Set the dial on the wayback machine to the year 2000. As we were driving home one afternoon, my wife in the passenger seat suddenly dropped out of our conversation and sank back into the car seat. Her eyes were closed and her face was pale. She was apparently under great mental stress. I somehow knew that this was no time to ask questions. I redirected the younger children's continual chatter from her to me so she could concentrate upon whatever it was. After a few minutes she returned to normal. When we arrived home I asked her what the matter was. All she said was,
"Mike and Carolyn are driving down the mountain."
They had gone to visit friends at a Christian youth retreat on the mountain (Beersheba), and the road was treacherous. Within minutes we heard their car pull into our driveway. As soon as they walked into the kitchen my wife asked,
"Carolyn, what happened?”
"Oh, nothing,” Carolyn replied.
My wife repeated her question with more insistence,
“What happened?!!!”
Her older brother interjected with bravado,
“Some jerk nearly ran us off the road on a tight curve. I blessed him out good!”
My wife was still as a statue as he sauntered upstairs. I turned to her and said,
“You need to tell Carolyn what happened.”
When she did not respond, I insisted,
“Tell her what happened!”
So she did. Carolyn listened to her story very quietly. When it was finished she said,
“Thanks, Mom. I've never had anyone pray for me like that before.”
Then they hugged each other and cried.