I first became aware of Brew Briggs when his name and photo were published in Surfer Magazine for a Sunset Surfboards ad in the early 1970s. I heard the name again a few months later through my then-roommate, big wave rider Ken Bradshaw. He told me that Briggs and his friend Chris O’Rourke were among the best young surfers in California. No more than a year later, I found that to be true when I paddled out at Windansea on a big day and watched those two dominate the peak.

Brew and Chris were gaining international notoriety through the 1970s, when suddenly Brew moved inland to heed a call from The Lord, and Chris was stricken down with Hodgkin’s disease, cancer of the lymph glands, which would take his life six years later.

In time, Brew returned to the beach, a bit rusty, but still accomplished, especially when the waves topped six feet. But Brew was not on a surf mission. His goal instead was conversion of anyone who would listen to the gospel.

Then came a bad marriage for Brew, followed by a good marriage and children. In the late 1990s, the Briggs family of six moved to Bend, Ore., where they started a home for abused women. Life was meaningful and pleasant for the family, but everything was about to change.

Each year on the three days surrounding Memorial Day, the Santa Cruz Longboard Union sponsors an event where surf clubs from all over the country come together to compete and unite over waves and good times. Brew, who still had loose affiliations with the Windansea Surf Club, got the call that there was a spot for him on the team. Deciding the family could use a vacation, they drove eight hours south, ending up at Steamer Lane, in Santa Cruz, where the contest was held.

By Sunday of that week, the family was ready to return home. They were nearly two hours from Bend when a car jumped the divider and plowed into them, head on. The result was that Sheri Briggs, her two daughters and one of her sons were thrown from the car, landing on the side of the road, miraculously alive. Her other son was in the van, and Brew was pinned beneath it. According to the Briggs’ insurance adjuster, who just happened to be in the car behind theirs, the passengers traveled about 50 feet through the air, and you couldn’t tell blankets from people as they flew from windows and doors, and the van flipped in the air, before landing and flipping twice more, coming to a stop with flattened tires, on top of Brew.

With the help of Eric, the family’s oldest son, and two other men, the van was lifted, Brew was pulled out and he was rushed to the hospital with all the bones in his face broken, crushed feet, a broken knee and numerous other injuries. Sheri had bruises and fractures and the rest of the family was OK, except for a few scrapes and bruises. Brew slipped into a coma for three days as an around-the-clock prayer vigil began. On the third day, Brew awoke, looked to his wife and asked, “Did you feel Him?” The meaning, which was not lost on Sheri, was that God had watched over their family and saved them from certain death. It would become a cornerstone for the Briggs family.

This Memorial Day, while the nation threw Frisbees and cooked hotdogs, remembering those who died, the Briggs family celebrated life and retold the story of deliverance. The kids surfed a few waves and Brew rode a few of his own, not with the flare he once possessed, but with the gratitude and joy that only a survivor knows.