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It was a warm, sunny, Tuesday afternoon. I was waiting at the red light at a busy interchange when another motorcycle pulled up next to me, in the same lane, also now waiting to go home, or to a friend's house, or maybe shopping. The very next thing he did was watch me fly like a circus aerial act, bouncing off car roof tops, and sailing all the way across the huge intersection.

With no prior intention, I was on my way to meet my maker and face up to the life that I had been living until then-all initiated by a drunk in an old, four-door sedan who had no plans on even slowing down.

Resuscitated over and over on the asphalt, I was eventually rushed to the hospital, where my wife was repeatedly told that I would not be alive much longer. Not being a believer of that kind of talk, she took peace in her heart that I would survive to be with her and our two little boys.

Now, having been comatose for two weeks, I awoke frightened and was told that I had little hope of much of a recovery. I was then confronted with Jesus himself, right there in that hospital room.

What He asked me over and over at that point clarified my beliefs and gave me the confidence to continue on. I call that encounter a pure miracle and thank God that I was The DOA Who Made It