After we moved to Dallas from Orangefield, I had to travel back down there to check on our home which had not been sold. I drove down on Saturday and usually back on Sunday. I had made the trip several times, but on this particular trip I took my son Joseph with me.
He was about 10 years old at the time and I don’t know if he remembers this trip or not, but somewhere between Jacksonville and Frankston on Hwy 175 headed to Dallas, we were climbing a hill and the Hwy Dept had set aside two lanes going up the hill and one coming down the hill.
We were going up the hill and I always traveled at the top of the speed limit so nobody was going the pass me, so I never moved to the right lane in situations like this, because the sign said “Slower traffic to the right lane.” I wasn’t slower traffic.
Just before I reached the top of the hill I suddenly felt the urge to move to the right lane and did so. Almost immediately a car full of people, going at a tremendously fast speed came over the hill in the center lane exactly where I had been only seconds before. I will never forget that picture. The driver, a large man with his mouth wide open, laughing, his white teeth shining as he came into view.
Had I not responded to that urge to move over, my son Joseph and I would have been buried in 1969.
I knew that again God had intervened in my behalf to save my life.
