Two Kinds of Jesus Stories

Written by Jeff Peeples, Upper School counselor and AP psychology teacher

In the first story, my wife was driving. That’s just a fact—not an accusation. Our ten-year-old daughter and I were passengers. I’ve long forgotten where we were headed, but I remember we were on I-285. As we began pulling over to the right, my wife suddenly realized she’d taken the wrong exit and jerked the steering wheel sharply to the left. She overcorrected, and the car began spinning across several busy lanes of traffic.

I’m not sure how it looked to other drivers, but somehow the cars around us were spaced just right. No one slammed on their brakes, and—miraculously—no one hit us. Internally, I rejoiced… until I saw we were headed straight for the concrete median wall.

As we spun toward it, I braced for impact and shouted to my daughter, “Hold on!” (Later, I wondered what she was supposed to hold on to, but at that moment I was deep in sympathetic nervous system overload.) When we were just feet from the wall—completely parallel to it—the car shut off, and the spin stopped. The three of us sat in stunned silence. We took deep breaths. My wife turned the key. The engine started instantly. There was no damage, no noise, no visible sign of what had just happened—only our pounding hearts. Then my daughter exclaimed, “God did that.”

And I believe He did. That was an act of grace. Jesus protected us.

The second story isn’t as dramatic. I’ve only told it to a couple of people—now I’m telling you.

I was in my office, working on an email to a parent. It was a quiet moment—no students around, no interruptions. I finally had time to craft a message carefully. In the middle of a sentence, I felt a strong urge to leave my desk and go upstairs to the front office. I dismissed it at first, telling myself I didn’t need another Coke Zero. But the feeling wouldn’t go away. So I got up and took the elevator to the first floor.

When the doors opened, I saw through the glass that a young woman was sitting in the office—crying.

I walked in and gently asked if she’d like to step into the conference room and talk. She nodded. We sat down, and what followed was an impromptu counseling session. By the end, she seemed noticeably more at peace. That moment of presence and connection happened because of a whisper—from Jesus.

I’ve been a Christian since I was in lower school. I’ve taught in Christian schools for 36 of my 38 years in education. The phrase “living and active Jesus” is one I’ve always believed, deep in my core—but one I often overlook. Like a heartbeat, it sustains me even when I’m not consciously aware of it.

Sometimes I’m so self-deprecating—or maybe just self-absorbed—that I wonder why He’d care about someone as lowly as me. But Jesus is active. This wonderful Son of God is alive. Sometimes He shows up in a whirlwind, and sometimes in a whisper. When we feel hopeless, when relationships break down, when grief overwhelms us—He is there.

Often, we won’t even notice Him. But He loves us through His life and His movement.

He is our heartbeat, filling us actively with life.