People proclaim the miraculous to all sorts of events. I have three.
1)- We (ex wife, 2 boys) went to visit my parents in NJ. Stayed up waaaay to late the evening before leaving back to Indiana. I started driving, then just couldn’t continue, and asked the (ex) wife to drive. Somewhere between 3AM-4AM, on I80 in western Pennsylvania, the wife apparently dozes off and hits the rumble strips on the left shoulder. I am startled awake, and without thinking at all I grab the wheel and jerk it down violently. The car does a couple 360s and winds up in the ditch, resting in front of a tree at almost a 90 degree angle. Anyone familiar with I80 in PA knows there aren’t many places to go off road without hitting a tree. About half a mile up the road is a concrete bridge without a shoulder. That would have been ugly. Not a scratch on my wife, my kids, or myself. Possibly a “miracle” … especially when you hear the next part. We go to her parent’s house a few days after returning home. BEFORE we can relate our harrowing story, her father tells us that the very day we were driving back, that he awoke somewhere around 3AM, and the Lord impressed on him to pray for us. Wow. We then told him what happened around 3AM … and all of us were convinced it was, indeed, a miracle.
2)- June 1971. My girlfriend, Cindi, just graduated from high school. Her dad bought her a brand new Mustang. We go to the shore, Seaside Heights. One the return home, just two or three blocks from her house, a car with four drunk Hispanic teenagers flies right through their stop sign at what the police estimated to be around 50-60 mph. They hit the driver side door / driver side fender. The car is totaled. Neither of us is wearing a seat belt. Cindi’s face goes flying through the windshield. The two passengers in the other car are severely injured. I literally walk away with only a bruised knee.
3)- I’m stationed in Greece and it’s late November 1973. Me and my buddy take my 1965 VW micro-bus and drive up to the northern part of the country to see Mt Olympus and the Oracle Of Delphi. The bus does not have a radio. We drive back to the Air Force base, which is part of the Athens International Airport. As we approach Athens, and then drive through it, we notice something unusual …. there is NOT ONE fucking car on the streets. Shit. Something’s very wrong. I decide to floor the pedal to the metal to get back to base … which means the VW was doing about 50mph. I round a corner near the Athens Polytechnic University, and not 50 feet in front of me are …. two Greek Army tanks, barrels at about eye level. That was quite a sight, really.
That’s how I discovered there had been a revolution. That’s how I found out they had orders to shoot on sight …. but didn’t, and I don’t know why. That’s how I got religion. Seriously, I had already been attending Bible Studies off base, and not long after this incident I was baptized in the Mediterranean.
I don’t believe these were miracles. I’m just one lucky sumvabitch.
What about your miracle – or, lucky sumvabitch – story? I KNOW you have one. C’mon! Please share it with us … this place is deader than a doornail today. Who knows? Maybe I’ll become a Believer!
ASIG, why the hell would you make a horse riding track hard as concrete, knowing horses and riders fall? We always had our riding tracks in fields or soft dirt when I was growing up. Do you ever see riding competitions on hard tracks?
A friend that worked overseas in war zones fixing war damaged equipment on contract..When there was incoming,everyone around him died,but him,not one scratch ever.No one around him was ever just maimed,they died.The guys around him on new jobs,again in war zones heard about him,and would not work with him,as he was called a shit magnet,and bad luck.This happened over and over,until his contract was over.
In 1955 my grandmother was admitted to the hospital, she was dying of cancer. My mother went there to be with her. Over those last days there was always at least one of the siblings with their mother at all times. When my mother wasn’t at the hospital she spent her time staying at my grandmother’s house. One evening they were quietly siting around there at my grandmother’s house when my grandmothers dog began to howl and whimper, behavior it had never exhibited before. It was shortly after that that the oldest sibling that was at the hospital with my grandmother called to tell everyone that their mother had just passed away. They asked at what time did she pass and it coincided exactly with the time the dog became upset.
I’m the type person that needs a logical scientific explanation for things. I have no explanation as to how that dog could have known anything before the phone call. There are obviously some things beyond what is known.
@ rise up – No good excuse really other than when I first put it down I felt it was too soft and when I compacted it I was thinking to go to the hard side and that it would either eventually soften up or that I could easily adjust it to soften it up. Bad choice (to make it so hard) I agree completely.
Well one other reason was I was thinking it would double as a jogging track- not a good idea there either because we never used it for that.
