Mommy Got Run Over by a Reindeer

To be perfectly honest, it wasn’t actually a reindeer; it was just an ordinary kind of deer. But it had antlers. Close enough, given the season.

My dad died early in the morning, a week before Christmas, in 1998. By evening, we were traveling north through Illinois, on our way from Chattanooga to northern Iowa. Paul and I were in our full-size van with our three children, ages six, nine and 11. It was pitch black outside, as a snowstorm was moving in. It was my turn to drive.

When I saw the deer, he was probably 12 inches in front of my left headlight. One millisecond later, he centered the grill. Another millisecond later, every auto part in front of the engine was destroyed. I’ve never been much for thrill rides. That was the ride of a lifetime – 65 miles an hour with a dead engine, no power brakes, no power steering and an 8-point buck for a hood ornament. God, or perhaps my guardian angel sent directly from Him, covered my hands as I fought to maintain control of the van as we rolled off to the right shoulder and stopped. We told the kids what had happened, then we all five sat in stunned silence. A very long stunned silence. My thoughts ran along the lines of, “What do we do now?” and the natural follow-up, “What do we do now?” Our youngest, with her perpetually unique perspective, broke the silence quietly, soberly, with, “Mommy killed Rudolph.”

You’ve heard the phrase, “It’s a long story.” This one could be a series of very long stories, but there simply isn’t enough cyberspace to contain the whole. I want to tell of God’s provision for us in this event, and the gifts just go on and on.

Recognizing our helplessness and vulnerability, Paul began to pray aloud. While he was yet speaking, we saw the blue flashing lights in our rear-view mirrors. The state trooper who stopped to help us called another. One stayed with the family while the other called a wrecker and took me to a car rental. The snowstorm arrived, and the car rental business was packed with customers. I was given the last available car, a Malibu. A Malibu? For five people and a wheelchair? We had to leave a great deal of our luggage and possessions in the van. The officers got Paul out of the van; we couldn’t use the wheelchair lift without the van battery, which had an antler stuck in it. We went to a hotel and the next day made arrangements with the mechanic. We told him to repair only the essential pieces, not the cosmetic items. He told us it would be hard to get parts this close to Christmas, as UPS was overloaded.

We went on to Iowa, arriving late, halfway through the visitation for Dad. A relative of a relative insisted we stay with her and showed us incredible, over-the-top hospitality. She refused to let us leave at night, as the temperature was 20 below zero. But Paul’s wheelchair could not fit through the bathroom doorway in her house. So she yanked the door off the hinges and promised him privacy, even though she had eight extra people staying in her house!

For three days after the funeral, we kept calling the mechanic asking if our van was repaired. Always he gave the same answer, “No, the parts haven’t arrived.” Finally, we decided we could not impose on the hospitality of our hostess any longer, and we drove back to the hotel at the town where our van waited. We had to stay a couple more days, waiting for parts to come in. Our mechanic was just one lone fellow, not a company or a national chain. We might have been a little concerned about his abilities, but the trooper had assured us he was the best. We then found that he was a little concerned about us, as he had often repaired vehicles for out-of-town folks and been left with a bad payment! Here was another provision of the Lord. Normally, when we traveled, I carried a certain amount of cash for small purchases and our credit card for larger ones. When we left home this time, I did something I had never done before and have never done since. I didn’t know why I did it, but I was sure I should. I took an extra $800 cash with us. When the mechanic showed his anxiety about payment, I assured him we would pay in cash. I did not tell him how much we had. He finished the repairs and brought us the van on Christmas Eve at 4 p.m. The bill was $760.

It was too late to start for home, so we looked for a church in the town. We found a First Baptist Church and went to the service. It was a small church so we generated a great deal of attention! When they asked for our story, we were mobbed with offers of help. “Would you eat Christmas dinner with us tomorrow?” “I have an extra car; do you need it?” “Do you need money? I can give you money.” We didn’t take them up on any of it, but we were overwhelmed with the generosity and kindness from God’s people who had never met us.

We drove home on Christmas Day, so happy to be home, and rejoicing over all the ways God had provided for us. If I could choose, we would not have had to go through that accident. But now, more than 20 years later, we continue to be amazed and thankful for all God’s provision in a frightening and baffling event. With the help of Illinois State Troopers, an innovative hostess, the nervous mechanic and a church full of kind and generous people, we were protected, provided for and encouraged. Every good and perfect gift comes from the Father of Lights!

--Lynda Shenefield