He Was Already There
“Abigail?”
“Yes, Mommy?”
“How was school today?”
“Fine, Mommy. How was work?”
I looked at her and smiled. “You know, I really like it when you speak like an adult. You’re barely seven.”
She was growing before my eyes. She was beginning to see me as more than the person who made her meals, took her to school, and provided whatever she needed. “Mommy, what did you do at work today? Did you eat well?”
“You know what? You just put a smile on my face. Let’s go to McDonald’s.”
“Yay!”
Later she asked, “Is Daddy home now?”
“I don’t know. Let me call him.”
He answered. “I’ll be home in a bit. Where’s my angel?”
“She’s right here, smiling from chin to chin.”
“Why?”
“I took her to McDonald’s.”
“Really? Where are you guys? I’ll meet you. We can go have dinner somewhere.”
“Not so fast. I’m making dinner today.”
Abigail interrupted before we could continue. “Mommy, what about the toy you promised me?”
Of course she remembered.
We still had one more stop. I needed to make a payment at the furniture store that I had missed the previous week because I had been ill. I went inside, made the payment, came back out, and reached for the car.
Nothing.
I tried again.
Nothing.
“Oh, Lord Jesus. What is happening?”
The car had been serviced only a few months earlier. I know how to drive a car. I know when it needs gas. Beyond that, my mechanical expertise becomes prayer.
I tried my husband. The call would not go through. Strange, because I had just spoken with him. I tried my mechanic. Nothing.
Before I could finish wondering why I had ever allowed anyone to convince me to become a Toyota person when I had always considered myself more of a Mercedes woman, a man walked toward me.
“I saw you inside the store,” he said. “I work there, but I wasn’t the person helping you, so I minded my business. Do you mind if I take a look at your car?”
“You know about cars?”
He smiled. “A little more than a little.”
At that point, that was enough qualification for me.
He began checking under the hood. As he worked, he told me he had once worked in an auto shop and had been very good at what he did. Then life happened. One job ended after he accepted something from a customer without realizing it violated company rules. At another job, he said a coworker made an accusation against him after he corrected her for repeatedly coming late. Three jobs in six months.
“My wife stays home with the children,” he told me. “We have a daughter around your daughter’s age, a son, and she’s pregnant now. I wanted her home while they were little.”
Then his phone rang.
He looked at the screen. “It’s my wife.”
For one second, I thought, Oh dear. He’s going to have to leave now.
He answered immediately. “Honey, do you need me right now? If you need me, I’ll leave what I’m doing and come.”
“No, honey,” she said. “I’m just checking on you.”
“Is the baby kicking? Do you need to go to the hospital?”
“No. I’m fine. What are you doing?”
“I’m helping a woman with her car so she can get back to her husband and get on with her business.”
There was a pause.
Then he laughed.
“What did she say?” I asked.
He shook his head, smiling. “She said, ‘God bless you for helping another woman.’ Then she asked if you were married.”
I laughed. “Why did she ask that?”
He laughed again. “She said she was just making sure her boy still had eyes only for her.”
“And what did you tell her?”
“I told her, ‘Of course. I’m forever yours.’”
I liked his wife immediately.
“She’s teasing you,” I said, “but she’s also reminding you that she’s waiting for you when you’re done.”
“Exactly.”
“My husband and I do things like that too. We look out for each other. We help each other stay out of temptation.”
He stopped what he was doing for a second and looked at me. “Really?”
“Of course. Temptation will always exist. There are beautiful women everywhere. There are handsome men everywhere. Commitment doesn’t mean we stop noticing that people exist. It means we consciously protect what we chose.”
He smiled. “Now I really want to meet your husband.”
“That is a story for another day. Next time I come to make my furniture payment, perhaps I’ll bring him. If I don’t, I’ll tell you the story.”
He went back to the car.
“Are you almost done?”
“Yes. It looks worse than it is. It’s a minor problem.”
A few moments later he stepped away. “Try it now.”
The car started.
“Oh my goodness. Thank you.”
I reached for my purse.
“No,” he said immediately.
“Please, let me give you something.”
“No. The last time I accepted something from a customer, I got into trouble. I don’t know the rules here, and I’m not taking the chance. I’m just glad I could help.”
That stopped me.
Here was a man who had been through his own difficulties, had a pregnant wife and children waiting for him, and still had enough compassion left to notice someone else standing beside a broken-down car.
I sat behind the wheel for a moment before driving away.
“God.”
That was almost all I could say.
You never promised that cars would not stop. You never promised that inconvenient things would wait for convenient times. But somehow You have a way of being present inside the inconvenience.
That car could have stopped at my daughter’s school. It could have stopped somewhere on the road. It could have stopped late at night. Instead, it stopped outside a store where a man happened to be working who knew cars, even this particular kind of car.
My husband’s phone would not connect. My mechanic’s phone would not connect. I had said only a little prayer:
“God, please see me through.”
And then a man walked out of a store.
Perhaps someone else would call that coincidence.
Faith has simply taught me to pay attention.
Sometimes God does not remove the problem before it reaches us. Sometimes He places help beside the problem before we even know we are going to need it.
And sometimes the person God uses to help us is carrying a burden of his own.
He fixed my car.
His wife reminded me what partnership could look like.
His story reminded me that suffering does not have to make a person bitter.
And that ordinary afternoon reminded me of something greater:
God was not arriving to rescue me.
He was always there
By Joan A.Roberts
