I hurt my friend. The next day I presented her with a Band-Aid. She was still upset. We didn't talk for far too long. So I went to see her. It was hours away. I got there late at night. It was so cold. So was she. But the sky was filled with a million shining stars — too many to count, but just enough to fill my heart with hope as I walked out.

I started driving to another friend's house. It started to snow—big, thick, soft, wet flakes blanketing the road, the car, the countryside. Outside was frozen. Inside I was burning up. I realized I was getting sick, but I still had hours to travel before I arrived. I had to go slower and slower because of the snow. It built up into inches quickly on the road.

Then the plow was in front of me, spreading salt like dirty reflections of the stars above. Just as quickly it turned the white wonderland into a gray, slushy mess. I went slower and slower, following in the big tracks of the truck in front of me. Soon I was tired of traveling at a snail's pace and stepped on the gas to pass him. I was in a little red Vega. Covered in white, I'm sure no one noticed me.

I made it into the left lane, courageously carving my own trail. Stepping on the gas, I was gradually pulling ahead when suddenly I was no longer in control. The windshield wipers kept beat with my heart as everything slowed down. I was sliding. I knew for certain that I was sliding right into the side of the truck.

Someone noticed. The car stopped. The wheels were still turning. Looking to the right I watched the plow continue on as it passed me again. The car moved and I slid in right behind him. Sitting next to me was a young man with a look on his face that told me very clearly what he thought of my foolhardy behavior. I took the hint.

The next time I had a close encounter, I wasn't driving. We had just picked up a friend at the airport. He promptly fell asleep on the back seat. I was riding shotgun. Suddenly the left rear tire blew. We swerved to the right, running up onto the shoulder. The right rear tire blew, sending us careening back across three lanes of highway.

We hit the Jersey wall and toppled over it. Now sliding on the roof of the van across three lanes of incoming traffic, I watched a light post getting closer and closer. Hanging upside down, seemingly in slow motion, I contemplated my destiny. I said calmly, "OK, Heavenly Father. Here we go."

I felt a large hand pushing me out of my seat right before impact. As the van came to a halt on the opposite shoulder, I found myself under the steering wheel. The driver, having somehow changed places with me, was in the middle between the two seats. Our passenger, so rudely awakened, was now lying on the roof.

We all crawled out of the window with nothing but a few bruises. Afterward I saw the van. The roof was completely caved in on the seat I would have been sitting in, if not for that push. I could have done without seeing that. After the requisite police inquiries, absolving us of all blame for the accident, they told us that earlier that morning there had been another car accident in the exact same spot. Someone had died.

And I had lived. My nephew came home the other day scoffing at a story he had heard about a woman who had had an angel encounter. I sat him down, and when I had finished my own story, he was quiet. I hugged him.

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Anne E. Ulvestad is a free-lance writer residing in Maryland. She has her masters in earth literacy, and is available for public lectures and group presentations and rituals on Spirituality and the Environment. Anne can be reached at {email anne@ourplaceintheuniverse.com}anne@ourplaceintheuniverse.com{/email}. © Copyright 2007 by Anne E. Ulvestad