Picture this scene: It was around May 1st, 1971. I was 17 years old, a sophomore in high school. My brother had just finished installing an engine in his 1966 Thunderbird. After placing the hood back on, he decided to take it for a test drive. He had also replaced some gears in the rear end, so our other brother followed in his car to help check the speedometer. About two miles outside of town, traveling at roughly 60 mph, the Thunderbird's hood flew open, obscuring the driver's view. In an attempt to navigate blindly, we hit a ditch and lost control. The car rolled multiple times, finally coming to rest on its side in a plowed field. During those terrifying moments, my life flashed before my eyes.
In desperation, I called out to God for help. The next thing I knew, I was on the ground, looking up at the teetering car. My other brother, who had witnessed the entire ordeal, saw the car settle in a cloud of dust. As we were ejected from the vehicle, the driver landed on his feet, while I was left gasping for air on my back. They quickly placed me in the backseat of the other car and drove me to the hospital. Following an examination, I was discharged with a doctor's note excusing me from P.E. for a month. Miraculously, I had no broken bones, only sore back muscles.
The car's roof was crushed down to the seats. Seatbelts weren't mandatory at the time, which is why we were thrown from the car. I am forever grateful for God's protection that day. Praise God!
Testimony by Paul V. Lundmark
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