Theme Thursday: Angels

This week's Theme Thursday asks the question of whether or not I believe in angles. Well of course! I didn't spend a year in high school geometry for nothing. I believe in 180* ones along with 45*, and––

Sorry, but is this a humor blog or what? I didn't want to suddenly go all serious on you with each post.

Angels! I've believed in those too ever since I was seven and one saved my life while on a runaway bike that was possessed. Not exactly. The bike might have gotten out of sorts because I didn't get the concept of coasting when riding downhill. Instead, I pedaled full force until I found myself headed straight into a moving car.

I panicked and could only think to stop the bike, but the brakes failed to heed my one request because of inertia: a body in motion tends to stay in motion. 

That's when the angel entered the scene. I guess it was an angel because I never saw anyone, but I felt it. Some invisible something grabbed the handle bars of my bike and threw me out of the path of the car. I circled into a grassy hill and got my usual skinned knees. Throughout my childhood, I never had a normal looking knee so this was no big deal. As an adult, I usually have clean knees but STILL mess them up from time to time. 

Proof! There must be angels because without them, I'd surely be dead.

 Many thanks to Beth for telling me about morgueFile. This is a delightful site that allows me to download any of their pictures without fear of being sued; unfortunately, the bloody knee is totally mine. :)

near "DEATH" experience

I almost died at the age of seven. Sure, we all use the expression "almost died" or "could have died," but this was no joke. It all started when my sister took me to the grounds of Concordia Seminary where she helped me perfect my bike riding skills by having me circle the parking lot. Once I got good at it, she encouraged me to ride down the hill toward the street.

1960s Schwinn

This wouldn't have been a problem for most kids, you just put your feet on the pedals and coast your way down; however, I didn't have the concept of coasting. With full pedal pushing strength, I flew down that hill. I enjoyed the wind in my face and the thrill of the fast ride until I neared the bottom and spied a car headed straight at me.

In a panic, I pumped the break with no luck because at such a fast speed, one does not stop easily. Now here comes the weird part: right as I was set to plow head first into the car, someone grabbed the handlebars of my bike and moved me out of the way. No one was there.

So you're probably thinking I'm nuts, insane, crazy, or just plain coo coo, but I swear, someone pulled my bike out of the way of that car. No doubt about it. My bike moved to the left, and I crashed into a grassy hill, which gave me two bloody knees. That was no big deal since I rarely saw knee skin throughout my entire childhood anyway.

My sister told me how brilliant I was for turning the wheel of the bike. I didn't turn the wheel. I'm not sure who did. Maybe it was an angel, or a relative who was never more or not yet. No telling about that, but one thing's for sure: I was not meant to die at age seven.