Five police cars with flashing lights blocked the southern portion of a major intersection. Broken glass, debris and twisted metal spread as far as the eye could see. Partial remains of a horribly disfigured SUV sat on a flat bed. A mangled sedan was on its side in the middle of the pavement.

News reports said an SUV with four passengers ran a red light at a high rate of speed at 3 a.m. and crashed into a sedan. Two dead, three injured, two critically.

I immediately wondered if any of those in the speeding SUV had heard a small still voice like I did years ago.

As a senior in high school, I was on the way home from a movie seated in the front passenger seat. The driver was a boy I’d known a long time. His best friend and the girl he was dating were in the backseat.

My friend made a left turn at a high rate of speed and laughed.

I heard a small still voice in my head say, “Tell him to pull over and let you out.” We were only blocks from my home. I could have easily and safely walked. But I didn’t want to look uncool in front of my friends, so I said nothing.

A second time, clearer and more forcefully, the voice said, “Tell him to pull over and let you out.” Again, I stonewalled and said nothing. Fifteen seconds later, he took another corner on two wheels and we slammed head on into a parked truck.

The impact shot me forward and I shattered the windshield with my head. I don’t remember being dragged from the car, but I do remember a woman with red hair crying, looking at me lying on the ground, and saying, “She’s going to die, she’s going to die.”

In the ambulance on the way to the hospital, an EMT kept touching my feet saying, “Can you feel this? Can you feel this?” The answer was no.

I spent some time in the hospital and missed almost two months of school. I was doing makeup work in the graduation line, but by the end of summer I had recovered and was fine. I was beyond fortunate. Once in a blue moon, a vertebra that was fractured still yelps just to say hello.

I never talked about the small still voice because I knew I’d been a fool.

But I’m talking now. We have new young drivers in our extended family, with more waiting in the wings pining for their 16th birthdays.

Take it from someone who foolishly thought it was better to look cool than to speak up and be safe. If you ever hear the small still voice, listen to it and heed it.

Ignore what anyone else might think — because that small still voice just might be the voice of God trying to save you from something horrendous.

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