While living in the UK we had no phone for a couple years. If family in the states needed to contact us, they called the squadron first sergeant and he tracked you down. I had several jobs while living there and one was cleaning a butcher shop in the base commissary. No one besides my wife knew where I was at the time. Military people get paid every two weeks like clockwork and it was about four days before payday which typically meant the store was dead since everyone was broke. The meat cutters were a lazy bunch and would avoid cutting meat unless they had too but I still had to show up in case they did since I had to clean and sanitize the whole place. I got paid for a full shift either way.
Anyway, I’m sitting there in the meat cutters office playing cards and bullshitting when the phone rang. As soon as it rang I said: “that’s my dad calling to tell me his mom has died.” Sure enough the guy answering the phone handed it to me and it was my dad with the bad news. I had no idea she was even ill. I have no idea how he found me and it has never occurred to me to ask.
@rise up – Another point. If you’ve ever ridden on the beach you know the ideal riding surface is the wet sand close to the water the horses love it. The loose dry sand is harder on the horse to run on. When I first put down the crushed granite it was closer to the loose “dry sand” you find on the beach. Like I said I hardened it too much.
ASIG, didn’t mean to be hard on ya. Never rode on a sandy beach, and luckily not had too many falls (when I did, it was early as a child on a pony–not far to the ground, ha ha). As a teenager, we had a half-wild Morgan (those are the breed used by police usually) and he was really fast and strong, so much so that it was hard to get him to stop from a full gallop, but man, what a thrilling ride he was!
Sometimes you just had to hold and wait for him to get tired.
Early 1970s ….Medford Oregon. Had a brand new HONDA car… the little egg shaped 600cc job.
Brand shiny new! On the freeway, with my gal, nighttime coming and just up to speed and around the been to Ashland here are a LINE of deer crossing the freeway. 4 or 40, don’t know, I just saw the two in front of me! swerved enough I squeezed that car between the two… ass on one side, nose on the other. We got through them and remember looking at each other and laughing our asses off. Good to be young and invincible!!!!
One night I was riding my bike fast on wet pavement, trying to beat the next onslaught of thunderstorms, and skidded into the ditch at the side of the trail. Thanks to how wet the pavement was, I slid right along and landed in the leaves, with no bones broken and no sprains.
My bike was lying 100 feet away, and my friend Erika grabbed it, yanked the handlebars straight, and pronounced it fit for riding. I stood up, waited for the cobwebs to clear, got on the bike, and rode it the last three miles. When I got to the bar, it was only then that we all realized how much skin I had lost. My whole left side looked like raw hamburger. The bartender shook his head and handed me a clean towel and a full glass of whisky. I believe he was from Australia.
It was only after my bike was loaded on my friend’s car and he was giving me a ride home that I started to cry, mainly because my beautiful bike was so scraped up. Skin heals, but not paint or carbon fiber. My bike and I both have scars, to this day.
I never cried in front of anyone else, although that poor towel had to be thrown away.
When my friend told his co-workers about it the next day, the funny thing is, that was the first thing they asked: ‘Did she cry?’ He covered for my ass and said, ‘Nope!’
My Pop passed 10 years ago. A few weeks later I sat on my front steps one morning, drinking my coffee as always, wondering if he’d send me some kind of sign that he was okay. Then along comes this green butterfly floating/dancing around my head. He lingers for awhile, seeming to play with me, then flies off. I thought this was strange but attributed it to coincidence.
A few days later, this time in the afternoon, the encounter was still on my mind as I was preparing to leave the house to run some errands. I asked myself: “Was that really my Old Man popping in to say ‘Hello!’? Well, if I open this door and there’s a green butterfly there I’ll have my answer…”
I opened the door, and I shit you not, there’s a green butterfly dancing away just feet away from my head! Mind you, this was in wintertime (February, Atlanta) and I have NEVER seen a GREEN-winged butterfly before or since.
I’m in CA now, and unfortunately, my Mother has recently passed too. Come springtime, if a green butterfly makes an appearance I’ll have a good laugh, happy to know they’re both doing just fine.
the miracle of diversity( and the unloationed and jobs the two fickle facetious farts HSF and Loopy are currently giving each other) ..what a load of shit stained, self -loathing dribble…egad.
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hand jobs…kumbaya.
Wherein both ,HSF and Loppy agree to take it up the ass, but not agree on the methodology in which both agree to bury their grimacing faces in the sackcloth and ash pillow and allow the PC dick to be unmercifully plunged into their bugling bungholes in anticipation of receiving penance from past sins, they themselves or other have committed..sheesh.
http://orthosphere.org/2015/01/19/reality-versus-marriage/
But it’s no good. It can’t be done. Heterosexuals – especially heterosexual men – can forebear to express their disgust at homosexual sex, but they cannot stop feeling it. If they could, they would, for then they’d be indifferent about the sex of their lovers, and so able to venture forth in search of some homosexual sex, which is much easier to come by than the heterosexual sort. But this won’t happen, because heterosexuals don’t want homosexual sex. They find it revolting. That’s what makes them heterosexuals. This will prevent them from expressing any genuine, honest approval of homosexual sex. And this will ruin the approval that homosexuals hope will be conferred on their perversion by legalization of homosexual marriage. They won’t get approval; they’ll get “approval.”
