Stopped in the Fast Lane

We almost died on the interstate a few weeks ago.

It was pouring rain—POUR-ING! We were in the left/fast lane crossing an overpass near City Park in New Orleans, and when we got to the top of the overpass, we could see, about three car-lengths ahead, a white Lexus SUV stopped and sideways in our lane!

My husband slammed the brakes. We stopped, but barely.

How close were we? I could see the whites of the SUV driver’s eyes, and I am not exaggerating. I could see his panic.

The front end of his SUV was only inches from the concrete wall, so he couldn’t go forward, and he couldn’t back up because cars were flying past in that lane.

Although the rain was loudly pouring down and we were in another vehicle, it was quite possible he could hear my husband screaming at him, “Get out of the way!”

“Oh, my God. Oh, my God,” I said or thought, with my eyes on the passenger side mirror.

 An SUV flew up behind us. Somehow, they stopped, too. I felt only a nanosecond of relief because I understood that, like us, other drivers could not see the hazard until they reached the top of the overpass. More cars would come. They’d have to slam the brakes or swerve into the next lane to avoid piling into us.

It felt like I was watching a movie, except I was in it. My husband’s yelling, the rain banging down on our vehicle, the driver’s panicked eyes, the vehicles closing in behind us—everything swirling all at once.

It. Was. Horrifying.

I am 100% positive that the Lexus driver couldn’t see if it was safe, but after a while, he just risked it and backed into the second lane from the left. Luckily, it worked out, and he sped off. My husband slammed his foot on the gas, too. We were on our way, and relief and gratitude poured over me. 

All I could repeatedly say for the next (at least) twenty-five or more miles was, “Thank you, God.”

Everyone involved was so “lucky," especially the people in the Lexus. I don’t know how they ended up sideways in the fast lane of the interstate, and I’m no accident analyst, but I’m pretty sure that people usually don’t survive getting T-boned by a Suburban traveling at interstate speed, so I hope they spent some time thanking Him, too.

Even weeks later, I’m still shook.  My logical mind has always known we’re not guaranteed another day—or even another second.

But to feel that truth in my bones. To sit in that moment and wonder if our time was up. That was different. It was visceral.

I believe every person in that line of vehicles was given a second chance to live better, love bigger, and hold this one precious life more dearly.

I hope I never forget how it felt to (REALLY) fear the end.

And I know I will never stop being grateful for the middle.

Cheers to another day!