Protected Stories
These are actual stories from the author and from people just like you. Stories are added as they are submitted. Protected stories tell of times when we were protected from something negative happening to us. Believers know we were not “lucky” when something bad did not happen, rather we were protected by a loving God, whether or not we realized it at the time. Click Here to submit a personal Protected story.
Sunday Afternoon Joy Ride
Bruce Wayne, Loveland, CO
This is a classic story told many times over by young teenage boys since the invention of the automobile. Truth be known, it probably happened in the horse and buggy days before cars were invented.
It was a very windy spring day, the sun was out, but like most spring days, the sun was just a tease. The temperature was around 55 or so, but the strong north wind made it feel much cooler. I was home alone, my parents and siblings had gone somewhere for the day. I grew up in small town Nebraska. When I say small, I mean small. Our town was six blocks wide and eight blocks long if you counted the farms at the end of the longest street. I was 15 years old and had been driving for some time. In rural communities, this was very normal.
Early in the afternoon, my best friend Bill, his cousin, George, and another friend, Wes, knocked on the front door. We were all in the same grade in school except for George who was from a city in another state and was visiting for the weekend. We were all the same age, meaning none of us were old enough to drive legally, but again, this was rural American and this was pretty normal. The three others lived several miles from town and were out riding the country roads in Bill’s mom’s car. When we drove (illegally), we would generally stay out of town and just rode the country roads. Most of the time, we did this with our parents permission. That may seem odd, but our parents grew up in similar circumstances.
My mom had just purchased a 1952 Ford Customline. It was a spotless four door sedan with a flathead eight cylinder motor and automatic transmission. Even though my mom was not around to ask permission, I decided to give the other three a ride in her new car. We headed out of town quickly and decided to head for what we called, “roller coaster road.” It was a hilly road with very steep inclines. I do not recall how fast we were traveling, not too fast, maybe 40 mph or so, but the facts do not seem to bear that out. We must have been going faster because as we reached the crest of the third hill, we went air born. At the same time a great gust of wind picked up the car and blew us sideways off the road and into the adjoining field. We went through a three wire fence and left the bottom two wires in place. When we came to a stop, we were resting on the second terrace up on the hillside in the field. We were all pretty shaken. We tried to get out but there was barb wire wrapped around the car . We had to climb out the window to get the wire off the car. Amazingly, the motor was still running but there was a loud screeching noise coming from under the hood. After we cleared the wire, we drove to the edge of the field and found a gate and got back on the road.
Once back on the road, we opened the hood to find the fan embedded in the radiator. This meant the fan belts could not move even though the drive pulleys were spinning hence the screeching sound. A flathead has two water pumps and two fan belts. We decided to shut the motor off to deal with the problem. Our adolescent brains determined that if the belts were gone, so would the screeching sound. The only thing we could find to cut the belts was the tire iron, so we took turns chiseling away at the fan belts, All of us hacked away except for George. He kept complaining that his arm hurt. We all had bumps and bruises and basically chided George for his pain. We eventually got the belts broken, started the car, and headed back to town. Anyone who knows anything about the purpose for the cooling system on a car knows that you don’t go far without the fan, water pumps and radiator functioning properly. The old Ford made it about two miles down the road before it overheated and died.
We walked to the next farmhouse where we talked our way into a ride back to town with no mention of how we happened to be in the predicament we were in. When we arrived back in town, my three friends took off for home leaving me along to try to figure out how I was going to explain this to my parents. After an hour or so, Bill’s mom showed up at my house to see how I was doing. She had just come from the hospital where George’s broken arm had just been put in a cast. Since I had no idea when my parents would be home, she took me to their house to wait for my parents.
Now things were more serious, I not only had a wrecked car to explain, but now George’s broken arm with hospital bills. What if George’s parents decide to sue my parents for his injuries? All sorts of things went through my mind. When we got to Bill’s house, George’s parents were there. What I did not know was that George’s dad was chief of police in a city in a neighboring state. He sat us down and gave us the strongest lecture we had ever heard. As a dad, he was happy the injuries were not worse than they were. As a police officer, he had investigated far too many cases of kids doing what we had done with far worse outcomes.
Things could have been so much worse. If the car had rolled, we would have all been ejected. There were no such things as seatbelts in ’52 Fords. Even if there were, we probably would not have had them on.
Long story short, the car was totaled because of a bent frame. My parent’s were visibly shaken, then upset, and I was grounded for a considerable length of time. But we all survived our teenage years. In fact, George now serves as a county sheriff.
