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On May 3, 2002, I was engaged to narrate the historical Williamsburg tour. At about 10:20 a.m., a few minutes before we began the walking tour, a small red car darted in front of our bus, causing the driver to hit his brakes hard and swerve to the right. I was standing, facing the passengers and narrating while holding onto the support rail. The force of the bus's braking and swerving spun me around and I became airborne, bouncing off the driver's right arm and hitting the dashboard twice. My final fall left me lying on the landing beside the driver, my shoeless right foot pointing up the steps to the center aisle and my left foot pointing toward the bus door. My eyeglasses had flown off and I was left disoriented and bewildered.

As I regained consciousness, my immediate prayer was, "Oh, Lord, please don't let anything happen to me. You know I have to get home to Mom." At that moment a feeling of peace swept through my terrified soul and I knew everything would be okay. What a revelation. What peace.

Thoughtful passengers rushed to assist me, but I said, "No, please don't move me. Let me see if anything is broken." I began wiggling my ankles and toes, bending my wrists, and moving my fingers. I moved my head in all directions and moved my torso back and forth. I found no apparent broken bones and felt no immediate pain. We went on with the tour, which ended with the bus' return to the hotel at 5:00 p.m. I immediately left to feed my 94-year-old mother, in the nursing home with contracted osteoarthritis. Afterward, at 7:30 p.m., I went to Urgent Care for x-rays and an MRI, which indicated no broken bones -- a miracle -- although they did indicate a disc misalignment that requires medication and monthly doctor visits. But I felt this was another miracle! No broken hip! The bus driver said he was surprised my back wasn't broken. The Lord heard my prayer and I was able to attend to Mom, who has been a nursing home resident for almost fifteen years. She gave me the best years of her life and it is my Christian ministry to support her and return the love and caring that I received.

I give thanks throughout each day for the many blessings I have been granted.

Jackie Scully


It was 1997, and my husband, two children, and I were preparing for a big move from Wisconsin to Connecticut. I planned a house-hunting weekend with my son, who was seven at the time. My husband couldn't get away, so he and our daughter stayed back. We flew into LaGuardia on a late flight (less expensive) that landed at about 10:30. After we got our bags, we shuttled to the Hertz rental car building to pick up our car so we could make the drive to New Haven. When they ran my credit card, it was rejected. I had purposely called the credit union the day we left to be sure I had plenty of credit and they assured me it was fine. Well, it wasn't fine. The card was rejected, they wouldn't take a personal check, and they were closing in fifteen minutes at midnight.

I was trying to act like I was calm and collected, but I was far from it. It was two minutes to midnight and the man behind the counter said we had to leave so they could lock the door. He was completely unconcerned that I was a woman with a seven-year-old child and nowhere to go at midnight in New York City.

I walked over to the corner of the room and implored God, "I have no options left and I can't spend the night outside with my son. Help me now." We had started walking toward the door when it opened for a pleasant-looking Indian man with a briefcase. "Can anyone direct me to New Haven?"

He drove us to New Haven and bought McDonald's for my son, and we exchanged phone numbers and addresses. I called him a week later to thank him again, but got a recording that the number was not in service. I had a feeling that would be the case.