Few years back my wife and her friend had a meeting up north in Gaylord Michigan, three+ hour drive vs a 1.5 hour airplane ride. Checked the weather, forecast for VFR so it’s a go. Flight up was uneventful.
As the time wore on the updated weather was forecast to deteriorate slowly by early morning, our ETA back home would be midnight, so we may be getting the leading edge of some weather.
Picked them up after the meeting, got a quick bite to eat, last weather check and lets go.
At the time I was VFR only but some time under a hood.
We departed Gaylord airport and the first issue hit, there were no lights on the horizon, just darkness, I looked back at the airport and contemplated a turn back, but I was terrified to turn with no visual orientation, so I lowered the nose a bit and kept going hoping to see something that would be a horizon soon, lowered my hat and just focused on the instruments forcing myself not to look out, oh yeah, no autopilot.
We got to our assigned altitude and I slowly turned south and towards home all the time struggling to remember everything I was taught on just flying on instruments. The thing is, when you are practicing you have an instructor next to you, and you know you can take the foggles off and all will be right with the world, not so now, this was real and I was alone.
After fifteen minutes of terror I started to pick up a light here and there but the way they reflected in the windshield made the horizon slanted at a 45 degree angle so I unintentionally kept turning the plane trying to level the wings to the lights, the whole time the two were in the back just chatting up a storm, I shut off their intercom so I could think and got back on the instruments.
Then I started to get pissed off at my fear of being stuck in real life instrument conditions and really pissed I brought along my wife and her friend into my fuck up.
I settled down and changed frequency’s to Lansing, may as well get some weather up dates and flight following in case I really fuck up so they know where to start looking for the wreckage.
Lansing asked me what my weather was, I told them as far as I knew it was clear, they replied the weather front was coming in faster than predicted and I had a ceiling that was lowering and ground fog up ahead.
Great, I was between two layers, dark, and on instruments, oh and Lansing also said other pilots were reporting light ice in the layer above and below and my window was rapidly closing.
Well fuck me, back to being concerned.
I knew my home airport was going to be closed after 11:00pm but a pilot can still operate airport lights, my problem was the closer I got to Lake Michigan the less I could see on the ground and then I entered the clouds, light ice started to form on the leading edge of the wings.
Well fuck me, now I was back to scared shitless, and yes, talking to God.
I was about 12 miles out, in the clouds, ice forming and now I get to shoot a real life instrument approach in the dark.
Set up the approach to runway 24, flying horrible, up, down, left, right, too slow, starting to shake, sweating, farting, ice still forming, the two in back still talking like nothing is going on, then a calmness took over.
How the fuck was being scared going to help? Shoot the fucking approach and land. Broke out of the clouds around 1,200 feet and the runway was just to my left, touched down, and yes, I thanked God.
Taxied in and when the two got out my wife said, “Look at the ice on the wings!”
Yup I know, then I told them the story of our flight home. The next day I signed up for instrument training, passed.
I completely understand why some people do not believe in a God, I never prayed for God to reach his hand down and save my stupid sorry ass, but regardless, just the ability to transfer fear away from myself so I could function I believe saved three people that night, kept two beautiful children from becoming orphans and two other children from losing their mom.
Card- Of course you know the story of JFK jr. while I was reading your story it reminded me of him. Unfortunately he/they didn’t end up so well. Glad you did better.
@Card802: As a commercial pilot, CFII, CFI, Adv. Ground Instructor with several thousands of hours teaching students and personal flying, I have but one thing to say – well, maybe two or three.
Forst off, you now know you were dumb as a stump with your head up your ass to even take off under those conditions and forecasts with no instrument rating (how many hours in your log book?).
Secondly, you were so lucky you didn’t kill three people (especially when ice started forming on the aircraft (what kind of A/C by the way? high wing or low?) because it takes an amazingly small amount of ice in the wrong place (say clogging a pitot tube – hence no airspeed indicator) to put you in deep ca-ca..
Thirdly, you are one lucky SOB and obviously calm and cool in critical conditions for which your passengers , if they knew how deep in shit they were, were likely grateful for your smooth if less responsible flying.
Fourth, you are to be commended for admitting you have inadequate tools for the job and got your instrument ticket.