At the time, I am sure we all called it lucky no one was hurt more than he was. But I now know better. We were all protected that day from a greater disaster. We also received schooling from a police officer who knew what he was talking about which taught us all never to try anything like that again. give
The Day I Ran Over My Mom
Bruce Wayne, Loveland, CO
My mom’s family were some of the first settlers in our small northeastern Nebraska community. There are stories I heard as a child growing up about life on the Isom family farm that just don’t exist today. My great-great grandparents lived on an old Indian trail and it was not unusual for people to come riding through and stop for the night. Most of the time they were looking for water for their horses and a place to bed down for the night. My favorite is the story about the time in the 1800’s when a group of men who had been riding all day stopped and asked to spend the night. As the story goes, they were nice guys and appreciated the hospitality provided. They next morning they were on their way. A few days later, federal marshals showed up. They were hot on the trail of the Jesse James gang! Sure enough, my great-great grandparents had hosted the famous gangsters unaware. But I digress…..
It was the 100th anniversary of our little community. Since the Isom family had played a big role in the early history, and relatives were scattered all over, my mom decided to host an Isom family reunion as part of the town celebration. She invited all the living relatives and a great number showed up. One of the highlights of the reunion was a ride through the countryside south of town to visit the farmsteads where family had lived and many had grown up. Even though some locations no longer had any buildings, the remaining tree formations held many memories from days gone by.
We left town in a caravan of cars and pickups, more than twenty all together. I was leading the entourage, driving my dad’s pickup which pulled a trailer owned by one of the cousins. Vern had made this trailer from an old school bus axle and wheels to haul his Model T to parades. Some of the older people sat on chairs on the trailer, the younger ones sat on the trailer floor. Looking back, it doesn’t sound too safe, but we were not going far and would not be traveling more than 10 mph.
I had a few cousins in the pickup cab with me. My mom was sitting on the tailgate of the pickup facing the trailer. Three or four of her cousins were sitting on chairs in the front of the trailer talking with her as we drove along. We had visited several sites and everyone was busy talking about what we had seen.
After we had made our final stop and were on our way back to town, I looked in the rear view mirror and my mom was really enjoying the time talking with her cousins. A while later I looked again and caught her eye. She smiled at me and looked to her left. I knew immediately what she was going to do. She slid over to the side of the tailgate and stepped off! (Later she told me she thought she could jump off the tailgate, step to one side, let the trailer pass, and get on the back of the trailer.) A split second after I saw her jump off the tailgate, I saw the right rear wheel bounce high in the air. I knew I had just run over my mother!
I slammed on the brakes, jumped out and ran around the pickup to the ditch where I could see my mom lying. She was rolling on the ground and cussing herself out for the dumb thing she had just done. My first thought was, “Thank you, God, she is still alive!” I could hear screaming coming from the trailer. It was the cousins who had been talking with her. Besides me, they were the only ones who knew what had just happened and they were so hysterical, they could not communicate to anyone else what they had just witnessed. I quickly ran back to the trailer to tell them mom was still alive. She was hurt, but still kicking, literally.
My dad was in the caravan, probably ten cars back. When we all stopped, someone ran back to get him. In the meantime, people were realizing what had just happened. When mom stepped off the tailgate, she did not think about the short distance between the trailer and the pickup and there is literally a split second between the two when going down the road, even at 10 mph. Protection point #1: since this trailer was sitting on an old school bus axle, it was higher off the ground than most. When mom stepped off the tailgate, the corner of the trailer hit her just below the waist knocking her to the ground. Before she had a chance to move, the wheel rolled over her leg just above the knee. Protection point #2: the road had been recently graded and there was a furrow of soft dirt on the road’s edge. Instead of being run over on a hard surface which would have surely broken bones, God had provided a soft, somewhat cushy spot. When the wheel rolled over her leg, her leg sunk into the soft furrow of dirt. Protection point #3: somehow mom landed so that only one leg was hit by the wheel. We never did figure that one out.
Mom was in a lot of pain, but her legs were straight and we could see no visible signs of breaks. Dad loaded her up in a van and took her to town. By the time I made it back to town with the caravan, mom’s leg was starting to swell. The rescue squad was called and took her to the hospital in the city. Within an hour, her knee was nearly the size of a basketball, but x-rays showed no broken bones! Later that night she was allowed to go home but was confined to a wheel chair for several days. It took even longer for the swelling to go down completely and her knee was obviously sore for a long time, but she survived. Protection point #4: God protected me from not taking my mom’s life when I ran over her, sparing me that lifelong memory.
