The Story of 'Hard Luck' Hanna

As a result of being deserted by her husband, one year after I was born, my mother and I returned to her parent's small farmhouse in Sandstone, Minnesota. it was then that my Grampa and I began to build what was to become our special relationship, and it was there that Grampa with tears in his eyes would often speak the following words to me: "Jimmy, Jimmy, Jimmy, if I ever had to lay my life down for you, I would do it in a minute, because I love you." I didn't realize it at the time but 25 years later those words would have a tremendous impact on my life.

On October 30, 1973 I was driving a 1954 Ford given to my by my Grampa, when I unsuccessfully attempted to beat a train tot he crossing in Superior, Wisconsin. In a crushing fury of shattered glass and twisting metal my car met the locomotive. The Ford was dragged nearly the length of a football field and nearly torn in half, a 5-gallon can of gas in the trunk burst into flames, and 2 boxes of shotgun shells in the back seat began exploding inside the mangled car where I lay unconscious. Two days after I'd been pulled from the burning wreckage, I woke up in the hospital with broken ribs and a crushed vertebra in my neck, but the worst was yet to come.

Shortly after I regained consciousness, the doctor delivered this announcement: "Mr. Hanna, a strange thing happened. At the exact moment you car hit the train, there was a death in your family. Your Grandfather died of a heart attack. I'm sorry". "Jimmy, Jimmy, Jimmy, if I ever had to lay my life down for you, I would do it in a minute, because I love you." The doctor’s words hit my heart with an impact I could only compare to that of a crushing train. By some ironic twist of destiny and will, I believed that Grampa had died in my place. At the moment I should have met a violent death in Grampa' '54 Ford, he died instead. I'd killed him somehow - the person I loved most of all.

Consumed by guilt, my drinking increased and my life took a course that was more destructive that before. By the time I was thirty I'd survived nine car accidents - including one involving a semi truck - two near drownings, and a chainsaw accident. I'd even been knocked unconscious by electricity while iron working 100 feet in the air. My friends began calling me "Hard Luck Hanna."

The only piece of good luck that seemed to come to me in those years was my marriage to Vicki, and the birth of our son, Jamie. But my own self-destruction was destroying my family as well.

Early one New Year's morning I came home after a three-day drinking binge and crawled into bed to 'sleep it off'. Hours later I awoke to an empty house and a note on the kitchen table: "Jim - I not longer care to live like this. I'm taking your son and I never want to see you again."

I believed that my drinking and driving had killed my grandfather, and now alcoholism had robbed me of my family. On the brink of suicide, I called a friend who led me to the Alcoholics Anonymous. Within a year, Vicki and Jamie returned, and our daughter, Jessie, was born.

AA helped me find a self-worth that I had long forgotten, but I soon found that it wasn't enough. While I was conquering alcohol, a new torment took hold in my life. For years I'd flirted with death, hardly caring whether I lived or died. Now that I desperately wanted to live, I as terrified by the thought that I might die. At the age of thirty, a taunting, inner voice had me convinced that I wouldn't live to see my thirty-third birthday.

At that time, I was employed repairing train cars for Burlington Northern Railroad. When a good opportunity opened up 100 miles from home, I took it, intending for Vicki and the children to join me as soon as I found a house. The next twelve months, however, were almost enough to drive me back to drinking as I lived in a garage and desperately tried to sell our home and buy a new place for my family.

After a year's separation, Vickie, Jamie, Jessie, and I were reunited in a beautiful home I'd found just outside the city limits where I worked: I'd never felt happier. Two weeks later, however someone with greater seniority bumped me from my position, and I was forced to return home. And because our old house had already been sold, I returned alone.

As a result, at thirty-two years old I found myself living along and lonely in a beat-up camper on the edge of an empty field, across the road from some woods and 100 miles away form the family I loved.

One cold February night as I was trying to fall asleep, I heard that familiar voice of my fears, but this time with even greater terror: "This is the night that you die, for I am going to kill you."

Panic flooded my heart, and in desperation I cried out to God for help. At that moment I heard a different voice - a calming voice - telling me to go into the woods and tell the people waiting there about my fears of death.

At that point I was ready to try anything! Pulling on some work clothes and wrestling into a parka jacket, I opened up the camper door and stepped outside into the night.

It was an hour before midnight, and 20 below zero as I climbed into my car and drove across the field to the edge of the woods. A full moon had cast the trees in silver, turning the wooded landscape into a midnight wonderland. I knew a young couple had built a house beyond the pines and - feeling utterly ridiculous - I walked the stretch of driveway toward the house. As I neared the house, I saw a man and a woman standing against a window, of their gas-lit home and peering into the moonlit night as if looking for someone.

