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Feb 08
2008
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One fall evening in 1954, a car sped through dusky Pennsylvania twilight. Headlights off, it careened recklessly towards a blind intersection in a cornfield. In a sickening split second, it smashed broadside into another car.
There were three people in that second car. When the dust and smoke cleared, two bodies lay among the twisted metal. One was my mother, who would remain in a coma for a month. The other, my aunt, was killed instantly. My father escaped with only scratches. Looking up to the sky, he asked “Why us, God? We were on our way to be missionaries!”