No Time For No Brakes In The Mountains
Bruce Wayne, Loveland, CO
This story is about an event that happened in 2017. The back story actually took place seven or eight years before. As national sales manager for the company I worked for, we hosted sales meetings where I had to transport several adults to and from the airport, hotels, and restaurants. Our company owner liked Tahoes, not quite as big as a Suburban, but with three rows of seating. I also worked several trade shows a year and needed space to carry my exhibit set-up and samples. Our owner would lease a Tahoe for three years, then purchase the used vehicle and pass it on to someone else. Thus, my company car was a 2008 Tahoe.
One of my hobbies is my 1949 CJ2A Willys Jeep that I have owned since 1989. A few times each year I would borrow a friend’s car trailer and take the Jeep to a Willys Reunion or distant car show. While the Tahoe was big and powerful enough to tow the trailer with the Jeep onboard, I had not thought much about stopping power. The trailer was equipped with electric brakes but the Tahoe did not have the brake controller installed. Another friend saw me towing one day and asked if I had the electric brake controller installed since it was not standard equipment. When I replied that I had not thought it necessary, he relayed a story of how he was almost overtaken by a trailer he was towing because the trailer brakes were not functioning. Vehicle brakes are not sufficient to stop a vehicle plus a thousand pound trailer carrying a two thousand pound Jeep. Very soon after I had the brake controller installed.
The brake controller works in conjunction with the brake pedal. When you press the brake pedal, the controller sends an electronic signal to the brakes on the trailer through the connection between the vehicle and the trailer that also sends power to the trailer lights. There is also a mechanical lever on the controller for testing the trailer brakes. When you slide the lever, the trailer brakes kick in.
Fast forward to 2017. After my retirement in January 2017, we moved to Colorado to be near family. As part of my retirement package, my company owner gave me the Tahoe. While it had a 165,000+ miles, they are built like tanks. It would serve as a good second car for us and I could use it to pull the Jeep around when needed.
Our daughter’s family was going camping in central Colorado and invited us along. My son-in-law had a coworker with an enclosed car trailer and offered to let us use it. We would follow them to the campground with the Jeep in tow and we would all enjoy three days of exploring old mining trails in the area.
Since moving to Colorado in April, I had not needed the Tahoe so it had not been driven much. The day before we left for camping, I took it in for service. As with all oil change places, they went through their 49-point safety check, primarily as a way to increase your invoice when you leave. Other than a radiator hose that was showing a little wear, they found nothing else that needed attention. We were set for our big adventure.
It was a beautiful July morning when the caravan pulled away. Our daughter, son-in-law and two of the grandkids were in the lead pulling their camper trailer and we followed with our grandson riding with us in the Tahoe. The plan was to go on Interstate 70 west out of Denver, through the Eisenhower Tunnel, over the Continental Divide, then south to Leadville and onto our campground. The drive should take 4-5 hours.
The I 70 drive is beautiful. Within 30 minutes of leaving Denver, you are climbing into the mountains. Since this was a Friday, traffic was pretty heavy, with of out-of-state tourists and locals like us leaving for a weekend mountain getaway.
After the initial climb out of Denver, the interstate levels off for a short time and then begins a three-mile long descent into Idaho Springs. Our adventure (and God’s protection) was about to begin.
All mountain roads in Colorado have several ways of warning drivers about hazards ahead. Since I 70 is the main east-west road through the state, there is always an abundance of 18-wheelers on the road. There are runaway ramps constructed of soft sand for trucks to turn onto if their brakes fail. There are also diamond shaped signs that warn of descending stretches of road ahead and the percentage of decline with the number of miles it will last.
We had just passed such a sign with the information about the three-mile descent into Idaho Springs. My wife, Bonnie, was playing a game with our four-year-old grandson who was strapped in his booster chair in the back seat. The next warning sign came up rather quickly advising truckers to check their brakes and use a lower gear so the engine would assist in keeping the speed down. Without thinking much of it, I tapped the brakes on the Tahoe. They seemed normal but went a little closer to the floor than usual.
I have done enough mountain driving to know that over-using the brakes is not a good thing. They can heat up which will reduce braking capacity in a short while. I tapped the brakes again and this time the pedal went clear to the floor! With my Jeep, you had to pump the brake pedal to get full braking action, so I tried pumping the brake pedal. Nothing.
I started praying for some divine intervention. Maybe the brake master cylinder was stuck so I tried pumping the pedal again and again trying to regain brake function. Instead of slowing us down when I pumped the brake pedal, I smelled smoke. Bonnie smelled it as well and asked what was wrong. As calmly as I could, with this storm of uncertainty going on inside of me, I told her we had no brakes and we were gaining speed.
