My Son, My Husband, My Life

Thirty Years After My Motorcycle Miracle

August 6, 2026, marks thirty years since the day I thought my life was going to end on a South Dakota interstate.

It was August 6, 1996. My husband, our friends, and I were riding motorcycles between Rapid City and Sturgis during Bike Week. The temperature was close to one hundred degrees, traffic was moving fast, and the interstate was packed with motorcycles, cars, semis, and RVs.

We were riding behind an RV when its engine suddenly failed and began spilling oil and antifreeze onto the highway.

I was the first motorcycle behind it.

The moment my tires hit that slick mixture, my motorcycle began jerking violently from side to side. In an instant, I knew I had lost control.

My life flashed before my eyes.

My son.
My husband.
My life.

Those were the thoughts that filled my mind.

I could not believe everything might end on an interstate between Rapid City and Sturgis, South Dakota. God had already helped rescue me from alcohol and drug addiction. He had given me a loving husband and a young son whom I adored.

I did not want my life to end.

Then I heard the voice of my motorcycle safety instructor clearly in my mind:

“Don’t fight it. Lay it down.”

I shifted my weight and pulled the motorcycle over.

What happened next still feels impossible to explain.

I was thrown from my motorcycle and spun around until I was sliding backward down the interstate, facing oncoming traffic. Another riderless motorcycle was coming directly toward me.

I pulled my legs tightly into my chest and aimed my boots toward its seat.

My boots struck the motorcycle with tremendous force. The impact launched me into the air. I completed two full somersaults before landing upright on both feet on the shoulder of the interstate.

I was standing.

I was alive.

And I was not injured.

No broken bones.
No bruises.

Off-duty EMTs examined me. Friends looked me over. My husband searched my body for signs of injury after running toward me and pulling me into his arms.

There was nothing wrong with me.

Even my motorcycle had only minor damage and started immediately.

Against every logical explanation, I rode it into Sturgis.

That night, every second of the accident replayed in my mind.

How had I known to lay the bike down?
How had my head never struck the pavement?
How had I landed on my feet?
How could I have no injuries?

The answer that kept settling into my heart was simple:

God had carried me.

At that time, I believed in God, but I did not yet fully understand His love for me. I knew He had helped clean up my life, but part of me still struggled to believe He truly wanted me.

I had no idea how much life was still ahead.

Thirty years later, I can see what I could not see then.

God did not simply save my life that day.

He preserved a future I had not yet lived.

The young son who flashed through my mind grew into a man. God later blessed us with another son. Both of our boys married remarkable women, giving me two daughters-in-law whom I love dearly.

And now we have three grandsons.

Three precious little boys who were not even a thought in my mind as I slid down that interstate.

This year, my husband and I celebrated thirty-nine years of marriage and forty-four years together.

The man I was terrified of leaving behind that day is still beside me.

We have built a life filled with family, healing, laughter, hardship, ministry, and memories I never knew would be mine.

When I landed on my feet on August 6, 1996, I could not see birthdays, graduations, weddings, grandchildren, books, speaking events, or women whose lives I would one day encourage.

But God saw it all.

He knew the second son who would come later.

He knew the women our sons would marry.

He knew the grandsons who would one day call me Grandma.

He knew the ministry He would place in my hands.

And He knew that one day I would finally understand how deeply He loved me.

At the time, I thought the miracle was that I survived.

Today, I know the miracle also includes everything that came after.

Maybe you are in a place where you cannot see what God could possibly do with your life.

Maybe your circumstances feel final.

I want to tell you what thirty years have taught me:

You cannot see everything God sees.

You do not know who still needs you.

You do not know what healing, relationships, purpose, or joy may still be ahead.

On August 6, 1996, my thoughts were:

My son.
My husband.
My life.

Thirty years later, I look around and see how generously God answered the cry hidden inside those words.

My son became two sons.

My husband is still by my side.

And my life became more beautiful and meaningful than I could have imagined.

God was not finished with my story.