Carrie and I were married in July 1978. We were young, poor, struggling college students with about six years of college ahead of us.

Our very first car was a green, Ford Pinto. Except for the green color, I loved that car. It was fun to drive. That first Thanksgiving, we decided to drive it from Provo, Utah, to Denver, Colorado, to see my parents.

The goal was to leave early in the afternoon on the day before Thanksgiving to arrive in Denver as early as possible. On the morning of the trip, I took the car to a tire shop to check the tire air pressure. Unfortunately, they showed me that I had a nail in the tire. We had to get it fixed. The problem was finding someone to fix the tire the day before Thanksgiving because everyone was closing early. After several calls, we finally found someone to fix it. But it caused us to get off MUCH later than we wanted. Instead of leaving closer to noon, we left at dusk, with five-hundred miles in front of us, and it had been snowing.

After driving a little more than one hundred miles and just outside of Evanston, Wyoming, I vividly remember coming over a small hill.   At the bottom of the hill a car hit black ice, spun completely around and its headlights were shining directly at us.  The car in front of us stopped in time to avoid it.  But we couldn’t stop in time to hit the car in front, and the car behind us couldn’t stop in time and hit us from behind.  Our front window looked like a big spider web. The driver’s side door was smashed in. The back right panel was crushed. We were right in the middle of a three-car pile-up on a very cold, snowy, icy freeway.

I have two vivid memories of that night after an angel motel owner allowed us to spend the night for free. The first was my new wife sitting on a motel bed, tears streaming down her cheeks, and saying over and over, “What are we going to do? What are we going to do?”  I didn’t know how to comfort her, I was still in shock, and I felt guilty because I was driving. The second memory was of the car itself. Even though it was smashed, it could still drive, and we drove it back to our place in Provo. The driver’s window was gone, so we had to bundle up from the cold air rushing into the car. However, the biggest problem was the driver’s door car buzzer. Because the driver’s side was smashed in, the buzzer alert to close the door wouldn’t turn off. We tried many things to stop it. But it wouldn’t shut off. We drove it back to Provo with a high-pitched buzzing sound until it finally, thankfully gave out about twenty-five miles before our home, and gave our ears peace.

I’ve thought of that night several times since. One of my favorite New Testament stories is the story of Christ, after his crucifixion, walking and talking with two disciples on the road to Emmaus. They didn’t know it was Christ.[1] I’ve wondered how many times Christ has walked the road right beside me that night and since, and I didn’t know he was there. Hindsight is always 20/20. That night could have been so much worse. The motel owner put us up free for the night. Our car still got us back home. No one was hurt in any way, not even a scratch, which was a miracle. I’m sure angels were right there working overtime that night.

Through all the stress that night, if Christ somehow could have gotten through, and I would have been emotionally able to listen, I’m sure he would have said something like, “Larry, Carrie, it’s going to be all right. You’re going to be okay. I’ve got you. I’m walking right beside you. There are so many good things to come.”[2]

I try to remember this during the bad times and the good times. Christ is always walking right beside us.

[1] Luke 24:13-35.

[2] Hebrews 9:11

The artwork is called, “Did Not Our Hearts Burn” based on Luke 24: 13-32. It is used by permission from Eva Koleva Timothy