Could Call This “Jesus, Take the Wheel”… But I Won’t. Even Though I Should.

While driving over the weekend, I almost hit a deer. My husband was in the passenger seat, my three children in the back. It was a surreal and terrifying moment.

Have you ever been in a moment like that—where the body just seems to know how to deal with the situation at hand?

It was as if time slowed down. All my senses sharpened. I could sense a part say, “Don’t hit the deer!” And then, immediately after that part spoke, a louder, stronger part commanded, “You hit that deer if you have to. Don’t you dare swerve.”

I clenched the steering wheel and held my breath. Surrendered to the possible outcome of hitting the deer at 65 miles per hour. I pumped my brake and honked my horn—hoping, hoping, hoping to avoid the worst.

I remember something within me just saying the name of Jesus over and over and over as it played out. By. The. Grace. Of. God. The deer stopped and started—and just cleared my path in time.

The deer wasn’t out of danger, nor was the oncoming traffic going the opposite way it had just jumped into the middle of. Horrified, I tried to see what was going to happen next, unable to avert my gaze. Then I heard my husband say, “Don’t look. You don’t want to watch that. Keep driving.” He was right. I didn’t want to watch that.

All I could do was say a prayer that all involved would be okay. I have no idea what happened next to the deer.

But my next moments were clearly a shock response. My heart rate was pounding, fast and loud. My breathing, shallow and quick. I began to take deep, slow breaths to calm myself. Then the tears came—my family in the car, the people I love most in this world, out of danger. The flood of what-ifs.

Again, I breathed deeply. Grounding myself in reality. The what-ifs—non-reality.
In through my nose. Out through my mouth. As my body calmed, gratitude crept in—for God's protection.

It was an awful experience—but an important one. Another moment where the Savior got to be the Savior. Where I knew I wouldn’t have been enough without Him. And while I won’t go looking for moments like that, I’m grateful He allows them.

They remind me I don’t have to be in control. I can’t be. This life isn’t just up to me—He’s in it, active and present. Not only in dramatic, life-saving moments, but in the quiet, everyday ones too.

I want to remember that.

It’s sobering how quickly life can shift—but deeply comforting to know we’re never alone. He’s there, steady at the wheel, even when we’re bracing for impact.