof of it. Having faith in Him meant that I couldn't escape the very real knowledge that my sins and failures were every bit as real as He was.

That said, I hope that my testimony can help someone, somewhere, to have a little stronger faith or feel a bit more reassurance of His love. There have been many times in my life when He stepped in and affected things in such a way that I knew it was Him and not just happenstance. I may not have time to tell about all of those times but I'll try. We'll call this first testimony "The Canyon".

When I was a 16-year-old, very romantic and emotional teenager, I met my first boyfriend. He was NOT the kind of guy that my parents hoped I'd meet. I however, being the avid lover of romantic stories, fell in love with the 'bad boy' and the harder my parents tried to pull us apart, the harder I held on. It culminated in our running away together after dating for a few months. My parents allowed me to marry him at 17, very reluctantly, because I insisted that I would just continue to run away until they allowed us to do so. I was a very determined little "Juliet" and I wasn't about to let myself be separated from my "Romeo".

Naturally, due to our ages and our issues, the marriage lasted barely 8 months, but not before I managed to miscarry a baby that I very much wanted. Weeks of deep grief from the loss of my baby, followed by a messy, painful divorce, left me a very depressed, angry and confused 17-year-old divorcee.

On the day of the divorce hearing, I suffered yet another miscarriage. Not even realizing that I was pregnant again and only a couple of months along, I lost the baby in the bathroom of the courthouse. I remember my mother asking me if I was alright when I came out of the bathroom, remarking that I was very pale. I couldn't bring myself to tell her what had happened. Feeling as though I was the biggest failure in the world - after all, I'd failed at marriage, I'd failed at my 'great romance', I'd failed my family and disappointed them. Lastly and most devastatingly, I'd failed at being able to do what I wanted more than anything in the world, to carry a child, not once but twice. I was sure I was utterly worthless.

I rode home to the ranch with my mom after the hearing and then told her I was going for a drive. I climbed into the old red and white pickup truck and headed down the highway. I had no destination in mind and no plans. I just wanted to find a way to escape the whirling thoughts in my head and the soul-wrenching pain I was in. Along and among the thoughts of regret, loss and memories were scattered, stuttered prayers. "Why God?" "I'm sorry." "What did I do wrong?" "Please bring me back my babies!" I felt so alone. I was sure that He would never forgive me for being such a disappointment and failure.

Eventually, I turned onto one of the gravel side roads and began randomly driving around the countryside. As I drove, the pain and anger and confusion continued to swirl and grow inside me. I drove faster and faster, trying to find a way to make it stop.

Just ahead, I saw a short wooden bridge that spanned a narrow canyon. At the last moment, I decided to steer off of the road and headed directly for the canyon edge, stomping on the gas. Did I want to die? I honestly don't know; I just knew that I wanted the pain to stop. The edge of the canyon loomed ahead as the pickup bounced across the uneven ground.

At the very last second, within inches of plunging into the canyon head-on, I felt the warm, firm grip of a hand grasping my right ankle. The hand yanked my foot off of the gas pedal. At that same moment, something wrenched the steering wheel out of my hands and twisted it violently to the side, causing the truck to do a 180* turn that rocked the entire vehicle almost onto its side. I was thrown across the cab, ending up on the floor of the passenger side, my back hitting the door. The pickup, surrounded by a huge cloud of dust, sat idling, rocking back and forth as it settled and eventually stopped moving. After a few moments, the engine faltered to a halt and grew silent.

I sat on the floor of the truck, unable to comprehend what had happened. I could still feel the grip of the fingers that had pulled my foot from the gas pedal. I had no idea who or what had turned the steering wheel. All I knew was that it wasn't my will that had caused it to happen.

I don't know how long I sat there, trying to grasp it all. The dust had settled completely, and I could hear birds singing in nearby trees as I pulled myself back up onto the seat and slid across the cab and behind the wheel. It was at that moment that I realized that the back wheels of the truck were literally on the very edge of the canyon, the back of the truck bed hanging over the edge. "God," I silently prayed, "Okay. I won't do that again. I'm sorry." My hands shaking, I started the engine, slowly driving away from the edge of the canyon, and headed home.

Call it an angel, call it Divine intervention. Whatever it was that turned the pickup truck that summer afternoon was not of this world, that much I know for certain. God decided to stop that hurting, angry, desperate kid from taking her own life, for whatever reasons He had. He'd heard my jumbled prayers and answered them in a way that left me no doubt that He was the cause. While I went through some very hellish times during the years that followed and there were times that I wanted very much to end my life - or, rather, the pain of it - I never tried to commit suicide again. I'd learned my lesson that hot August day on that dirt road in the Wyoming countryside.