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A bag of roasted peanuts changed my life forever.
The day started like any other day in early summer. The sun burned warm and bright. I left my wife, Jane, and my son, Timmy, at our home in Albeth Heights, Maryland, right outside of Baltimore, to travel to a local grocery store.
My trek focused on picking up supplies for a trip that would begin as soon as I arrived back home. We planned to drive straight through to Yellowstone National Park. Our trip would include three days of driving time, five days of sightseeing, and travel back through Chicago on Interstate 80. Jane had always wanted to see Chicago, and tall buildings fascinated Timmy. We had planned this trip for months. With the day upon us, excitement and anticipation waited in the wings.
While standing in the checkout line about to place my items on the belt, I had a sudden realization—I had left my wallet sitting on the kitchen counter, and I had no cash on me. I did what most husbands would do in this situation. I grabbed my cell phone, called Jane, and begged for forgiveness for disrupting her packing and preparation so she could bring my wallet to me.
Although the local Harris Teeter grocery is two miles from our home, I had worked my way into a sticky situation this time. Instead of staying local, I went to a store I frequently visited on my way home from the office each day. The H Mart in nearby Ellicott City had a variety of foods usually not available in other retail stores. With a long trip in front of me, I desperately sought a particular brand of roasted peanuts. The day was fresh, and I knew I would have time for the more extended voyage.
I called Jane, and she was unhappy I did not stay local but said she would be right there with my wallet. She jokingly said it would cost me longer driving hours so she could sleep later in the evening. After our call, I explained my situation to the store manager and pulled my cart to the side to avoid disrupting other customers. He agreed, and we even laughed at how this happens more than anyone realizes.
Knowing it would take her a few minutes to load Timmy into the car and another ten minutes to drive to the store, I became only slightly concerned when twenty-five minutes had passed. At the forty-five-minute mark and four unanswered phone calls later, I became more nervous. Fifty-five minutes had passed since I first called her when my phone rang, and it was Jane, according to the caller ID.
Noise on the other end of the line indicated the caller stood in traffic. My heart sank as I heard a male voice introduce himself as a trooper with the Maryland State Police. A tragic automobile accident on Interstate 70 involved my wife and son. He informed me I should immediately go to the hospital.
Tears welled in my eyes as I listened, but did not respond. The trooper asked if I was okay and if I understood. I finally answered and told him I would go to the hospital. I left the cart full of items, including five bags of my favorite roasted peanuts and the bouquet I had purchased for Jane, and rushed to the hospital.
Spotting a doctor at the Emergency Room (ER) registration desk, I announced my name. He took me aside and informed me Jane was in surgery and her condition was critical. Timmy did not survive the accident. I fell to the floor, screaming in anguish. How could this have happened? I immediately blamed myself, allowing condemnation to flood my spirit.
I can’t imagine anything more painful in this world than hearing the words “He’s gone” when someone is speaking of your eight-year-old son. Those words turned my life upside down and inside out that day, now more than a year ago. When in similar situations, I’ve known people to lose their faith. Thankfully, God kept me going and continues to do so day by day.
After I had calmed down, the trooper from the scene found me and explained what had happened. The police chased a car theft suspect who twisted down an exit ramp, going the wrong way. He didn’t even try to avoid anyone and drove into oncoming traffic. Unfortunately, he crashed head-on into Jane and Timmy. The force caused the car to slide to the left, and an oncoming semi-truck hit the right side of Jane’s minivan. The impact killed Timmy instantly. He didn’t suffer. Jane received severe head injuries, two broken legs, and a fractured collarbone besides multiple scratches from the shattered glass.
The twenty-year-old driver had stolen the car as a prank. Being the son of an influential businessman in Baltimore, anxiety over his dad’s anger caused him to evade the police. He reported he did not realize he had gone the wrong way down an exit ramp and thought it was an on-ramp. A broken arm, a bruised jaw, and the painful lifetime memory of what he had done became the young man’s only injuries, along with his tarnished police record. But he survived; my family didn’t. Forgiveness did not come easy for me, but God helped me make it a reality.
Forty days later, I signed the papers to give the hospital staff permission to shut down the machine keeping Jane alive. She had no brain activity, and her extensive injuries showed she had no hope for survival. I was heartbroken and distraught, as my hand shook so much I could hardly sign the form. But I also knew I would see her and Timmy again someday in heaven. Dealing with her angry parents, who both said I should have waited longer, became a grueling task God also had to help me navigate. I knew in my heart God had spoken to let her go. So, I did.
The remainder of the summer blurred by filled with family and friends offering condolences and sympathy. Through the hurt and pain, I never lost my faith in God to restore all I lost. I didn’t know how he would do it, but I trusted he would get me through my agony.
I sold the house in Albeth Heights and moved into a downtown apartment closer to my office. After seven months, anger with God consumed me. I could hardly think of God without balling my fist. Somehow I could still hear Him though, and He told me to resign my role as a part-time pastor, which I held for twelve years. So, I gave a four-month notice and walked away from my passion for serving others, at least in that capacity.
In early May, I awoke from a strange dream, confident it came from The LORD. I dreamed I saw a sign indicating I was on I-70 EAST, but it had the familiar jargon I saw every day I drove home from my office in Baltimore. Columbus 420, St. Louis 845, Denver 1700, Cove Fort 2200. As I read the sign, I saw a red square around Cove Fort. I became confused because I knew I would travel westbound to see this sign, but the sign showed eastbound.
The next night, I dreamed I stepped into a red car, drove, and saw the familiar I-70 EAST sign. But the sign indicated: Cove Fort 1, Denver 10, St. Louis 20, Columbus 30, Baltimore 40. The dreams perplexed me so I asked God what they meant, but I did not receive the answers I desired.
In the eleven months since the accident, I refused to travel on Interstate 70 eastbound at all. I drove to various places westbound but would find a new way home every time. This area of Maryland is big enough that it is possible to arrive at a destination without a great deal of deviation or extra time.
A few days after my dreams, The LORD responded to my question, His answer shook me to my core
I prayed about what to do for a few more days before I became convinced The LORD wanted me to make a trip across the country from Cove Fort to Baltimore. To put the plan into action, I purchased a car, requested delivery to Beaver, Utah, booked a flight, and researched various stops along my way. When May gave way to June, the time to make the trip honoring my wife and son and to finally travel on Interstate 70 eastbound for the first time in a year had come. I did not know what I would discover, but I knew God was with me and would guide me. My role in the journey became clear; to stay close to Him in prayer.
For many, this may seem like an unusual method of recovering from tragedy. For others, it may sound like complete nonsense. As I reflect on it now, I see the wisdom of God in what I did—helping people to know God better, explaining in a
short time what I had tried to explain in twelve years as a pastor. Establishing and strengthening a relationship with God through His son is the greatest thing we can do for ourselves in this life.
