A Mothers Intuition

An orange-sherbet sunrise heralded the day as I reached for my morning tea. Glancing at the clock I knew Amanda would soon be on her way home, tired from her night shift at the coffee shop in the city.

I went about my usual morning routine and thought how determined my daughter was to earn enough money to help put herself through college.  It was a challenge for her to juggle two jobs but she managed. As I drifted from dishes to dusting I felt an unusual surge of concern for my now late-arriving daughter. I tried to keep busy, but I found myself watching out the window and listening for the familiar sound of Amanda’s car pulling into the driveway.


A wave of nausea washed over me and my heart raced for a moment. I closed my eyes and prayed for her safety, then chastised myself for being a paranoid mother. Amanda often jokingly reminded me about my smothering-mothering tendencies. I countered with the “Wait until you have children of your own” lecture. Was this one of those moments? I called Amanda’s cell phone. No answer.

Something was terribly wrong. I felt an urge to jump in my car and look for her. First, though, I called out to God for direction. I cannot say I heard an audible voice—it was more like a gentle nudge, but I truly felt God wanted me to leave the house.

My heart raced as I followed the likely route Amanda would take home. I kept pushing the redial button on my cell phone, but Amanda was not answering. I felt a sudden grip of fear and pulled over to the side of the road, wondering what to do. I remembered the countless times I had told Amanda to pray—how it was the most important step to take when fear crouched on the doorstep. So I prayed. I prayed that God would send His angels to protect my daughter.

My fear, thankfully, did not turn into panic, as I still felt compelled to drive. I drove for forty minutes but there was no sign of Amanda. Then my cell phone rang. My heart jumped to my throat. It was a female voice. The connection was so poor that I could hardly make it out: “ . . . accident . . . Bethel Sideroad . . .” I thought it was Amanda’s voice, but I couldn’t be sure. I was about fifteen minutes away from the Bethel Sideroad, so I did my best to keep my composure and drove, praying without ceasing.

A sickening sight awaited me. An ambulance and two police cars blocked the path of oncoming traffic. I saw Amanda’s little grey car wrapped around a broken hydro pole. The whole car was crushed. I gasped in horror and knew Amanda had surely perished in such a wreck. Feeling faint, I jammed on my brakes. A policewoman approached me and I wailed in agony. I jumped out of my car, frantically screaming for Amanda. Just then, she stepped out of the ambulance. “Mom!” she called. I raced to her and clung to her with my arms and heart.

How had she survived? The paramedics kept saying it was nothing less than a miracle. The police officers, after they had calmed me down, told me they had expected to pull a body out of the car. In their estimation, no one should have survived such a horrendous accident.

Amanda had apparently fallen asleep at the wheel and as she hit the side of the road, her car had flipped twice and hit the hydro pole. The entire car was crushed—except for the driver’s seat. She was taken to the hospital for observation, but other than a few scratches and bruises, she was fine.

I still marvel at the power of prayer and the sense of urgency that flooded my mind and heart that morning. The Almighty Protector shielded my Amanda—and sent His angels to protect her, just as I had prayed.