The Day Truth Spoke Louder Than Division.
This morning, on my way to a safety meeting, I witnessed something I’ll never forget. About a quarter of a mile ahead of me, a car lost control. It swerved, over-corrected, skidded across both lanes, and flipped into a ditch. By the time I pulled over and ran toward the wreck, hazards flashing behind me, I didn’t yet realize I wasn’t just about to see an accident—I was about to see the truth.
Inside the car was a Black woman in her 60s. The front of the vehicle was crushed, the doors locked, and the glass unbroken. She was conscious, but trapped. Within seconds, others arrived. A Black man in his 30s, still in his work clothes, climbed down from his semi truck and joined me. We crawled around the car, searching for a way in.
A white woman in her 40s, phone pressed to her ear, handed us a tire iron while she spoke with the police. We tried to smash the glass, but the window wouldn’t break. Then a Black man in his 50s, dressed in business clothes, came running with a shovel. The younger man jabbed at the glass but had no luck. I took the shovel, swung it like a bat, and the glass finally shattered.
Just then, another helper arrived—a young Black man in his 20s, sagging jeans, t-shirt. Without hesitation, he crawled through the broken window, unlocked the door, and cleared a path. Together, we pulled the woman from the car. She was shaken, her legs twisted awkwardly from the crash, but alive.
The crowd broke into shouts of relief. “Praise Jesus!” they cried as she was laid gently on the ground. No serious injuries were visible, only shock. That’s when I noticed her Bible lying in the grass beside the wreck.
A woman picked it up and placed it in her hands. Again, the voices rose: “Thank you, Lord!”
In those few minutes, something powerful happened. Nobody cared about race, background, or politics. Nobody asked what you believed or how you voted. We were truckers, office workers, strangers in caps and jeans—all different, all the same in that moment—because a life was in danger, and saving her was the only thing that mattered.
Later, as the adrenaline faded, I shook hands with the men and women who had stood shoulder to shoulder with me in the ditch. None of us knew each other’s names, but we had shared something sacred: unity.
That’s the truth I want to share today. America is tearing itself apart over differences that don’t matter when life is on the line. In that ditch, there was no division—only people coming together, bound by decency, compassion, and faith.
My wife always asks why I end up in these situations. I can only say this: as Chris Kyle once wrote, I am a sheepdog. I believe God puts me where I am needed. And today, He reminded me—and all of us—that the heart of this nation is not found in our arguments, but in our ability to stand together when it matters most.