Debi M. is a casting director in Los Angeles, California. Originally from Oregon, she lives with her husband, three children, three dogs and one very portly cat. This is her God Shot.

*The following God Shot was written by Debi M.*

I need miracles for dummies. I need a neon sign. No subtleties. But, I guess God knows that about me. Awhile back, my husband was in the middle of a relapse and even though I had my own recovery program, and a strong spiritual life, I was spinning out of control and an emotional wreck.

One Sunday morning we’d been fighting and on a whim, I called my therapist sobbing. In desperation, I asked her if she was in the office and able to see me. Looking back, I have no idea why she was in her office on a Sunday, or why she bothered picking up the phone, and most especially, why she agreed to see me. Now I can see it for what it was, the first part of my God Shot.

I rushed out of the house in sweats, a t-shirt, no make-up and I’m assuming shoes. I got in my car and took off, crying and not paying attention. Before I knew it, I had rear-ended the car in front of me. The other driver, a man in his 30’s, got out of his pick-up truck and walked over to the passenger’s side of my car. I rolled down the window and began apologizing profusely. In a voice that was kind and soft spoken, he said, “It’s ok. See, my truck is fine. No damage and I’m ok.”

There was something about his peaceful demeanor that compelled me to start vomiting out the many reasons why I had been so distracted. “My husband is drinking, and I haven’t had any sleep, and he wrecked his car, and he yelled at me, and he’s texting with another woman and, and, and…”

He quietly took in my rant, asked if I was going to be ok, and walked back to his car. Alone and broken, I began to sob hysterically. In fact, I was crying so hard that I didn’t notice that the man had returned and was standing by my window. “Are you going to be ok?” He asked me, yet again. Embarrassed, I assured him through my tears that I would be fine, and that I’d wait a moment before I drove away. At this point, a regular person might have quietly crept away and left this mess of a woman on the side of the freeway. Except on that day, God didn’t send regular. He sent a messenger.

“I see you’re having a really tough time. Would you like me to pray for you?” Stunned into silence, I managed to catch my breath and say, “Yes. I would really appreciate your prayers.” I wasn’t a particularly religious person, I explained, but he simply asked me my name and proceeded to pray for a sobbing stranger on the side of the 101 Freeway. It’s odd, but I don’t remember anything about the actual prayer. Instead, it’s the way it made me feel that I vividly remember. My breathing slowed and I started to feel calm. I felt heard. I felt safe. And above all, I felt loved. In that moment, I knew that I was experiencing a real-life miracle. This man, whose name I cannot remember, was God speaking directly to me, letting me know that He had me and that everything was, indeed, going to be ok.

I didn’t fix my car for an entire year. That buckled hood was a daily reminder of the man who prayed for me. When times get rough, and I want to believe that God doesn’t hear me, or has deserted me, I remember the kindness of this complete stranger, who was anything but. God knew I might not hear or see a more subtle sign. He knew I needed the proverbial lightning bolt, so he sent me my freeway angel.