We were still a few miles out of Idaho Springs and the descent angle on the road was getting steeper. To make matters worse, every time I pushed the brake pedal, a cloud of smoke would come billowing out of the front of the Tahoe. Bonnie and Aaron started praying. I was looking for one of the runaway ramps to turn onto. I shifted the Tahoe into second gear; it slowed us down some but our speed was still out of control.
And then the answer to our prayers came! No, there was no audible voice from heaven, but my attention was drawn to the brake controller I had installed years before. The trailer brake controller with the slide test lever worked independently of the Tahoe brakes. I gave the lever a push and I felt the trailer slowing us down! The trailer had tandem axles meaning there were four trailer wheels on the ground. With the weight of the trailer plus the Jeep inside, there was more than enough stopping power to take care of the trailer and the Tahoe!
There was still smoke when I touched the Tahoe brakes, but no fire. I was not sure where the smoke was coming from, since the smell of the smoke was not from plastic burning. But it was enough to get the attention of motorists passing us and waving at us like crazy.
We were able to get off at the first exit into Idaho Springs. At the first Stop sign, Bonnie and Aaron exited the Tahoe quickly. I made it to a parking lot and got out of the Tahoe. I think we were all as white as a sheet but so thankful we were all in one piece.
After things settled down a bit, I opened the hood. I discovered a metal brake line had rusted through. Every time I pushed the brake pedal, it sprayed brake fluid on the exhaust manifold. It was not hot enough to ignite, but it did burn causing the billows of smoke we kept seeing.
The world would say it was lucky that I had the brake controller installed those several years before. Without it, our day in July 2017 would have turned out much differently. I choose to see God’s hand in everything. The service station did not detect rusty brake lines during their inspection the day before. But, God knew the lines would fail and we would need that controller. While in a panic, He directed my attention to where it needed to be to get the Tahoe under control. We were protected!
A Modern Day Tower Of Babel
Bruce Wayne, Loveland CO
I was a music education major in college. I also have master’s degree in music education. My major instrument is trombone. Trombone music is written primarily in bass clef. More advanced solo and orchestral music is also written in treble, tenor and alto clefs. Without going into great detail, the various clefs are used to avoid ledger lines when playing in the upper register. My teacher wisely introduced me to clef study etudes to develop proficiency in reading music in the various clefs. Over time, I was able to read music in all four clefs and switch from one to another without hesitation.
Tom’s Music House was located in a town about a half hour away. I had known Tom, the owner, since sixth grade when he sold me my first trombone. Tom had followed my progress from a beginning player to a college music major. Irv was the keyboard specialist in the store, selling pianos and organs. He was also an entertainer. He played his organ in country clubs and bars throughout the region as well as providing music for weddings, anniversaries and other special occasions. When I was in the store one night, he came up to me with a proposition. He had been thinking that a mellow trombone sound would really add to his performances and wanted to know if I would be interested. Most of his gigs were on Friday and Saturday nights and the pay would be good, well worth my time.
Bonnie and I had gotten married halfway through college. If there was anything we were short on, it was money. In my mind, this was a perfect opportunity. I could play on weekends and earn money at the same time. I will also admit that the idea of being on stage and performing was very appealing as well.
When I shared the proposition with Bonnie, I could tell she was less than thrilled. She never really said that I should decline the offer; it probably would have fallen on deaf ears anyway. I was pretty stubborn and had my mind made up. Bonnie began to pray – something I did not do too much of in those days.
Irv and I arranged to get together at the store one evening. He had a stack of lead sheets containing the melody of songs he routinely played. They were written out in treble clef. “No problem,” I thought. Reading different clefs had become second nature to me. “This is going to be great!” I assured myself.
Irv put the music in front of me and for some strange reason, I could not read one note. My brain would absolutely not work. I would transpose notes a step higher or lower making the songs unrecognizable. The harder I tired, the more confused I got. Finally, Irv let me off the hook by saying this was a bad idea. I thought the only bad part was my playing; I simply could not understand why I could not read the music.
When I got home, I explained what happed to Bonnie. While she expressed surprise, she was smiling on the inside. Sometime later she told me she had prayed that something would happen to prevent me from playing in places that Irv played. We soon labeled it our “Tower of Babel” experience. God did not confuse the language like He did in the book of Genesis story; rather, He confused my mind to disable the functionality I had spent so much time learning. As a result, I never played in a country club or any similar venue or even in a dance band like some of my college friends did. That was not a lifestyle that Bonnie wanted for us and God agreed. I can only imagine what I was saved from and how my life would have been different had it not been for a praying and caring wife. Thank you Bonnie, and thank you, God.