After I was married, but before I had given birth to my boys, I was driving along HWY 79 in rural Boyceville. The year was about 2002, and it was a clear, sunny afternoon in Northwestern Wisconsin. As I approached a curve, a thought, a very strong thought, popped into mind that I should begin saying the "Our Father" prayer. I shook it off for a moment, but the feeling was so strong, it could not be ignored. I felt someone, a male presence, was sitting in the car with me, on the passenger side. For a moment, I saw a clear, see-through whitish impression of the top of a head with a laurel wreath gracing its top. Was this real?
I thought for a few moments, wondering what I was feeling and may have sensed, then began to say the prayer, repeating it. I continued on for a few miles, repeating the prayer probably a 1/2 dozen times. I soon approached an intersection with another, State Highway 12. I looked both ways, making sure my path was clear. My van pulled out onto Highway 12, then suddenly my heart leaped into my throat, and began to race like never before. A white pickup truck went "shwoooooooooosh" beside me, within inches of my van.
I have no idea why I didn't see the vehicle, as I had stopped and looked both ways extensively, a couple of times. As I veered into the road, I remember the racing truck, the way that it swerved to miss me, and that luckily, there was enough room for that truck to pass me on the right, so neither of us was hit.
What kept me from a horrible collision that day? I'll let the reader decide, but I think it was St. Michael, or someone like him.