Sometimes the most jarring wake-up calls are the sacred ones.
It was early morning, the darkest hour before dawn, when the world feels both half-asleep and half-holy.
My mind raced ahead: carpool, client calls, meal planning. It was the usual pre-sunrise chaos.
The roads were empty as I crossed the bridge into Ladera Ranch—a deep canyon below, a sports park to the side. Routine, until suddenly, it wasn’t.
Out of the darkness, a flash of a movement in front of me.
A stag appeared, massive and majestic, impossible to miss. We locked eyes for a single breathless second. Beauty, strength, power. And then came the impact.
The front right side of my car struck him hard. It felt like I’d hit a brick wall. My hands clutched the steering wheel as the car buckled and screeched, metal groaning beneath me. Somehow, I managed not to lose control.
I slowed to a stop and looked back just in time to see the great animal stagger, then collapse. I sat there frozen, tears already spilling, unsure what to do. I was on a bridge with nowhere safe to pull over, and my car sounded like it was falling apart. Truthfully, I was falling apart too. Every light on the dashboard flashed red, screaming at me. I whispered frantic prayers, hoping the awful clicking sound wasn’t his antlers caught under my car.
When I made it home, I rushed inside sobbing. My girls hugged me and let me cry. We rearranged carpool.
Then I called my dad. He’s the one person who always picks up before dawn. He talked me down, guided me through insurance and accident reporting, and reminded me to breathe.
The repair bill was close to $10,000.
But the damage to my spirit? It raised far deeper questions.
Because I didn’t just hit a deer.
It was a stag.
The Weight of What It Meant
That morning has haunted me. Every time I drive over that bridge now, especially at night, my chest tightens. I slow down. I look both ways. And I wonder what God was trying to show me.
I felt like I’d just murdered Bambi—well, a grown-up, fully-antlered version of him anyway. I took down one of God’s creatures, and my heart just broke. It wasn’t roadkill; it felt personal.
The stag has always symbolized strength and masculinity, this noble, almost sacred energy. In myth and Scripture, he’s the king of the forest, the protector, even a reflection of Christ Himself. So why on earth did I have to collide with that?
Maybe because I needed to.
You see, I’m writing a book right now about faith and femininity, about reclaiming softness in a world that applauds hustle. That morning felt like a divine object lesson, one I never would have asked for.
I could almost hear God’s sigh, “Sweetheart, you can ease off the gas now. You’ve been driving in your masculine lane way too long.”
It felt like a turning point. It was one of those moments when God gently reminds you that strength isn’t about control anymore. It’s about humility. About letting go of the striving so something softer, wiser, and truer can rise up in its place.
And that pierced me deeper than the impact.
What the Stag Showed Me
As a single mom and business owner, I’ve lived in masculine energy for years, always leading, fixing, and solution finding. It kept me afloat, but also made me guarded.
Now I’m with a beautifully masculine man who cherishes and protects me, making it safe to soften. For (almost) two years now, I’ve been learning to exhale. With him, I can live in lightheartedness and peace, enjoying the grace of being emotionally cared for. I get to be the woman who laughs easily, moves slowly, and radiates calm.
I can release the control.
I can choose quietness over power.
I get to live in that quiet confidence of the feminine that trusts she’s protected and secure.
And not in some cringey, submissive way—please, I’m way past that—but in a beautiful rhythm where the masculine and feminine actually dance instead of me clumsily stepping on his toes and trying to lead.
A Cosmic Collision
Hitting a stag stays with you. It doesn’t just bruise your bumper; it leaves a mark on your soul. The beauty of the creature and the violence of the moment exist together in this unbearable tension.
And maybe that’s the point.
The coexistence of beauty and destruction in transformation.
The reality that awakening often costs something sacred.
And a deep reverence for life itself.-Samantha
