It was 1985 and I was expecting our first baby.
Since she was due in November, this would have been probably around September or October of that year.
My husband, Rick, and I had driven 30 minutes away to a Sunday evening service at a church near Dallas, Texas.
As we returned to Dallas, we were on a big freeway that we needed to exit.
Signaling our need to get over to the exit lane to the right of us, a car behind us started speeding up to get ahead of us. Meanwhile, seeing our signal, the car to our left began to enter our lane as we tried to exit.
Rather than get hit by the car committing to our lane, we sped up to get in front of the speedster who didn’t want us for whatever reason, to get ahead of him.
Making our exit into downtown Dallas, I noticed a car behind us flashing their lights.
I commented to Rick that someone seemed to be signaling us to pull over.
As I looked again, I noticed that it was the guy who had been in such a hurry to get ahead of us.
Uh oh, I thought. Not good. This could be a road rage situation and under no circumstances should we pull over and try to chat with this guy.
So, we continued on towards our apartment.
Needless to say, Mr. Road Rage was not happy with our snub and he proceeded to try to recreate a scene out of the “French Connection” (youtube it for reference!)
He began to drive alongside us trying to smash us into parked cars. Rick would whip into a parking lot, trying to lose him or take a different street and we couldn’t get him off our tail.
Typically, in downtown Dallas, there are always cops to be found somewhere. But evidently, not on this particular Sunday night!
As I began to assess our predicament and ponder raising a fatherless child, I knew I needed to cry out to God for some really specific intervention.
This was my very sincere and humble prayer: “Dear Jesus, please save us from this maniac who wants us dead and where in the world are your police officers when we need them!!!”
It was not the most reflective prayer I’ve ever prayed but most definitely a passionate one!
Shortly after we rounded a corner, we spotted a McDonald’s.
There, right by the golden arches, sat a police car. Yay God!
Rick whipped into the drive with the Nascar wannabe right on our tail.
I jumped out, big tummy and all, leaving Rick to fend for himself as I ran in to plead for our lives.
There were not one but two blue uniformed heroes, hungrily carrying their trays to sit down in a booth for what was probably, a much needed supper break. Dallas does not have a low crime rate, if you know what I mean.
I wonder what they thought, when this frantic, pregnant lady came flying at them blurting out that there was a maniac in the parking lot that was trying to kill her and her husband.
After they recovered from hoping they wouldn’t have to perform delivery duty in a McDonald’s, they probably thought, “can’t we please just eat without drama, lady?”
But they were my answer to prayer and they had to dutifully get up and go to the parking lot to make sure that people didn’t kill each other.
Because there were no witnesses, they reprimanded the man who was chasing us and told him that he was lucky we didn’t have a gun and shoot him as scared as we were.
They let us drive away first, far out of sight, before they let the other man leave.
We went home and thanked God that he provides help when needed and on that particular evening it was a couple of guys who were wearing a blue uniform.
God bless our police officers! Sometimes, and more often than not, but especially for us on that night, they were a very concrete answer to prayer.