Saturday, November 23, 2002, dawned cool, crisp, and clear over Atlanta, Georgia, the ninth largest metropolitan area in the country and the city where I envisioned our family restored and protected by God.
The morning sunshine boosted my confidence, as I prepared to drive to Clark Atlanta University to take the two-hour teaching certification exam that would begin at nine o’clock sharp. In preparation for the lengthy test, I dressed in a navy blue embroidered sweatshirt, stretch-to-fit Levi jeans, and stylish black leather Dr. Scholl’s canvas shoes. Prior to departing, I asked God to aid me in passing the test.
The weather-beaten red 1993 Chevy S-10 pickup with Florida license plates and questionable reliability waited for me at the curb. I was uncomfortable with the fact that I wasn’t familiar with the truck I’d borrowed from my brother and therefore didn’t really know what to expect from it, but I squared my shoulders, determined not to allow my shaky transportation to dampen my spirits. This was the day the Lord had made, and I was going to rejoice and be glad in it!
I climbed inside and held my breath until the engine roared to life. “Thank You, Lord,” I whispered, feeling some of the tension drain from my neck and shoulders. Of course, I wasn’t completely out of the woods yet. Not having any time to spare, I decided not to stop for gas; I would just have to take my chances. Surely I had a sufficient amount to travel to the university; what disturbed me was when I pressed my foot against the accelerator and the pedal felt stiff.
Oh, Lord, I prayed silently, please let me arrive for the test safely!
God must have heard me because when I returned home later that day—safe and sound—I told my husband, Ron, and our two kids, Chercolby and Alexis, that I was sure I’d passed. “I’m glad that’s behind me,” I told them, breathing a huge sigh of relief before walking outside to check the mailbox.
As I flipped through the daily offerings, I noticed an envelope from SunTrust Bank, the company that was financing our home, and it appeared there was a check inside. Excitedly I ripped open the envelope and found a refund check from our escrow account, declaring, “Pay to the order of Kathy M. Prince, the sum of $1,603.12.” I sensed the spirit of God’s favor upon me. First I had the feeling I had passed my certification test, and now God had dropped a financial blessing right into our laps, all in one day. What a reason to praise Him!
“Party over here, party over here,” I sang loudly, as I danced my way back into the house. “We’re going to Disney World, kids!”
Their eyes illumined as the news infused their hearts. The next thing I knew they were chattering about lodging at Disney World’s Grand Floridian Hotel with the exotic style swimming pool. In fact, they had already viewed a video highlighting the special attractions and places they had dreamed of visiting if we ever had the opportunity. And now God had made it possible by providing the resources. How true it is that God is never late, yet always on time!
“Take a bath, girls,” I commanded, “while I go cash this check. I’ll pick up a pizza on the way back. Then we’ll go out and buy a dinette set.”
I walked out the door, my heart singing as I thought of how everything seemed to be falling into place in our lives. After all the heartache and turmoil of our earlier years in Florida, the separation and financial difficulties, things were finally beginning to change for us.
By the time I returned with the pizza, the girls were dressed and ready. Seven-year-old Alexis was wearing a purple shirt and sweatpants, while Chercolby had chosen the original baby blue-colored M&M sweatshirt and matching sweatpants that she had received for her ninth birthday just one week earlier.
Before the girls and I piled into the rickety old pickup to head for the furniture store, I asked Ron if I could drive his car to bring home the dinette set, as the 2000 Nissan Sentra was in much better condition than my ride, but he said he needed the car to go meet his boss. And so Chercolby, Alexis, and I set off on our errand, promising to phone Ron once we returned.
We quickly made it to Value Village on Memorial Drive in Decatur, a suburb of Atlanta, where we purchased a leaf-style wrought iron dinette set with a heavy glass top. The store employees carried the furniture outside for us, and then placed the table and chairs in the back of the truck and secured it with a thick rope. “That should get you home safe and sound,” they assured me.
We left the store and turned off Columbia Drive onto Rainbow Drive, where we stopped at a Chevron gas station on the corner of Candler and Rainbow. After filling the pickup’s empty tank, I went inside and bought some Gatorade and PowerAde before climbing back into the truck and buckling our seatbelts for the remainder of the ride home.
“Guess what, kids,” I said, as I drove down Candler toward I-285.
“What?” they asked in unison.
“We’re going to make another stop before we go home so we can buy those beautiful white ceramic lions we’ve been admiring.”
Chercolby and Alexis agreed it was a good idea, and off we went, westbound on I-285 toward Atlanta. When I reached the Jonesboro Rd. exit 55, I proceeded off the Interstate at normal speed, unconcerned until I noticed the truck beginning to jerk backward a little. The next thing I knew the truck seemed to be sputtering; I thought it might be losing power, but I wasn’t really sure what was happening.
And then, as we neared the bottom of the exit, that beat-up old truck took off like a rocket, blasting into space. I took my foot off the accelerator, but still it zoomed ahead at lightning speed. Then I slammed my foot on the brakes, over and over again; still nothing changed. I tried the emergency brake, but we continued to fly forward, as if the truck were controlled by some invisible demon.
And then I heard screaming. Mine? The kids’? Both, I’m sure.
“I can’t turn the wheel,” I cried. “It’s stuck! Oh, Lord, we’re going to crash! It won’t stop! It won’t stop!”
I can only describe the instant of impact as a “mini nuclear explosion”…and then all was silent.
*****
“All rise!”
The bailiff’s command jarred me back into the harsh reality that had recently overtaken my life. The jury had returned, and the verdict that would determine my fate was about to be pronounced.
I stood to my feet, legs shaking and heart pounding, stunned at the unbelievable turn of events that had brought me from being a wife, mother, and educator to a defendant facing the possibility of doing some serious prison time. With all the trauma and devastation I had already experienced, surely God wouldn’t allow such a miscarriage of justice to take me further into despondency and despair!
I studied the jury but couldn’t read a thing in their faces. The judge, with her large, dark eyes, was equally expressionless. I glanced at my husband, Ron, and thought it was odd that he had dressed so casually for what was obviously a watershed day in my life—one way or the other. The only splash of color to offset his drab gray sweater and khaki pants was the colorful shirt collar that peeked out over the top of his pullover. I understood that his drab appearance may have been a reflection of how he had been feeling ever since the accident, but at that moment it looked as if he were about to go play cards with his friends or sit on the porch and drink a couple of beers. His defeated demeanor sure didn’t do much to bolster my sagging spirits. In contrast, I had worn a black pin-striped suit, thinking it was important to present a look of professionalism and confidence—whether I felt it or not.
The old Matlock-style courtroom, with its wooden benches and bright overhead lights, was silent, as an invisible clock ticked off the final seconds before the verdict was read. Throughout those seemingly interminable seconds, I did my best to stay focused, to clear my thoughts of all the nightmare images that had plagued me since the crash that had changed every aspect of my life, a life that had never been problem-free and yet had once held such promise….
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