Several months ago, I promised to share how God wooed me even as a child. Today I want to tell you about the day I should have died—at age nine.

Christmas morning, I found heaven on two wheels: a shiny pink Huffy with iridescent tassels dancing from the handlebars. Timid at first but I grew in confidence, and by spring I flew through the neighborhood.

But I had one very dangerous habit. I refused to use the brakes. Instead, I simply dragged my feet, grinding my sneakers to a halt in clouds of dust. My big brother Dan warned me, demonstrating again and again how to tap the brake. “Just rock your foot back!” he pleaded. I nodded but kept dragging my toes.

One afternoon Mom watched from the window. “Melinda, I’d love to ride bikes uptown with you one day,” she said, “but only when you learn to use your brakes properly.”

I practiced just enough to fool her.

Finally, the big day came. We pedaled side by side under the plum blossoms of the Forest Grove streets, crossed B street, and pushed up the steep ramp to the power company. Dropping off the bill, we headed home.

That’s when everything went wrong.

Mom eased down the ramp, then I started coasting down toward her. Faster. Faster. The road rushed up to meet me.

“Use your brakes!” Mom shouted, alarm rising in her voice.

My feet flew down, toes scraping uselessly against the pavement. My speed was too great. The angle too steep. I was hurtling straight toward the busy street.

She lunged and grabbed my arm with a mother’s grip. My bike fell and slammed sideways onto the sidewalk edge. At that exact second, a massive semi-truck roared past—inches from where I would have been. The wind from its wake whipped my hair across my face. My heart thudded in my throat. I stared, frozen, as the enormous wheels thundered by.

I had come within a breath of being crushed.

In that terrifying moment, the truth hit me like a freight train: That’s why we use the brakes.

My mom’s hand saved me in the physical. But God orchestrated the timing. The speed. The split-second rescue. It was not my smarts. It was not luck. It was mercy—raw, undeserved, breathtaking mercy.

God spared my life.

“Remember me, O my God… and spare me according to the greatness of Your mercy.” Nehemiah 13:22

“They shall be Mine… and I will spare them as a man spares his own son who serves him.” Malachi 3:17

“Though I walk in the midst of trouble, You preserve my life.” Psalm 138:7

Have you ever had a moment when death came screaming toward you… and then passed by? When your life flashed before your eyes and you knew, beyond any doubt, that God had stepped in?

Those moments leave an imprint on the soul forever.

The Lord is on our side. Who can be against us? There is no reason to fear.

I’d love to hear your story of God’s deliverance. It’s good to recount, for our own soul’s sake, for our encouragement, and His glory! I’m all ears.

For the Jacob generation,

Melinda Poling