In 1984 I had left a marriage that had become violent and moved to another city. At the time, my children had been living with their dad and stepmother. However, over a period of months in one way or another, my children found ways to be with me. One profound incident that occurred has always stayed with me.
On a gorgeous late October day, I woke up at 4:00 A.M. It was a happy day—because one of my daughters was coming to live with me permanently. I was planning to drive back to my hometown of Corner Brook, Newfoundland to pick her up and to visit my mother who was in a long-term care facility. I lived in St. John's, NL, approximately 700 km from my hometown, but because I had only one day off, I had to drive back and forth in the same day. This was quite a trek! I had done it before but not under such a time constraint.
My drive to Corner Brook went without a hitch. I arrived around lunchtime. I picked up my daughter, and we stopped by the hospital to have a short, sweet visit with my mom, who often worried about us. We put her mind at ease when she saw how happy my daughter was about living with me.
Around 2:00 P.M. I started driving back to St. John’s with my daughter. Anyone who has driven the route knows how beautiful Newfoundland is at that time of the year, and both of us were thoroughly enjoying the trip. But it was getting dark, and I was concerned about not being able to see any moose crossing the highway.
We stopped to have supper and stretch our legs. By the time we got on the road again, it was completely dark and my daughter drifted off to sleep. It was close to midnight, and I turned up the radio to keep me company for the last part of the drive; we were still two hours away from home.
The next thing I remember was looking at my daughter sleeping peacefully and, at the same time, feeling someone put a hand on my shoulder. When I felt the hand on my shoulder, I looked up and saw a steel signpost—letting me know there was a fork in the highway—and I was speeding straight towards it at 80 km per hour!
Miraculously, I was somehow able to slow down and safely pull onto the side of the highway. My daughter woke up thinking we were finally home, and I suddenly realized I had briefly fallen asleep behind the wheel! I waited until a tractor-trailer truck came by so I could follow it the rest of the way home—and we arrived safe and sound.
Had it not been for that sensation of a hand on my shoulder, causing me to wake up, I can’t even imagine what would have happened. The only conclusion that I can come to is that God or one of his angels definitely provided a miracle for me and my daughter. To this day, I still feel the touch of a hand on my shoulder whenever I think about that night so long ago.
