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I Wanted to Be in the Best Shape of My Life at 60. Then I Lost My Leg.

By The Artful Woman
  Before my accident, I kept saying the same thing to myself: I want to be in the best shape of my life when I turn 60. I meant it. I was hiking, walking, going to the gym. I was building strength in my body and imagining a future where I kept getting stronger, not weaker. Then the accident happened. I was still 59. I turned 60 in a hospital bed. I lost a leg. I fractured my other leg in multiple places. I broke ribs. I had vertebrae injuries. My body went into heart and kidney failure. Pain became constant, not occasional. Everything I thought I was building… was suddenly gone. And for a long time, I couldn’t understand something: If I was focusing on health, strength, and vitality… how did I end up here? I used to think maybe I did something wrong. Maybe I thought wrong. Maybe I “manifested” the wrong thing. But I’m starting to see something different now. Life isn’t a formula where good thoughts guarantee safe outcomes. Bodies exist in a world where accidents happen, s...
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A Stop Sign from Above

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By The Artful Woman

 
2010 was a tough year. I'd just lost my dad, and picking up his ashes in downtown LA felt heavy. The drive back to Hollywood, where Dad lived, was even heavier – a relentless downpour mirroring the storm brewing inside me. My nephew sat beside me on this somber journey.

Suddenly, on Sunset Boulevard, a truck ahead flashed its lights and  stopped unexpectedly. I instinctively hit the brakes. But something terrifying happened – my van hydroplaned. It wasn't a controlled slide; it was a complete loss of control. Heavy rain and worn-out brakes conspired against me, propelling the van straight towards a parked truck. A collision seemed inevitable.

Then, in an instant, the impossible happened. The van stopped. Not with a screech or a jolt, but with a gentle, surreal halt, inches from the truck's bumper. My nephew and I stared at each other, wide-eyed. It defied logic. My friend later confirmed my worst fears – the brakes and rotors were shot. The hand of God was the only way to explain it, a shield from above.

In the months following the Sunset Blvd. incident, fueled by grief, I became reckless. Somehow, I seemed to narrowly escape accidents unscathed. Cars swerved to avoid me, collisions averted at the last second. It felt as if an invisible hand was guiding me through that difficult time.

I knew God was protecting me because I wasn't fully myself. Grief had clouded my judgment, leaving me numb and reckless. That experience on Sunset Boulevard wasn't just a miracle; it was a powerful reminder of God's love. A reminder that He would carry me through even when I couldn't walk on my own.

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