IT WAS ENGULFED IN FLAMES
It was early one crisp Washington morning when I agreed somewhat reluctantly to meet a man who wanted guidance. He insisted it had to be very early, and I remember thinking I’d rather still be in bed. But I honored the commitment and parked in front of our little country church, right across from our home.
As the sun broke over the horizon, painting the trees in a soft orange glow, I watched an old farm pickup truck rumble down the highway. I thought nothing of it until just seconds after it disappeared into the trees I heard a deafening boom. The sound was so sharp, so violent, that instinctively I started my truck and sped toward it.
Because of the heavy forest, I couldn’t see far down the road, but as I rounded the bend, my stomach dropped. Ahead of me was a scene I’ll never forget a pickup truck crushed against a massive tree, completely engulfed in flames.
I jumped out and sprinted toward the wreckage. Inside were two young men, slumped unconscious in the cab. Flames licked across the dashboard, already beginning to burn their legs. My heart pounded. I yanked on the doors they wouldn’t budge, twisted beyond recognition. In desperation, I scrambled into the bed of the truck and kicked in the back window with everything I had.
As smoke poured out, I climbed inside far enough to grab them. Both boys had broken legs, bones protruding through skin, and yet I knew if we hesitated even a moment longer, they would die right there. By that time, other drivers had stopped, and together we pulled their limp bodies through the shattered window. Seconds later, the truck was a roaring inferno. Their screams of pain pierced the air as we dragged them to safety.
Later, we learned they had been hauling hay for local farmers, working long exhausting hours until they finally fell asleep at the wheel. Doctors said survival was unlikely their injuries were so severe. But somehow, they lived.
Months later, I was in my church office when Daniel and Bethany then about twelve and nine came running in, breathless.
“Dad! Dad! Those boys the boys from the truck!”
I looked up, confused. “What boys?”
“The ones in the accident!” they shouted. “They’re out there smoking cigars by the road!”
Sure enough, when school let out, we walked toward the accident site, and there they were two young men in folding chairs, grinning ear to ear, puffing on cigars like old war heroes.
“It looks like you’re celebrating something,” I said.
“Yeah,” one replied, “one year ago today we cheated death. They told us we wouldn’t make it, but we beat the odds.”
I asked gently, “How did you get yourselves out of that burning truck?” They looked at each other and shrugged. “We can’t,” they admitted. “We were unconscious.”
That’s when I said softly, “I can tell you how. I was there. You didn’t save yourselves.” Their eyes widened. “You’re the one?”
“Yes,” I said. “I was there that morning. I broke the back window. But listen to me God put me at that place, at that exact time. If I’d been two minutes later, you would’ve burned alive. God spared your lives for a reason. He saved you because He has a purpose for you.”
Silence hung in the air. I noticed Daniel and Bethany at my sides, eyes wide, hearts pounding as they listened. Then something holy settled over that little roadside gathering. The two young men slowly dropped their cigars into the grass. Right there, beside the highway, the five of us joined hands two rescued boys, my two children, and me and we prayed together. Those young men gave their lives to Christ that day.
I’ll never forget the sound of their screams as we pulled them from the fire but even more, I’ll never forget the sight of their tears when they prayed for salvation. God spared them once in the natural, and then again in the eternal.
Sometimes, you don’t have to look for your ministry opportunity it finds you.