“It was a dark and stormy night,” Father David began, with a broad smile. “Sorry, I couldn’t resist. That night twelve years ago on a winding coastal road, if hell exists, I saw its face. On each slippery bend I held my breath, fearfully gripping the steering wheel. Silicon-like sheets of rain coated my Jaguar’s windshield. Even at the fastest setting, the wiper blades provided only blurred, translucent vision. Immense weeping willows like giant sentinels guarding an ancient path overshadowed the road on either side. Their long thin leaves waved frantically, warning me of the impending danger.

I cursed as the front wheels spun and jerked to the right in a deep puddle. The force of the turning wheels pulled the steering wheel from my hands. I pressed the brakes, grabbed the steering wheel and regained control of the car, stopping short of the unguarded embankment.

Paralyzed by fear and vulnerability…breathing shallow, heart racing, and sweat dripping from my forehead, I viewed with unchallenged respect the rocky outcrop below pointing towards Montrose Beach. I was berating myself for buying such a useless vehicle when the radio announcer’s voice caught my attention. ‘If you’re trying to get to safety from hurricane Ivan, here are some public storm shelter locations,’ he said, naming a number of towns and cities. I was getting discouraged, because they were all too far away, until he mentioned Esterville. It was only a few miles up the road. I knew I had time to drive there before the worst of the hurricane came ashore. But what if I spun out again and wasn’t so lucky? I could’ve been mangled on the rocks—a cenotaph to stupidity. You wouldn’t believe it, but I felt safer staying there, taking my chances, hoping I’d be spared.” Father David paused, quizzically looking at the congregation as if to ask, what would you have done?

“As some of you already know, I used to be a motivational speaker. That morning I’d delivered a seminar about taking charge of your own life—that there is no such thing as bad luck. You make your own luck, I’d shout to a room full of adrenalin-charged sales people.

Yet, there I was at the mercy of my own dogmatic philosophy. How could I tell others to take charge of their own destiny if I didn’t even have the guts to keep on in the face of a storm?

Granted, it wasn’t an ordinary storm, but as I’d repeated many times, the ordinary can handle the ordinary. It takes the extraordinary to deal with the extraordinary. Hell, I am extraordinary I yelled, raising my fists and shaking them at the approaching hurricane!

I lowered my window a crack letting the cool, damp air fill my lungs. Through the passenger’s window I watched the enormous curling waves elevate as they hurled onto the beach, hammering it with punishing blows.

Hands steadier, breathing stable, and rational thought returning, I decided that sitting in the path of a category four hurricane was not such a good idea and pulled the gearshift into reverse. Unable to see through the foggy rear window, I blindly backed onto the road. Suddenly I heard the sound of crashing metal. I could only imagine that someone must have swerved to avoid hitting me and was now stranded on the rocks below.

What do I do now? I cried out, half expecting an answer. I lowered both passenger windows. My eyes strained to see through the downpour. I could barely see the small, dark car lying on its roof on the rocks below.

Tormented by the surreal image, I listened to the motivational speaker’s mantra telling me to get out of there, save yourself—make your own fate. Those self-preserving ideals were quickly shredded by my conscience, as the possibility of someone being alive in that overturned vehicle became a realization.

I knew if I wanted to ensure my safety, I had to leave right then. Any other course of action would’ve put my own life at risk. But, what if someone was alive? I wouldn’t have known without checking, and not knowing would’ve haunted me forever. There was only one choice.

Cursing my luck, I slammed the gearshift into park and stepped out to face the onslaught of gale-force winds and lashing rain. The waves were now crashing a third of the way up the shoreline. I sat down on the mud-soaked ground, eased my legs over the slight embankment, and placed my feet on a flat rock surface. Pushing against nature’s torrent, I painstakingly made my way, banging and scraping my legs as I fought to keep from falling on the slippery rocks.

I could see through the smashed rear window that no one was in the backseat. I bent down and looked toward the front and saw only a driver. William’s head was slumped sideways toward the centre console. Holding onto the car’s undercarriage to balance myself, I worked my way around to the driver’s window. Through the shattered glass, I noticed a passenger hidden by the high-back bucket seat. She was strapped in a booster chair. At the time, Jeannie was only five years old. A steady stream of tears flowed down her tiny, pain-twisted face, and her body heaved with waling screams that I could barely hear over the howling winds.

Almost without forethought, I did something I’d never done before. I prayed. At first it was very awkward because I didn’t know to whom or what to say. I’d met people who talked about their God, but there seemed to be so many versions and interpretations. Which one was right, I asked myself, or did it even matter? I remembered a man who approached me at the end of a conference I’d conducted months before. He told me everything I lectured on that day was irrelevant and all I needed was faith. At the time, I thought he was crazy. But, seeing a young child in such a desperate state, I was no longer sure.

I looked out over the ocean and simply said, Lord, I beg you to help me get these people out of here safely.

I checked William’s pulse. He was still alive. I knew I wouldn’t be able to carry him over the rocks. The best I could do was get Jeannie to safety and notify someone about the accident. I hoped William would survive the storm and be rescued later.

I sidestepped my way to the passenger’s door, only to find it jammed by a rock yet the window surprisingly intact. I searched the immediate area for a good-sized stone to smash the glass. I found nothing and was beginning to lose hope when I noticed a portable fire extinguisher strapped inside the rear window. After a couple of solid blows, the window cracked. Not wanting to harm her with shards of glass, I gave it a few more taps while cautiously picking out the larger pieces by hand.

Jeannie’s screaming had subsided to quiet, trembling sobs. With no time to spare, I reached in, undid the safety straps, and carefully lifted her through the broken window. When I picked Jeannie up, she started kicking and flailing and shouted in my face to save her daddy. I didn’t have time to reason with her, so I gripped her tightly to my body. With one hand to balance myself, I slowly traversed the rocks back to the road. When I finally reached the Jaguar, I opened the door, buckled Jeannie into the front passenger’s seat and drove off with her crying and pounding on the door, ‘I want my daddy, I want my daddy...’

Shortly after arriving at the storm shelter, I found out from one of the volunteers that the hurricane had changed course towards the open ocean. Coincidently, if you believe in coincidence, it was seemingly about the same time I’d said the quick prayer. I located a telephone and called the local police to report the accident.

That was the worst but most pivotal night of my life because I made two dedicated friends who, in their tragedy, led me to God.” Father David said, looking directly at William and Jeannie. “By the way, now I drive a Jeep.” he finished with a wry smile.

I have been writing for many years, attended numerous workshops on all aspects of creative writing, and have written editorials for newspapers. For over a year, I attended weekly classes led by a published author who was my mentor. I am in the process of writing my first novel—a thriller suspense story. A well-known editor edited the first draft of my manuscript. I am now rewriting portions of it with hopes of being published in the next year or so. My life has been quite tumultuous and filled with struggle—a well from which I draw many raw moments for writing.