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In 1982-86, my husband and I lived in the Shenandoah Valley near Harrisonburg, Virginia. One fall day, I spontaneously decided to use my time off from work to make applesauce, so I headed out of town to the apple orchards in the countryside, driving our little VW camper van. I was headed west in the left lane of a one-way street, coming up on an out-of-state vehicle in the right lane. When my front wheels were about even with their rear wheels, they started to turn right across my lane into a business on the left side of the street -- right in my path. There was no time to hit the brakes; they were right there, which in a camper van is "very" close. I screamed, and as I braced for the crash, I clearly saw Jesus in the passenger seat flinging out his arms to shield me from the impact. Irrationally, I thought, "Of course! He's going to die instead of me, once again." But there was no crash.

Somehow, unbelievably, their car had crossed in front of my VW without any contact. The other driver started yelling, furious at me for nearly causing an accident. I wordlessly pointed at the one-way street sign and he and his passenger promptly turned even whiter. We stared at one another, shaking our heads in disbelief that we hadn't crashed, utterly shaken. When my legs quit shaking, I got back into my van and drove off -- and Jesus was still sitting in the passenger seat. I could turn my head and look right at him and then he seemed fainter, like looking at a dim star right on. But when I looked straight ahead and saw him with my peripheral vision, he was quite clear. When I spoke to him, he did not respond verbally or audibly, but his body language was clear, giving me a profound sense of peace and compassionate love.

He didn't leave for several weeks, although the impressions grew fainter. During that time, I could always sense or see precisely where he was, never invasive but always nearby with that gentle, powerful grace and love and peace flowing from him directly into the desolate, shame-filled places within me.

At that time, I was a young wife struggling with the poisonous after-effects of childhood sexual abuse. While I had already experienced much healing, there was still much more to go, and would continue to be for many more years. But so much of my steady transformation into health since then has built on that experience -- the tangible sense of Jesus' vital connection and care and concern for me. The suicidal depressions that had shaped so much of my adolescent and young adult life ended at that point.

Now, as a pastor, I take special joy in doing spiritual direction with women who have experienced sexual abuse or other childhood trauma. I tell them, when we begin meeting, that one of my primary aims in working with them in this way is to help make God's overwhelming love and care for them real and tangible. And this is as transforming for them as it has been for me.

Cynthia Kristopeit

In 1992 my life changed forever because of a divorce, and I went through some very dark and stressful years. I was beside myself with grief, fear, and anger, and since much of my life had centered upon my husband and his attaining his goals, I had forgotten who I was. I now believe that my self-worth was quite low. Being an extension of his goals and dreams did a number on reclaiming who I really was.

I prayed that God would guide me through the pain, but there were days when I didn't ever think that life would be normal again. I wondered how I could survive. My supervising elder at that time suggested the name of a Christian therapist. During one counseling session, I remember really struggling with my self-worth. The counselor asked me to close my eyes. He suggested I go in my mind to a place that I loved.

I had no difficulty with that, since there is one place in the world where I have experienced God's love again and again -- Gate's Pass outside of Tucson, Arizona, in Saguaro National Monument West. My mind's eye immediately climbed up to the stone picnic pavilion that overlooks the pass down into the majesty of the Sonaran Desert valley. One sees literally thousands upon thousands of stately saguaro's for miles. I had nicknamed those saguaros "God's sentinels." I felt safe there.

After several minutes, the therapist asked me to picture someone coming to me. Instantly, I saw Jesus. He came over the rocks towards me as I looked out over the valley and we sat down on a rock together gazing at the beauty. We just sat there a long time ... Jesus and me. I felt warm and safe. After some time, Jesus looked into my eyes and he said, "You really love this spot, don't you?"

"Yes," I said.

He smiled and said, "I'm so glad, because I made it just for you."

I was stunned. As I told the therapist about my experience, I cried. Jesus didn't think I was worthless. The struggle to love ourselves, as we are loved, is an unending human struggle. But whenever I get those feelings, I relive that incredible moment ... that gift of seeing God's creation as a gift to me.

Vera Kin

Have you ever felt that the Lord was holding your hand and saying encouraging words to you? Well, I did.

"The results of the biopsy show that you have cancer."

The doctor's words hit like a bombshell. How could it be? I just sat there and did not say a word. Finally, the doctor said to me, "Are you okay?"

And I replied, "No, I am not okay. I am a basket case." I had gone to the doctor's office alone when they called for me to hear the results of a biopsy on a lump I had discovered.

He said, "I want you to know that, no matter how hard it is for you to hear this, it is also very hard for me to have to tell you." Some of my friends can hardly believe that that man, noted for being very, very hard-nosed, would even be able to say that. But he did. He offered surgery and an irreversible colostomy. Oh my!

My social worker friend, Millie, said later that she wished she had gone with me, and wondered why I hadn't asked her to go along. It was such devastating news, I didn't even want to talk about it. I couldn't tell my four sons, but my friend kept after me. Finally, one Sunday afternoon I called each one and asked if they could come to see me "right now."

It was only a short time until they all arrived, with some adult grandchildren along. It struck me how easy it was to get all of us together, when so many times we had tried to plan an anniversary dinner and it seemed impossible to find a time suitable to all.

One son said, "Maybe they can just cut out that part and patch you up." My engineer grandson told me, "You know they are all electricians and that is how they fix things." All the sons and wives and families were very, very supportive. One daughter-in-law told me, "Now you just fight this!"

My surgeon, Dr. Fox, said he was reading up about my case and it was unusual. They only see a couple like it each year. But he offered a possible cure with radiation and chemotherapy, with a 50-50 chance of cure, and if it did work, they would not have to do a colostomy. Well, with those odds, I jumped at the chance, of course. And if it didn't work, they could still do the colostomy.

I was not told that the radiation would permanently damage all of the skin in the area, nor that the chemo itself would almost kill me. Later, in the ensuing weeks of fogged consciousness, I do remember hearing the chemo doctor yelling out to someone, "I can't give her any more chemotherapy."

For the radiation therapy, I was measured and received some tattoos where the radiation was to be aimed. After the specialist pushed and pulled and nudged my body into the exact position it needed to be, I was cautioned to be very still and not move. During the times I received radiation (I cannot remember how many), now hear this, my Lord, in a white robe, stood right beside me and all the time held my hand to help me be still. And he told me I was going to get well. It was all so calm and comforting to me, and I never doubted for a minute. As sick as I was during several months of recovery, I remembered that he said I would get well. And I did.

All I can think, even today, is, "Thank you, God, for being with me, and thank you for the people you gave me to help me. And thank you for this beautiful day in your beautiful world."