God has a way of allowing us to be in the right place at the right time.

I was walking down a dimly lit street late one evening when I heard muffled screams coming from behind a clump of bushes.

Alarmed, I slowed down to listen, and panicked when I realized
that what I was hearing were the unmistakable sounds
of a struggle: heavy grunting, frantic scuffling, and tearing of fabric.

Only yards from where I stood, a woman was being attacked.
Should I get involved? I was frightened for my own safety,
and cursed myself for having suddenly decided to take a new route home that night. What if I became another statistic?

Shouldn't I just run to the nearest phone and call the
police? Although it seemed an eternity, the
deliberations in my head had taken only seconds, but
already the girl's cries were growing weaker. I knew I
had to act fast. How could I walk away from this? No,
I finally resolved, I could not turn my back on the
fate of this unknown woman, even if it meant risking
my own life.

I am not a brave man, nor am I athletic. I don't know
where I found the moral courage and physical
strength---but once I had finally resolved to help the
girl, I became strangely transformed. I ran behind the
bushes and pulled the assailant off the woman.
Grappling, we fell to the ground, where we wrestled
for a few minutes until the attacker jumped up and
escaped.

Panting hard, I scrambled upright and approached the
girl, who was crouched behind a tree, sobbing. In the
darkness, I could barely see her outline, but I could
certainly sense her trembling shock. Not wanting to
frighten her further, I at first spoke to her from a
distance. "Its OK," I said soothingly. "The man ran
away. You're safe now."

There was a long pause and then I heard the words,
uttered in wonder, in amazement.
"Dad, is that you?"
And then, from behind the tree, stepped my youngest
daughter, Katherine.

Remember your blessings.
And your prayers.

~~ Author Unknown ~~