Within moments I found myself seated at a wooden kitchen table, pouring out my life story - and my fears - to two total strangers. "So there it is," I concluded. "I'm not sure why I came here, of all places-"

"We know who brought you here," the young woman interrupted with a smile. "God's Holy Spirit brought you here because He loves you. There's only one person who can save you from your fears and that's Jesus Christ. Jim, would you like to meet Him as your Savior?"

Joining hands across the table, these two strangers led me in a prayer of salvation. Then the young woman added, “Jim, tonight you have died. Your old nature has passed away and you are a new creature in Christ." That was three weeks before my thirty-third birthday.

Delivered of my fears I went on to become a licensed pastor and over the next ten years preached through the state of Minnesota. It was during this period of time that my Bible became my most important material possession until it disappeared in yet another explosive and devastating car accident.

On Sunday, May 6 1990, as I was turning off Highway 2 onto the driveway of our home in Grand Rapids, Minnesota, our station-wagon was struck broadside and 60mph by a passing semi-truck. My wife was knocked unconscious and I was flown to St. Mary's Intensive Care Unit in Duluth, Minnesota with serious injuries. It was three days later that I learned of my daughter Jessica's death as a result of massive head injuries suffered during the crash. My son, who was not in the car accident at the time, and my wife postponed the funeral a day so that it would not take place on his thirteenth birthday. On May 12, 1990, they buried my daughter Jessica Robin Hanna, without me.

In the aftermath of the tragedy, physical and emotional trauma caused us a family to withdraw from society. We cut off from the church and most of our Christian friends. However, my father kept reminding me that God has a purpose and a place for me and in God's perfect time it would be revealed to me, but I doubted I would ever preach again.

Almost a year and a half later, Labor Day weekend 1991, I was asked to substitute for a Deer River pastor. Though I agreed, I was reluctant and fearful. I still suffered from my injuries and the loss of my Bible, which had been so much a part of my ministry.

I prayed that God would grant me the strength and that, if possible, return my Bible.

The following evening around 10pm some rifle shots were fired near our home, and because there had been problems in the past with poaching in our area, I decided to call the game warden.

To reach the game warden at that late hour, I had to call Highway Patrol Headquarters in Virginia, Minnesota, and talk to the dispatcher. When I finished my complaint, the dispatcher's response was unusual. "You are kidding me! Would you identify yourself one more time?"

The dispatcher told me that all the area cars were brought into Virginia headquarters for a final cleaning before being removed from service. "We found a bible with the name Jim Hanna on it under one of the car seats. Could this bible possibly be yours?"

In utter amazement I said, "Yes."

The dispatcher said he was just tagging the Bible for storage where it would have probably sat forever had not I called at this precise moment.

The next day, 480 days after the accident, District Captain Jerome Kaproth personally presented me with my lost Bible. Three days later, on Sunday, I stood before a small congregation in Deer River, Minnesota, and using my Bible, preached a sermon on the meaning of restoration. God says, through His word that He will restore to those that love Him that which the thief, in various ways, has stolen, killed, or destroyed. In what time frame this occurs I can not say, but what I can tell you is God's timing perfect.

My Bible and the story behind its miraculous return will forever be to me symbolic of the basic truth. Through this experience, God has rekindled within me the hope of being eternally reunited with my precious daughter Jessica. These things were the only beginning of God's prophetic events in which he extended to me his grace and mercy that has brought me to where I am today.

Since that time my life has changed almost as completely as before my conversion. Those changes include: A trip 2350 miles down the Mississippi River proclaiming God's coming judgment on America (leaving on September 11, 1999 at 9:00 AM); being suddenly and unexpectedly separated from my wife and later divorced; traveling as a missionary to the Dominican Republic, Honduras, Mexico, and Australia where I met a young lady named Elizabeth whom I married on the Feast of Passover, 2003 in Jerusalem, Israel. I now find myself currently pastoring a growing non-denominational fellowship in Grand Rapids, Minnesota. The Lord has given my wife and I a serious burden for the land of Israel and after spending 6 months there on our honeymoon we are even more convinced that we are drawing closer every day to the soon return of our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ.

Mail: 20330 N. Hummingbird Drive, Grand Rapids, MN 55744 Phone: 218.326.8787 Email: israelhanna@msn.com