How is He Mine?
By Ashli Carroll
On a fall evening in rural south Alabama, the usual Friday night crowd gathers in my mom and dad’s backyard to kick off the weekend. The music is loud, the adults talk and laugh, and the kids play outside. Country life affords a child some liberties; at only eight years old, I’m a good driver, and my ride of choice is my dad’s four-wheeler. I love the wind in my face as I race through the long, winding trails on the property. But tonight, I’ve been kicked out of the driver seat.
“Let Amanda drive,” my dad yells over Lynyrd Skynyrd booming from the speakers.
I don’t particularly like this teenager from down the road, but I had to comply. Three of us climb onto the four-wheeler: Amanda up front, my cousin Crystal in the middle, and me in the back. Amanda zooms up to the main road and quickly leaves the property. As Amanda increases speed, the pavement passes underneath us like a blur. I hold Crystal tight.
“Amanda, go back. We’re gonna get in trouble,” I yell.
My warnings go unnoticed. Amanda has discovered some trails located behind an abandoned field two miles from my parents’ property. At the back of the field, the tree line opens to reveal a narrow entry point, and Amanda embarks slowly. After turning sharply to the right, we plunge five feet down a bank and cross the shallow creek to the other side. Instinctively, Crystal and I lean forward as our dads have taught us so that we help the four-wheeler climb up the other side. The woods seem unfamiliar in this eerie blackness. Crystal and I are quiet...there’s no laughter or excited squeals like these trails usually incite. Fear grips my chest. Crystal squeezes my arms so I’ll hold her tighter. I track our location, but the total darkness and Amanda’s speed disorients me. Suddenly, we hit a dip that jolts us forward. My head slams into Crystal’s. The steering column jerks and our driver can’t hold on. In an instant, we crash and come to a complete stop. The four-wheeler goes dead. It was unnervingly quiet. My ears ring and my eyes struggle to adjust to the pitch-black night. Amanda jumps off in hysterics. I reach to turn on the headlights, and the illumination startles her.
“The battery is fine,” I said. “Someone will see us if they come looking.”
“We can’t wait that long,” Amanda said impatiently. “My house is somewhere around here. You two stay put and I’ll walk to get help.”
“No!” I yell to stop her from leaving. “We are not splitting up. You don’t even know these trails!”
Crystal screams in pain and won’t move, so Amanda and I work together to help her off. She moves slowly and can’t stand on her own. We carry her around to the light. Her right leg is mangled and covered in blood.
“She can’t walk. You’ve got to carry her, and I’ll try to lead us out of here.” I instructed Amanda.
Something shifts in me. With the realization of our great danger comes the fact that it’s up to me to get us out of here. I feel so small compared to the task, and there’s an overwhelming need to rely on something bigger than myself. God? But would He care? I don’t doubt that He exists – I think He is good and bigger than I can imagine, but is He so concerned about me that I can rely on Him for this?
“God? Please help us,” I whisper as my mind races to form a plan.
This plea comes from somewhere deep in me. It’s not the bedtime prayer I recite every night. It stems from a sense of insignificance – I’m just a kid, I’m not capable of leading us out of here. But I have no choice. If this great big God really does hear me, then He will come.
Amanda hoists Crystal up on her back and we head off in the glow of the wrecked 4-wheeler’s headlight. It soon gets dark again – pitch black in spots where the trees cover the moon’s glow. After making some progress, Amanda grabs my arm.
“There’s something following us,” Amanda’s voice cracks.
We stop to listen. The sound of crunching leaves comes from behind. A chill goes through me as I realize that Crystal has been losing blood since the scene of the accident. Coyotes have tracked us down.
“Run!” I yell.
But the trail splits up ahead. Panic clouds my thinking. It is at this moment, lost in the middle of pitch-black woods and about to be devoured by predators, that God shows up.
“Let’s go this way,” Amanda urges as she heads down a trail to the right.
Go straight, I heard, but not with my ears. It seemed more like instinct or a clear thought than a voice…but it wasn’t me. A sense of peace came over me as I realized that God is answering my prayer.
“No, go straight.” I refuted.
The course is overgrown. Limbs and vines hit us in the face as we battle through what seems like powerful force field. We break free and run. Suddenly, I notice hard road under my feet. We are out, and I see headlights coming our way. My heart settles at the familiar glug-glug sound of my dad’s old Chevy, which is so loud that it scares the coyotes away. We are saved.
The accident wrecked my dad’s four-wheeler, exposed a careless teen, broke Crystal’s leg, and thrust me into a leadership role. They call me brave – a hero even – for my leadership that night, but the truth is I was just a scared little girl who dared to believe a great big God cares. That moment when God spoke to me defines my relationship with Him. In all the dark nights of my life, I know that He’s there. I am His, and He is mine.
