I became a Christian at the age of 19 after a tragic accident changed my family, my life, and my thoughts about what happens after you die. The Lord preserved me on the night of this accident. My brother became a paraplegic; he eventually returned home, but he returned as a different person. Years later, both of my parents and my younger brother were saved—all because of this trial, this storm in life.

I know today that I am only a sinner saved by grace and that nothing I could ever do could get me into Heaven. I have eternal security, and nothing can separate me from the love of God. That’s the short version of my conversion. If you are satisfied with this paragraph, read no more. If you want to know the whole wonderful story of how I was saved—read on!!!

My Early Life and Family Background

I am the oldest of three children. My brother Ken was 13 months younger than I, and my youngest brother, Phil, was born five years later. My parents were hard-working, honest, and caring people.

Dad’s religious background (although he did not practice it) was of the Old German Baptist belief. He believed in God, would have said he was a Christian, and held great respect for Sundays as holy days. He often read the Bible at home on Sundays while we went to church with Mom.

My mother was of Polish descent and, as you probably have guessed, born into a Roman Catholic home. She attended a Catholic school and church all her life. I had a happy childhood in the farm country, spending many hours designing forts in the woods, swinging from the barn ropes, and playing with my cousins.

Early Religious Experiences

As I grew older (in 2nd grade), I was required by the church to take catechism classes. This would allow me to take communion during Sunday Mass. I remember filling out the answers in the catechism class booklet, and my First Holy Communion Day. From 2nd grade on, I faithfully attended Mass and observed all Holy Days at church with Mom.

When I was in middle school, I began to wonder about other religions. I rationalized that any religion where God was the center was probably okay. I also rationalized that the Catholic faith could not possibly be wrong, as so many millions of people belonged to the Catholic Church worldwide.

I had not committed any mortal sins; my sins were considered venial sins by the church. I went to confession every month, so I felt somewhat confident that I would at least be in purgatory when I died. I was certain that God would not allow so many people to be misled about life after death, and so I continued on with my friends, family, and Sunday morning obligations.

Something Missing in My Life

During my high school years, I became involved in many legitimate activities. Yet there was a part of me that still came home at the end of the day with an empty feeling. It did not matter how well or how much had been accomplished—it seemed to me that somehow there was something I was missing.

The Night that Shook My World

At the Christmas break of my senior year (my brother Ken’s junior year), God allowed a seemingly tragic accident to occur. (I now know it was no accident; it was what He used to speak loud and clear to me and eventually led to my salvation.)

As rural farm kids, we had privileges that most kids did not. We all had snowmobiles, and it became our preferred activity. This became our entertainment—after dark, riding in a group of ten or more snowmobiles. Our parents trusted us. We had no cell phones; they knew we were always together and were familiar with the countryside.

One night in January of 1976, we were out riding. Ken very often went ahead of the group to “make a path.” I was dressed and ready to go with him when he turned to me and spoke the last words I would ever hear from my normal, athletic 6’7″ brother:

“Stay here, I’ll be right back.”

The Lord preserved me that night. Less than half an hour passed when my cousin came back and told us that Ken had hit a parked car that was buried in the bank on the side of the road.

The rest of the night is somewhat of a blur. That awful feeling in your stomach—EMTs, sirens, seeing Ken sprawled on the packed snow, the snowmobile smashed into the side of the car.

I rode in the ambulance to Eaton Rapids Hospital, where our family physician met us. I will never forget the look of concern on Dr. Sherman’s face when he said they were sending Ken on to Sparrow Hospital in Lansing. I rode with the ambulance crew once again. I could hear Ken moaning and struggling. I heard the radio contact repeat: “semi-comatose,” possible head injury. I did the only thing I knew to do—I prayed the Hail Mary over and over again.

Absorbing the Shock

Initial reports were “coma.” This was followed weeks later by “awake but not aware.” It took a long time, but we all came to grips with the fact that nothing would ever be the same. The Ken we knew, the lives we knew, would never come back.

I graduated from high school three months later. I worked a summer job and helped take care of my younger brother, Phil, and the house for Mom and Dad while they spent a majority of their time at the hospital.

