“The car spun. Metal screamed. Glass shattered. Then—silence.
For a few seconds, the world went completely still. No movement. No sound. Only the faint smell of gasoline and the hiss of the engine dying.

I opened my eyes to see the windshield spiderwebbed in front of me, the steering wheel bent at a strange angle, and my hands trembling uncontrollably.

I should have been dead. The force of the crash had twisted the frame, crushed the front end, and yet somehow, I was alive.

There were no sirens yet, no lights—just the whisper of rain beginning to fall and the strange, sacred quiet that follows disaster.

And in that quiet, I heard it again—not an audible voice, but that same presence that had filled my living room years before when I first heard, God is good.

He was there, right there, in the wreckage.”