By Alifa Daniel in Abuja
Safety Is of the Lord
About sixteen years ago, I learned a lesson about divine protection in a way I have never forgotten.
At the time, a friend of mine—then a governor in one of the South-South states—had invited me to attend the burial of his mother. I had persuaded him to invite me, actually. He graciously agreed, another friend, a Senator from the same state, bought my return ticket, and yet another friend, Hassan, offered me accommodation in the state capital. Hassan was in Abuja for an assignment and his house in that state was empty.
I was staying in Area One, Garki District, Abuja.
The morning of my departure, I woke up, dressed, and prepared to leave. Then came the news: a plane had crashed somewhere in the Middle-East.
I was alarmed.
Of all days, why today? Why did the television have to announce a plane crash on the very morning I was about to fly? Knowing my fertile imagination, I knew there was going to be trouble.
But I did what many of us Christians sometimes do when our plans collide with our fears: I “cast and binded” the fear and decided I was going anyway.
Plane crash or no plane crash, I was travelling.
I ordered a cab – back when Nigeria was still Nigeria and getting a cab did not require taking out a small loan. I hugged my wife, bade her goodbye, and set off for the airport.
But somewhere inside me, a persistent voice kept returning to that plane crash.
I ignored it.
We got onto Airport Road.
The voice returned.
“You mean you are insisting on making this needless trip?”
“Yes,” I answered, almost loudly enough for the driver to hear.
I was irritated now. Who was this voice to question my decision?
But it was not finished.
It came from another direction.
“You mean that if something were to happen to this vehicle taking you to the airport, you would still insist on going?”
“Yes!” I retorted.
“Okay, nah.”
At least, that was how I heard it.
What happened next jolted me.
The car suddenly began to rumble. The ride became rough and bumpy. I assumed it was the road construction work being carried out by Julius Berger on that road then.
Then the driver spoke.
“It is the tyre.”
He began pulling over.
I smiled inwardly and addressed the voice again.
“Even if all the tyres burst, I will pay this man off, take another cab, and continue my journey.”
Silence.
The driver got out, changed the damaged tyre, and we continued.
I climbed back into the car with something of a triumphant feeling.
“You can’t do anything,” I told the voice in my head. “I am still going.”
Silence.
That silence was strange.
Normally, even when I was not sure where the earlier voice came from, I expected the familiar inner conversation to continue. But this time, nothing.
We drove on for a few hundred metres.
Then, without warning, I heard myself say:
“Take the next U-turn. Let’s go back home.”
The driver looked at me as though I had suddenly lost my mind.
I assured him he would receive his full fare.
He smiled and turned the car around.
As we headed back, I sulked.
There went my opportunity to visit that beautiful state capital. There went the burial. There went the weekend I had planned.
Yet somewhere in me was the uncomfortable feeling that I had just escaped something I could not see.
When I got home and knocked, my wife opened the door with a huge question mark written all over her face.
“The wind has blown me back home,” I told her.
Did I see relief on her face?
Perhaps.
After all, I had already complained to her about the strange coincidence of CNN and Al Jazeera repeatedly broadcasting news of a plane crash on the very morning I was supposed to fly.
But there was something else I did not tell her immediately.
As soon as we made that U-turn, I called Hassan – the friend who had offered me his house.
“I won’t be going again,” I told him.
He asked why.
I told him about the strange conversation I had been having with the voice, the plane crash, the tyre, and the inexplicable decision to turn back.
Hassan laughed.
“Are you becoming superstitious?”
“No,” I replied. But the coincidence was difficult for me to ignore.
Then he told me a story.
It has stayed with me for nearly sixteen years.
According to him, somewhere in Europe, a young man was preparing to take a flight. The night before – or perhaps shortly before the journey – his mother had a terrible dream.
She saw a plane crash.
Her son was on it.
Everyone on board died.
The young man dismissed the dream as nothing more than a nightmare. But his mother became desperate. She pleaded with him. She begged him. She cried and insisted that he cancel the trip.
Eventually, unable to bear his mother’s distress, he agreed.
He postponed the journey.
And then came the strangest part.
The plane he was supposed to board crashed.
Everyone on it died.
But the young man died too.
At home.
That story left me numb. All my efforts from nearly 16 years ago to verify this story have met with nothing. Zilch. Nada.
Hassan’s conclusion was simple:
“What will be, will be.”
But my conclusion was different.
I believe there is a God who rules in the affairs of men.
I believe there are times when what looks like coincidence is actually providence.
I believe there are moments when God closes a door we are determined to force open – not because we understand the danger, but because He does.
I had no proof that the plane crash reported that morning had anything to do with my journey. I cannot claim to know exactly who – or what – that voice was.
What I know is this: I was determined to go.
Something kept confronting that determination.
A tyre went bad.
I still insisted.
The tyre was replaced.
I still insisted.
And then, without any rational explanation I can give even today, I turned around.
I went home.
Perhaps I escaped an unseen danger. Perhaps God simply interrupted my plans for reasons known only to Him.
Either way, the experience taught me something I have carried ever since: Safety does not ultimately come from our plans, our tickets, our vehicles, our calculations, or even our determination.
Safety is of the Lord Jesus Christ.
And sometimes, His protection may look like an unanswered question, a delayed journey, a flat tyre, a sudden change of mind – or a mysterious voice telling you:“Turn back.”
When God says no, may we have the humility to stop insisting on our own yes.
For there are battles we never know we escaped, dangers we never see, and deaths we never realize we were scheduled to meet.
And behind the scenes, there is a God who rules in the affairs of men.
Safety is of the Lord.