Dear FCC Family & Friends,
The following is a high-impact story that Nicky Peterson sent my way. Though a bit lengthy, it’s well worth the read. This true account of grace in-action was found in the July 2007 issue of ‘In Touch Magazine’ and was written by Shannon Ethridge and Gary Jarstfer, two people whose lives intersected and changed forever through a devastating accident. My prayer is that it will move you deeply, and closer to the heart of our Father – a love without limits.
Shannon’s Story
It was early Wednesday morning, August 29, 1984. I kissed my mom goodbye and tossed my books and pompoms into the backseat of my little brown Plymouth Champ. It was the third day of my junior year at Greenville High School, but I never made it to school that morning. After driving a few miles down the country highway that led to the interstate, I reached for my lipstick and adjusted the rearview mirror for a quick application. Suddenly, I caught a glimpse of something moving, then felt my car jolt suddenly. Maybe it’s a farm animal out of its pasture, I thought. But I had a sinking feeling it was something much worse.
I got out of the car and ran to the back to see what I’d hit. The body of a curly haired woman was lying face down in the grass next to a mangled bicycle.
I began to tremble. I was about to turn her over to see if I could help her somehow, but I knew I had to call an ambulance immediately and couldn’t waste precious time.
Still in shock, I raced to a nearby house and begged to use the phone. I made two calls: first 911, and then my mom. “Just drive down the road until you see my car,” I told her. I couldn’t bring myself to say anything else.
As my mother and I waited with the unconscious woman for what seemed like eternity, despairing thoughts ran through my head. She’s probably someone’s mother . . . someone’s daughter . . . someone’s wife . . . how will I ever face her family after what I’ve done?
Forty-five minutes later, the ambulance finally arrived. “We’ll have to call a funeral home ambulance,” the paramedic said coldly. “She was probably killed on impact. There’s nothing I can do.”
As we left the surreal scene, I realized I still didn’t know the name of the woman whose life I’d just taken. But then a few hours later, I got a call from a man who introduced himself as Jerry Speight. “I live next door to Marjorie Jarstfer and her family,” he told me. “When I found out what happened, my pastor and I drove over together to tell Gary, Marjorie’s husband.” My heart sank. Marjorie’s family now knew what I’d done. They probably want me dead too. I’d already thought about killing myself anyway.
But Jerry went on. “I want you to know that the first thing Gary said was, ‘How is the girl? Was she hurt? Does she know it’s not her fault?’”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. How could his first response be concern for me, the one responsible for his loss?
“Gary wants you to come to his home tomorrow evening,” said Jerry. “He wants your families to meet one another.” How could I say no? But I dreaded the thought of such a meeting.
As I walked through the front door of the Jarstfer home the following day, I felt as if I was about to face a firing squad. But the next moment, I was stopped dead in my tracks. A big, burly middle-aged man was coming toward me—with his arms wide open.
There wasn’t even a trace of animosity in his eyes. Immediately I began bawling, and Gary gathered me into his arms, holding me tightly as my tears soaked his flannel shirt. “I am so sorry!” I kept repeating over and over. “I am so sorry!”
Gary ushered me into the living room and sat me down in a bay window as I continued to cry. “Shannon,” he said tenderly. “I want to tell you about Marjorie’s life. Together, we served many years with Wycliffe Bible translators. There was no limit to how much Marjorie loved God. She had such a close, intimate walk with the Lord. She actually has been telling me for a while that she was sensing that He would be calling her home soon. In fact, Marjorie even took out additional life insurance recently. And when she shared her testimony at church, she told everyone that she was ready to leave this earth and be with the Lord any day.”
How could a human being be close enough to God that she’d know when her time on earth was about to be up? I was completely amazed.
“Shannon, this accident may have taken us all by surprise, but it was no surprise to God. He was ready for Marjorie to join Him in heaven.” Gary couldn’t have told me anything more surprising, I thought, but then he did: he said he believed God had actually chosen me to be part of the final page of Marjorie’s life on earth. “He chose you because He knew you would be strong enough to handle this, and that is your responsibility. As a matter of fact, I’m passing Marjorie’s legacy of being a godly woman on to you. I want you to love Jesus without limits, just as Marjorie did. I want you to let Him use you for His glory, Shannon.”
In my 16-year-old mind, I couldn’t imagine what those words really meant. But I’ve spent the past 23 years contemplating them and trying to live up to them. As a Christian author, speaker, and lay counselor, I’m trying to carry that mantle of being a woman who loves Jesus beyond measure, just as Marjorie Jarstfer did.
Even though I grew up attending church and singing, “Jesus loves me, this I know,” I don’t think I ever really understood the depth of God’s mercy, compassion, and unconditional love until I met Gary Jarstfer. His response toward me, the very person who caused him indescribable pain and loss, has served as a vivid reminder that Jesus Christ endured all of that physical, emotional, and spiritual suffering on the cross—and yet His first concern is always for us, those who nailed Him there.
While neither Gary nor I would have chosen for the accident to take place, we both wholeheartedly testify to the truth of Romans 8:28: “All things work together for good to them that love God, to
them who are the called according to his purpose” (kjv). God didn’t say only the good things work together for our good. He said all things—the good, the bad, and the ugly—work together for our good. And He’s proven the reality of this scripture to me over and over again.
Gary’s Story
I recall the day of the accident as clearly as Shannon does. Although August 29, 1984, marks the day of Marjorie’s death, God also birthed something special in our hearts that day—a peace that passes all understanding (Philippians 4:7), a deeper trust in His sovereignty, and an unexpected friendship that would glorify God in a magnificent way for many years.
I well remember the 45-minute drive home after learning of Marjorie’s death. I contemplated one thing: How would Marjorie respond if the tables were turned? If I had been the one killed? I wanted whatever words I spoke to Shannon to be in accordance with God’s will for her life. I knew I bore a weight of enormous responsibility—if I said the wrong thing, it could be absolutely devastating. So I saw this opportunity to speak to Shannon as a chance to bless her, not blame her.
I had no idea what God would wind up doing in and through Shannon’s life. I’m absolutely overwhelmed, and so grateful for what the Lord has done. I never dreamed that she’d become a youth pastor, or abstinence educator, or an author who would touch so many lives in so many countries with her writing. It’s all so beyond anything I could have ever imagined at the time of the accident.
Marjorie was a teacher and an aspiring writer as well, and I know she would have been so pleased to see the kind of topics Shannon is tackling, encouraging women to live with integrity and to love Jesus without limits. Those are certainly messages that would have resonated with Marjorie’s heart.
Since the time of the accident, God has knit the hearts of our two families even closer together. Years later, when I moved to North Carolina and got engaged to my second wife, Betty Ann (a long-time
family friend whose husband was also killed in a car accident just six weeks after Marjorie’s death), Shannon was on our list of people to call as soon as possible about the good news. Through letters and e-mails, we’ve been delighted to support one another in our ministry and missionary endeavors. In fact, we consider Shannon one of our own daughters, and some of our granddaughters affectionately tell their friends about how “Aunt Shannon” was adopted into their family as a result of the accident.
I can be at peace with Marjorie’s absence on earth and presence in heaven because I know that God is working through her memory to bring glory to Himself - simply because we have chosen to live as Christ lived. We have chosen to bless rather than blame. We have turned tragedy into triumph. We have embraced God’s sovereignty, and declared that regardless of the pain that this life brings, we will forever remain completely His.
