Miracle deliverance from the Fourth Deadly Sin

“If I can turn the wheels enough,” my hubby said, “we’ll go down backwards instead of sideways. If we go down sideways, we’ll roll.”
Still out of breath from struggling up the muddy embankment, Ted hoisted himself, mud and all, into the driver’s seat of our new-to-us Toyota 4-Runner, which perched perilously close to the edge of a steep embankment.
He added, “We should say a prayer.”
We were on the final leg of a trip through Colorado and New Mexico. This particular day, we’d driven over the mountains through a snowstorm, checked in early to a motel in Chama, and then headed for Heron Lake State Park.
The lake was deserted except for us and a few Canadian geese, so Ted scrutinized his maps and found a dirt road that looped around the area.
As we left the pavement, a sign warned, “Hazardous When Wet,” but since the road was dry, we didn’t think too much about it.
We were enjoying our new ride and certainly didn’t want to get it muddy. It was our third Toyota 4-Runner which are muscular SUVs, built to handle rough terrain.
Ours was a gorgeous metallic blue, and since it was new to us, Ted was treating it with kid gloves.
Our good friends, Robert and Valarie Turk, had purchased a similar one the year before. We didn’t exactly envy Robert and Valarie since envy is the fourth deadly sin, but we thought their vehicle was stunning, so Ted started watching online for a used one with the same blue exterior.
After quite a few months, he found one at a Toyota dealership up north and contacted a salesman who said he would hold it for us.
Oddly, on our way north, we met Valarie and Robert gassing up at a Maverik outside of Price.
We confessed we hoped to buy a vehicle just like theirs and, with their blessing, continued on our way. We spent hours at the dealership, but we finally came home with our dream machine.
Three weeks later, we drove the loop road near Heron State Lake in New Mexico, enjoying the scenery as we passed Jicarilla Apache lands and primitive areas, but we started to hit more and more patches of wet clay until we came to a steep hill greasy with mud.
“That doesn’t look good,” I told Ted.
He thought for a moment. “I think we can go forward as easily as we can go back.”
He put the 4-Runner in low four-wheel drive and cautiously pressed the gas pedal. As soon as we started moving, we slid sideways to the brink of the embankment.
Ted opened his door and slithered down into the gully, 10 or 15 feet below us. I don’t remember doing it, but I must have taken off my seatbelt to help him.
Before I could get out, though, he struggled back up the embankment and into the vehicle with the bad news.
In fact, he thought he could see the 4-Runner sliding even while he was still in the ravine.
Distracted by the situation, he didn’t fasten his seatbelt, something we didn’t think about until later.
I prayed, asking Heavenly for the traction we needed to make it up the hill. “And please keep us safe,” I said.
Ted put the SUV in drive. Instantly we slid sideways off the embankment into the gully, our little dog squealing in terror as she slipped across the backseat.
At the bottom, a juniper tree stopped us, its limbs cracking from the impact. All four tires remained on the ground, and Ted and I remained in our seats.
“There’s no logical reason we didn’t roll,” my hubby said.
We sat for a long moment, taking in the miracle. We were unscathed, but gradually our circumstances struck us.
We were in the bottom of a very muddy ravine, miles from civilization, and we knew we couldn’t get out the way we’d come down.
We scanned the gully and spotted a little two-track trail overgrown with bushes and trees. Ted navigated our SUV down the track until the trees became impenetrable.
Then, he got out and walked, coming back to report that it led to a dry lakebed. We couldn’t get out that way.
He did a three-point turn, and we started back up the trail which, we could finally see, ascended over rocks and bushes out of the bottom of the ravine.
He gunned the 4-Runner, and we jolted up onto the dirt road.
When we made it back to Chama, we found a car wash. The SUV’s tires were caked with six inches of gooey clay, and the entire vehicle coated with mud.
I was certain our dream machine had been bashed in, but as Ted washed off the mud, we found only a small dent, a broken headlight cover, and scratches.
Amazingly, the headlight and turn signals worked, so we drove home the next day without any problems.
In church the following Sunday, Ted shared the story with some of our friends, including Robert, joking that his guardian angel had a blast driving the 4-Runner, but we both were deeply humbled by the miracle.
A week later, I was walking the dog back from Westwater when Robert and Valarie pulled up beside me.
After Valarie rolled down her window, Robert leaned across the seat and said with a grin, “At least now we can tell our vehicles apart.”
I laughed. I didn’t mention we’d christened ours Gracie, so we’ll never forget the divine grace that kept us safe.