It was a cold November morning. I was awakened by the car door closing. I looked out of the window of our big excursion truck as we pulled into a rest stop in Southern Idaho.

My father asked if I would like to drive for a while. Not wanting to appear to be afraid to drive on the freeway, I reluctantly accepted his offer. I was excited, yet a little nervous. I had just received my instruction permit and this would be my first time driving on the big roads.

It was just me, my father and two younger brothers. We were driving from Camas, Washington, to go watch the 12-0 BYU Cougars play their arch-rival Utes of Utah. This trek was not an unusual one for me or my family. We venture down to Provo to watch BYU's football team play once or twice every season.

I have always been an avid cougar fan, ever since I was in 3rd grade. My mother would catch me memorizing things such as vital stats out of the BYU media guides instead of working on my school work.

Once, I even snuck into Cougar Stadium to play out certain scenarios on the football field by myself. I was nabbed and escorted out by University Security, but it was worth it. It was always a dream of mine to be apart of the BYU football program.

As I climbed into the driver's seat and shifted the car into drive, I felt a little uneasy. However, I was reminded of my dad's prayer earlier to "watch over our family and protect us" at the beginning of our trip. I pressed my foot to the accelerator and the big engine responded. Soon we were driving 80 miles per hour on the freeway.

Since it was around 7 a.m., the only traffic we saw were the slower moving semi-trucks, which I maneuvered around easily. As we progressed toward Salt Lake City into Tremonton, the traffic intensified. My Dad was listening to his Oldies music and my brothers were watching BYU beat Wyoming in the 1996 WAC championship.

After 45 minutes of driving, I noticed a smaller, greenish car a few feet from my rear bumper. I was mildly concerned since I was an inexperienced driver motoring along at 80 miles per hour.

I would have changed to the slower lane, out of the way of the impatient driver that was crowding me. Unfortunately, there was a semi directly in front of me and another to my right. There was really nothing I could do.

As the semi in front sped up, I did the same. The tailgater, meanwhile, came closer and was now just inches from my rear bumper. The semi to my right appeared behind me far enough for me to clearly and safely make the lane change.

The driver of the right lane semi evidently did not appreciate me cutting so close to his vehicle as he sped up and blasted his horn.

The combination of a 32-ton semi-truck inches from the passenger side of the car, a deafening horn, and my dad screaming at me to move out of the way caused me to over correct, forcing the family excursion to go over the soft-shoulder at 85 miles per hour.

I remember my father gasping loudly followed by the deafening sound of glass and metal crunching. The cabin darkened as the vehicle seemingly never ceased to stop rolling. I did not close my eyes during the entire experience. By the second roll, I felt a warm sensation come over my body. I felt like I was being lifted out of the vehicle, yet held inside by two strong, gentle arms.

I didn't understand what was happening and I was confused. It was cold, windy and sunny -- all at the same time. I woke up standing upright outside of what was once a beautiful and family vehicle. It was now crushed and compacted.

I ran around to see my father crawling out of the window, completely covered in blood, his hands shaking. Not believing what was going on, I desperately searched the crushed vehicle for my two little brothers. I reached for the door and tried to open it. Not only was the door jammed, but my hand and forearm were completely bent in half and bones and blood were the only thing I saw.

At this point, I began yelling frantically for them to call back to me. I did not hear a reply. Before I could get too worked up, I was grabbed by the shoulder of a stranger who told me to sit down. They had a blanket already laid on the gravel and icy ground. I followed the stranger's orders, but refused to completely lay down, so I sat up and looked at the completely crushed vehicle.

I kept yelling out, "This wasn't supposed to happen!" I was in complete denial. I kept saying that when a scruffy-looking truck driver came up and grabbed me by the collar and shook me, yelling at me, asking what I was thinking trying to run him off of the road.

It was at that point that tears flooded my eyes. I did not know what to say. I could not remember what had happened before the accident. I then looked him in the eye and said, "I'm so sorry. I really wish I would have died in that car accident." He smiled and just walked away.

Immediately after, three men dressed in worn overalls, ran up and asked if we were members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and if we would like a priesthood blessing. Coming from Washington state, where it was rare for a couple of strangers to approach and ask you for a priesthood blessing, we could only nod our heads in awe to accepted their offer.

After the blessing, one of the men looked at me in the eye, as tears streamed down his cheek and said to me softly, "Somebody was watching over you, you have a purpose here on this earth."

After he spoke those words, I realized just how lucky I was, but I pushed those thoughts aside as I could hear the sirens of the ambulances in the background drawing nearer to the crash site.

My arm had not hurt very bad until I heard the sirens. They loaded us up into the ambulance as the paramedic explained to me that I had rolled our vehicle 8 times, and my arm hanging out of the window had been crushed between the car and the ground several times. Everybody else in my family walked away from the accident in fair condition.

We arrived at the Brigham City Emergency Room a few minutes later. They took x-rays of my injury and the doctor informed me I might lose my arm. The police officer informed me this was the worst accident he had ever seen that nobody was killed in. He said the death rate probability for such a serious accident was 98% for one person. There were four people in our car.

I was transferred to Salt Lake City's St. Mark's Hospital, where I would have major reconstructive surgery done on my arm and hand. Before my surgery, my father gave me a priesthood blessing. I don't remember a word in that blessing, but the feelings of peace and comfort I experienced were unforgettable.

After the six-hour surgery, I woke up to an arm completely replaced by metal. The first thing I said after surgery was, "Did I miss the game?"

My thoughts were only of that game. I had just had major reconstructive surgery, totally demolished a $45,000 vehicle, almost lost the lives of my family, including my own. Did that matter? No. This was BYU and Utah we were talking about.

My father came to the hospital 10 hours after surgery and kidnapped me. We were going to the BYU-Utah game. He knew how important it was for me. As we arrived to Lavell Edwards Stadium, I will never forget the stares, but it didn't bother me.

I sat during the entire game with my arm propped up on my father's shoulder. Even though I don't remember a lot of what happened, I still remember how I felt after Brandon Doman pitched it to Luke Staley as he ran it in the end zone for the winning touchdown. ESPN even took notice at my condition as they zoomed in on us right before Jernaro Gilford stepped in front of the Ute pass and ended the game.

I remember thinking, "thank you BYU, you made that accident all worthwhile." Luckily, this was in 2001. I would have felt my pain 100 times more than any Cougar fan if it was last season's game. Ty Detmer also heard about the accident and sent us some autographed memorabilia. He is now a family friend.

I think back to the words of the LDS member in the overalls right after the accident.

I am now preparing to fulfill one of my purposes in life. I will be turning in my mission papers in several weeks to serve the Lord for two years. I graduate from high school this summer and will leave for my mission in late August or early September.

Not only will I be leaving a beautiful girl behind, I will be giving up my ultimate sacrifice: two seasons of BYU football and interrupting my fledging sports writing career. But I know it will be worth it.

Even though my life on the sports court has ended, I regained full use of my arm, and I just had the plates, pins, and screws removed from my arm last week. Although I am on the road to recovery again, my arm motion and movement will never be the same.

I learned a lot from this experience. While nobody's life is perfect, nothing is impossible. Everybody has a purpose in this life. Find that purpose and fulfill it. If your purpose is to be the best father you can be, do your best to fulfill that purpose for you . Believe in yourself and trust in God, and you will take steps you could have never taken before.

(EDITOR'S NOTE: This is a very personal story by TBS staff editor Jonathon Huckvale. He typed this article just days after his surgery last week with one hand. We should note Huckvale was hospitalized for kidney failure, collapsed lungs, appendicitis and cancer in 2001 -- just prior to the car accident described below.)