By DJIt began as a typical drive home from work one winter evening. The hills drew me as I drove the high edge of the valley. From the narrow two-lane road, city lights spread out below like a sea of stars blinking at the night sky.
Humming along to the tune on the radio, I thanked God for the lovely view, the productive day at work, and the blessing of a trustworthy car. I motored around each winding corner dimming my “brights” as I encountered oncoming cars. The traffic seemed a bit light. It’s late, I reasoned. Most people would be home by now, with families and loved ones.
I turned my head and glimpsed at the city lights below once again. It’s such a beautiful view, Lord.
With the ebb and flow of the road, my mind wandered. I joined the female voice on the radio again, as she sang something about Jesus taking the wheel, letting go, and second chances.
Suddenly, the engine of my ‘92 Camry quit. Just like that! There was no pop, no boom, no grinding noise of any kind. Just the sickening silence that spells trouble. The light on the pavement gave evidence that my headlights still worked as my car continued to coast down the hill. That was a good sign. The dashboard lights blazed through the dark interior of my car. Can’t be electrical. I felt sure of my intuition. The melody on the radio continued, “Jesus take the wheel…” How fitting! I needed the Lord to take the wheel because the power steering had just stiffened in my gloved hands. I envisioned, with great dismay, my next several paychecks flying out the window to repair whatever was wrong.
Coasting to a stop along side the narrow road, the anxious pounding of my heart filled my ears. Great. Now what, Lord? What do I do?
I flipped off the headlights, hushed the radio, and waited for the antenna to automatically lower itself into its steel cocoon. For a moment I sat in blackened silence. Ok. Let’s try it from the top. Maybe it was just a fluke. It’ll start right up and I’ll be off again. No problems. I’ll be home safe and sound in no time.
A caravan of dark cars breezed by in a flurry. Thanks people. Hello? I’m alone here. It’s dark. I’m cold. G-r-r-r. I turned the key pretending nothing was wrong—as if my will could chase away my car problems! But only the dread r-r-r-r-r-r of an uncooperative engine echoed back at me. An uneasy hush filled the interior of my car as the cold from the outside seeped in. My thoughts grew increasingly anxious. Thoughts of being alone on this hillside with no one to advise me, no one to protect me, no one to help. I urged myself to push past the panic.
What would any other reasonably thinking single woman do? I asked myself wishing for a cell phone…and a warmer coat…as the chill inside the car settled in. The moments ticked by. Slowly, I grew aware of my opportunity to rely on God. Father, forgive me. I prayed. You’ve seen me through so much. I thought about how he had never let me down—not once—through the dark days after my husband of 21 years abandoned me. God had been my provision all along. I’ve never missed a meal, and I’m keeping up on my bills. I know you see my predicament, Lord, tell me what to do.
I decided to investigate the house across the road. A solitary light beamed through its corner window. With renewed determination, and a deep breath, I opened the car door and marched myself to the wooden porch of the unfamiliar residence.
Standing at what appeared to be a back entrance, I knocked hard and waited. Nothing. I knocked again, harder. Nothing. Silence stood next to me with a whispered warning. Maybe this isn’t a safe refuge. Go back to the car. Frightening scenarios of women being brutalized and raped swirled through my active imagination as I tiptoed off the porch and quickly made my way back to my deceased vehicle.
Safely inside I locked the doors. Alone and unaided, and still miles away from home, I did the only thing I could do. I prayed for a friendly face to help me out of this frightening dilemma. Please send someone soon, Lord. An angel would be great. I’m really, really cold.
The minutes ticked by. I repositioned the knitted scarf encircling my neck, snuggling it closer for warmth. Then crossing my arms, I placed my gloved hands in the pit of my arms. I needed to be patient and wait for God to work. No need to repeat my prayer. He heard me. I assured myself. I know He did.
I was humming in an effort to keep the eerie silence in the car and the encroaching fear in my mind at bay, when a small compact car rounded the corner pulling onto the shoulder just across the road. I watched the window retract.
“Hey,” a muffled voice hollered.
I rolled down my window to acknowledge the young man sitting in the car.
“Are you in trouble? Do ya need a cell phone?”
“Yes!” my relief was loud and obvious. There was my angel. Now I know, within reason, this would-be angel walked across that country road, but I could have sworn I saw wings carry him—the very one I had prayed for, waited for, believed God for.
I climbed out of my car. “Thanks for stopping.” I clasped my gloved hands together as if in prayer to underscore the depth of my gratitude.
“Would you dial the number for me?” I asked. “Even with these gloves on, my fingers are frozen.”
“Sure, what’s the number?” His grin was pleasant, genuine. I could trust him. My angel.
“You’re the answer to my prayer, you know.” In my gratitude, I felt like hugging this kid, this rescuer. “I prayed for an angel and here you are.”
“Cool!” was all he said, but his expression was proof that he believed me.
With the call placed, and help on its way, the young man might have felt that his good gesture was accomplished.
“Thanks again so much,” I said as I gave him back his phone.
“No problem. Hey, do you want me to stay till your friend gets here?”
What? This lively teen was willing to give of his cell phone minutes AND his time, delaying wherever it was he was off to, just to see to my safety, and well-being? I could hardly believe my ears.
He told me his name, this teen angel, but I don’t remember it. Perhaps it’s best. Perhaps that’s the way God wants it.
In spite of everything, I’ve driven that winding road in the weeks since I met my angel. It’s a beautiful drive. The nights remain cold, the pavement often icy, and I still don’t have that cell phone. But I travel with more confidence now because God’s angels really are alive and at large. I know—I met one.
“Be not forgetful to entertain strangers: for thereby some have entertained angels unawares.” Hebrews 13:2 (KJV)
DJ writes from the Rogue Valley.
