There are moments in life that redefine everything you thought you knew. For us, it happened in just three seconds. That’s how long it took from the moment our truck veered off the road until it slammed into a concrete pillar at nearly 85 miles per hour. Three seconds. Three heartbeats. Three chances for life or death.
Hunter, behind the wheel, had only that split second to decide what to do. He carries guilt, replaying the crash in his mind, believing he should have done more to protect me. But the truth is, he saved my life. His instincts — sharpened from years as a baseball player, reacting to pitches flying at 95mph — kicked in at the exact moment they were needed most. He spun the truck in such a way that the impact struck perfectly between us, a decision that spared both of our lives.
When I tell him this, he shakes his head. But I know, without a doubt, that his actions kept us here. And as we lay in separate hospital beds that night, battered and bleeding, he still found the strength to protect me, reaching out for my hand, making sure I felt safe in a moment when fear wanted to take over.
The Miracle in the Wreckage
By all accounts, the accident should have destroyed us. The paramedics couldn’t believe we had survived. A truck crushed almost beyond recognition, twisted metal that looked as though it had been chewed apart by a machine. And yet, inside that chaos, our bodies were remarkably whole. No broken bones. No lasting head trauma. No internal bleeding. Just a handful of stitches, bruises, and the kind of pain that reminds you you’re alive.
When I think back, the miracle becomes even clearer. I suffer from heart issues — anxiety and palpitations that trigger terrifying panic attacks. In the moments right after the crash, as I gasped for air and begged Hunter to say something, panic threatened to overwhelm me. His head was through the windshield, his face bloodied, his body frighteningly still. For a few terrible seconds, I thought I had lost him.
And then, I saw him.
A man, standing in the road. White beard. Bright presence. No other cars, no noise, just him. He walked toward me, calm and steady, and told me an ambulance was on its way. Something about him eased the chaos inside me. I can’t explain it — whether it was an angel, a hallucination, or a glimpse of heaven itself — but looking at him gave me peace. It kept me from watching the horror of Hunter being pulled from the wreck. It gave me enough strength to believe he was still with me. And when Hunter was finally freed and laid beside me, the man faded away. I blinked, and suddenly paramedics were shining a flashlight in my face.
Was he real? I may never know. But I believe with everything in me that God sent him for us.
Proof of God’s Hand
As if survival wasn’t enough of a miracle, there was something else. Amid the wreckage, the only belonging left behind was Hunter’s Bible. Open, untouched, and marked to a scripture that read: “Do not be afraid, for I am with you.”
That was no accident. That was God’s reminder that He was with us in every second of that terrifying night.
We were released from the hospital in less than two days. We walked out alive, with families surrounding us, prayers carrying us, and hearts overflowing with gratitude.
Why We’re Sharing This
Yes, we’re still in pain. Yes, the recovery will be slow. But we believe this story isn’t just for us. It’s for anyone who has ever doubted God’s presence, His power, or His plan.
If there’s one thing you take from what we went through, let it be this: God’s love is real, and His plans will not be shaken. Not by fear. Not by pain. Not even by an accident that should have ended our lives.
We are here for a purpose — to tell you that He is faithful. That He is good. That even in the darkest moments, He is still working.
We don’t see this wreck as a tragedy. We see it as a testimony. A second chance at life. And if it takes sharing this story — our three seconds of fear turned into a lifetime of faith — to help someone else believe in His love, then every scar and every tear was worth it.