From my personal history:
I was home, visiting my dad. He was in his late 80's and still driving. He drove up until two weeks of his death at age 93.
"Let's go to Richfield and get dinner," he said. "I'll buy. We'll go to JB's."
"Okay," I said. "Shall I drive?"
"Nah. I'll drive."
I shuddered just a bit, and reluctantly got in the car. I'd driven with Daddy before, recently. He drove at a reasonable speed. His eyesight was good. His reflexes seemed to be good, too. There was just something--I can't put my finger on it, but I was a bit uneasy when he drove.
When we got to Richfield I said, "Dad, go up a block where there is a stop light and then you can turn left and come back down to JB's."
"Nah, I always go this way."
So, we sat at a stop sign, waiting to cross Main Street. We sat a long time.
"Just turn right, Dad, and go up to the light."
"I always go this way," he said.
We waited some more. The traffic on Main Street was pretty heavy.
"Go up to the light, Dad. I don't see a break in the traffic, we could sit here all night."
Just then he floored the gas pedal and we took off. My head made an imprint in the head rest. I could see a car, coming right at us. I was in the "death seat." I saw the whites of the driver's eyes and a panicked look as he put on the brakes." Luckily, his reflexes were good too.
We crossed the street, unharmed.
"Daddy," I said, when I could speak again. "There was a car coming. We could have been hit."
"I was tired of waiting," he said.
HE WAS TIRED OF WAITING!? Oh, my.
People came to know God that day. Me, for sure, and probably the driver of the oncoming car. Maybe that was Daddy's purpose all along. Maybe dinner was just a bonus.