Fifth: You again, obviously learned from your experience and I’d ride with you anytime!
I learned to fly in Asheville, N.C., back in 1966 – an era of IFRR (I follow railroads and rivers) and learned early that the old saying, “In a hurry, take a surrey. Time to spare, go by air!”
MA
Muck, if I had to do it over again knowing what I know now, I would not. Live and learn, heavy on the live part.
I was constantly checking weather, the weather at departure time was forecast VFR with a chance of scud moving in around 3:00am, three hours after ETA and no forecast for ice.
I was never a good book learner so I had my instructor teach me how to spin and how to get out even though that was no longer a requirement, I wanted to learn.
We spent many a night covering instruments then flying in the dark, take offs, pattern work and landing, with no lights or instruments, just seat of the pants and listening to the slipstream.
We also spent quite a bit of time with me under a hood practicing holds and shooting approaches, so while I was familiar, I was not proficient or legal, but I was stuck. In hindsight I should have flown to Grand Rapids or someplace clear, get-home-itis I guess.
Also learned how to take off, then at 600 agl pull the power and turn back and land with no power, all good stuff to learn.
1974 Cardinal FG, at the time probably 800 or 900 hours. My instrument cross country was 400 miles to Lancaster Pennsylvania, my instructor asked, why so far? I said I wanted to see if I could manage both ways in one day handling the plane, navigation and radios.
Passed the instrument check ride then continued to learn and learn and learn. My first solo IFR trip was to see my son in upper NY, but always go with another IFR rated buddy, we share flying or radio/navigation duties since I don’t have an auto pilot. Hand flying that far is fatiguing.
Love to fly with you some day as well!
On Lew Rockwell today ……. here’s the link to the full article
common bad weather flying myths
http://www.dailymail.co.uk/travel/travel_news/article-2920450/British-Airways-Captain-Dave-Thomas-addresses-common-bad-weather-flying-myths.html
@Bostonbob, sorry for your loss. And thank you for sharing your owl story.
My mom’s been gone 14 years, and to this day I still smell lilacs when none are present. That’s mom.
Quick tiny miracle. My mom had a treasure trove of recipes. In books, index cards, notebooks. When I was a kid she had made a Bisquick & Egg easy “quiche” like thing. Dad proclaimed it no better than scrambled, so we didn’t have it again.
Flash forward a couple decades and I wanted that recipe. I went through all of her recipes that I had, all my sister had, all my dad still dad and no luck, no recipe. Could not find it on the net, nor in any of the Bisquick cookbooks I’ve found.
I was talking to my aunt about the recipe when we were cleaning out my grandmother’s home. A couple days later I was speaking to my brother on the phone, walking through my living room and in the middle of the floor was a recipe card. One I’ve never seen before. Figuring it must have been in the sewing stuff and pictures I grabbed from my grandmother’s home, I picked it up, flipped it over and was shocked to see my mother’s handwriting and the title, “Quick Quiche.”
Serendipity flows throughout your life if you are open to noticing it happening.
Thanks for the sharing all, blessing and prayers for everyone.
This is less a course of miracles and more of a bunch of horror stories, Card’s being a real nail-biter.
When the Israelites crossed the Red Sea, it was divine intervention. When Moses drew water from a rock, that was a miracle.
Let’s get with it, people, Stucky wants to hear about miracles so he can praise God and exclaim, I believe!
@TE: Hi sweets! good to hear from… Things do tend to turn up in odd spots just when you need them and know they’ve been lost for ages, don’t they!
@card802: Ya! Flying any distance alone, under instruments with no auto-pilot to keep you straight and level while you navigate or communicate (or dig how a hanky so Momma can blow the kids nose!) can be a real pain. I tried never to fly planned instrument without a co-pilot, rated or not. Even a student can keep it flying using needle, ball and airspeed for a reasonable amount of time if you’ve instilled some self confidence in him/her..
I’ve quit flying now (10 years ago) – the FAA took away my physical after I had to start taking pain meds for the cancer I’m sharing the old bod with. Wouldn’t have flown any more anyhow. but boy do I miss it! I’ve been thinking of a ultra-light but at 78, my sweetie frowns on the idea pretty much. I even had to get rid of my Harley 1200 to keep the wife from fretting over me too much! Oh well, been there, done that – beats the heck out of not having done it at all! Stay safe, friend and enjoy every minute of it!
MA
MA
El Coyote @4:45
Funny comments! (And nice song.)
But, these stories here sound closer to “miracles” than the old I-was-dead-and-saw-Jeebus-and-now-I’m-back-to-tell-it-to-all-your-sorry-asses .
I’m an Almost Believer!