Yesterday, on the way to church, the car died. It was my mil’s car but I was driving it. And it happened just as we pulled off the freeway. David wasn’t with us. It was around lunch time.
Recipe for disaster.
Surprisingly, though, the disaster that remained was just the car.
It died in a perfect spot, off the freeway and in view of lots of other church goers. So many people stopped to help. In fact some stopped and left again as we had so much help already. They got the car pushed back in a safer location. They helped find a number to call a tow truck. And they all offered to take a child with them.
It’s overwhelming to be in that situation. But I couldn’t help but recognize all the blessings being poured out on us.
For one the one child I have that over-reacts to drips of water on her pants probably was the most calm of all my passengers. She never complained once. And did her best to help her brother find the sticker (with the tow truck phone number) that he had performed a disappearing act on. Perhaps that was more miracle than blessing.
When I knew David was on his way to stay with his mom I opted to take one of the offered rides. And as grateful I felt to have so many offers to take children I chose, instead, to keep my little family as together as I could and all go together. I thought of my parents and a time of crisis when they could have split us up while we waited out the (literal) flood but instead chose to keep us together. Somehow keeping us together, even just on a ride to church, felt right.
After it was all over and we were safely to church (and the car was safely towed away and my mil was safely at her house) I couldn’t help but recognize how we had been watched over.