Questions about God

I wondered about God—where He was when we needed Him. I wondered why I could find no comfort with my religion. I wanted to go to other churches, but found it hard to tell our priest that I was not satisfied with the Catholic faith. I was also the 10 a.m. church organist, and how on earth was I going to tell the priest that I wanted out?

I found myself taking a job with the Cedar Point Amusement Park in Sandusky, Ohio that spring. It was perfect—I could get away, I could test out other churches, and no one, not even my Catholic mother or grandmother, would know.

A Divine Appointment at a Corn Dog Stand

As a Cedar Point employee, I lived at the park in the employee dorms with three other girls. Amazingly, each of them attended a different kind of church. I went with each one. I concluded that there was “no difference” from what I already knew.

Then, one very regular day at work in my little corn dog stand, my manager came along and said she needed a volunteer to go outside the stand and work at a kiosk. I took the job, and the very first customer handed me the money for her corn dog—and a Gospel tract (a short Bible-based pamphlet).

I had never seen a tract before. I stuffed it in my money box, and at the end of the day, while cashing out, I showed my manager, Stacy, the tract. Stacy looked it over and verified that every question on that tract was true and found in the Bible. I was impressed that she knew so much about the Bible. (Another amazing fact—that the Lord had placed a Christian as my immediate manager.)

I had been a devout Catholic all my life and didn’t even know the books of the Bible or basic Bible truths. I told her what had happened in my life. I told her that I was looking for God, for a reason why this happened to my brother—and for comfort.

She invited me to study the Bible with her at her home outside of the park. Not only did she study with me—her mother fed me and made me feel warm and comforted. They had something I did not. I didn’t know what they had, but for the first time in months, I felt in control.

The Truth that Set Me Free

Each week we studied, I learned more about God’s plan of salvation. I recognized immediately that it was something I did not have.

At first, I could not learn enough. Each page and study was like a revelation of wonderful truths. But the more I learned about God’s Word, the more difficult and complicated my thought life became.

First, if all this were true (which I believed), then all my life I had been taught wrong things regarding church. This meant that my mother and my Grandma Nowak were terribly wrong about their faith. It was like a slap in the face to what I had been taught. How could I—how dare I—suggest to them that they did not know about the real God?

Secondly, I began to have terrible dreams. I would dream about being chased by wicked creatures. They were awful demons. I would wake up in a sweat, feeling threatened. I did not recognize this as being “troubled” about my soul.

After about three weeks of studying with Stacy, she showed me a verse in Colossians 2:14:

“Blotting out the handwriting of ordinances that was against us, which was contrary to us, and took it out of the way, nailing it to His cross!”

That was it! My sins—blotted out! My sins—no more! Nailed to a cross!

What a revelation – because the Catholic Church taught me that everything was an ordinance! Everything had a form, but there were only preprinted prayers on a missalette. This verse said it didn’t matter about that—my sins were taken away—blotted out!

There was nothing I could do to save myself. No confession booths, no lighting of candles, no praying my way to Heaven. All the work was done on the cross. He died for me. My sins were gone. I was set free. I knew what it meant to feel safe and secure.

From Blindness to Sight and Darkness to Light

Looking back, I am amazed that I knelt in front of a wooden cross every Sunday for 19 years. I looked at an ornately carved cross that had the Lord Jesus nailed and bleeding on a tree. Yet, I never questioned why He was nailed there. It is a mystery that I didn’t question Him there. I was so blind to the truth.

Because of Ken’s accident, I was saved. It could have been me on the snowmobile.

Dad was saved a few years later, reading a tract I brought home. He was trying to disprove what the tract said. Both my brothers and my mother—all saved by grace!

I hope to meet the lady who handed me that Gospel tract in Heaven someday.

That’s my story—the story of how God reached and saved me. Just a sinner, saved by grace!

Today, my husband, Matt, and I enjoy our relationship with the Lord and with each other. God has blessed us with two sons and seven grandchildren.

Where are you? Do you know that you can be in Heaven for all eternity? Believe on Him today!