It was a warm, sunny, Tuesday afternoon. I was waiting at the
red light at a busy interchange when another motorcycle pulled up
next to me, in the same lane, also now waiting to go home, or to a
friend's house, or maybe shopping. The very next thing he did was
watch me fly like a circus aerial act, bouncing off car roof tops,
and sailing all the way across the huge intersection.
With no prior intention, I was on my way to meet my maker and
face up to the life that I had been living until then-all initiated
by a drunk in an old, four-door sedan who had no plans on even
slowing down.
Resuscitated over and over on the asphalt, I was eventually
rushed to the hospital, where my wife was repeatedly told that I
would not be alive much longer. Not being a believer of that kind
of talk, she took peace in her heart that I would survive to be
with her and our two little boys.
Now, having been comatose for two weeks, I awoke frightened and
was told that I had little hope of much of a recovery. I was then
confronted with Jesus himself, right there in that hospital
room.
What He asked me over and over at that point clarified my
beliefs and gave me the confidence to continue on. I call that
encounter a pure miracle and thank God that I was The DOA Who Made
It
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