Oh, I was so close. About five miles away. I had found my way from Manchester Airport, on up to Preston, turning east on A56 toward Clitheroe. I was starting--I thought-- to get the feel of this crazy left-side driving.
But not quite used to it. Judging incorrectly my left side margins, I hit some protruding curb, or something, and demolished the left front tire of my rental SAAB.
I pulled off to the side, which itself was an awkward maneuver, and set out to change the tire, as I would my own car, but in the attempt to loosen the bolts of the front tire, I couldn't locate the strange fitting that was needed to lock onto the odd Saabian tire bolts. I was stuck. No cell phone. No idea where I was.
Where can I go from Your Spirit? Even the darkness is not dark to you.....
Then Lumb, and her little black dog Scoobie, walked by. I asked if she lived nearby, and she said she did. I explained my predicament to her, and asked if I might accompany her to her house and call the rental car company. In God's providential care, she had mercy on me and invited me along.
I called for help, and help came and changed the tire. As I was leaving Lumb's house, I asked her if I could pray for her--a pray for blessing, and of healing for her ailing heart. She courteously declined, letting me know she was an atheist, and if she worshipped anything, she worshipped nature, as expressed so prettily there in her quaint backyard garden.
I can't help but think God purposefully arranged our encounter today. In doing so, he turned an atheist into a veritable angel of mercy for a moment, and perhaps, in some small way, I might have been a sign to her--a faint glimmering sign-- that God just might be real after all...
Pray for her, will you? Lumb, a widow living by herself, and little Scoobie, there on Ribchester Road in Lancashire, England.
Broken Pitcher
William Bouguereau (1891)
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2 comments:
Jeff,
I did much better than you with driving on the left. I had left Waterloo station not ten minutes before when I also hit the sharp edged granite curb. With traffic streaming by I limped across the busy road in front of Trafalgar square, full of tourists, and pulled up to the right side of the street in front of Canada House.
We were able to contact Hertz and they sent a lovely black man in a tow truck to change the spare tire, or is it tyre... Anyway, cars only carry one spare. We soon discovered that I had popped two.
We had to wait several hours whilst the tyre truck navigated London's rush hour from Heathrow. Rich, Julia, and Ronna knew better than to stick around and feel my embarrassed wrath so they went for a walk. Their suggestions to take a picture so we can remember this and laugh about it later was met with my barely suppressed growling.
Finally, two men pulled up in a small truck outfitted with everything necessary to outfit a convoy. They each looked like they had jumped off of London's rooftops after a day with Mary Poppins. We soon had a serviceable car.
We had reservations that night in Wells (not that far from Wales) and drove through a sudden drenching sunset storm. There were several wrecked cars along the Main route. Thankfully we were not one of them. However, it was getting quite dark and I had realized that those lovely hedges on the side of the road were merely vines covering stone fences. My driving was more than cautious. Too cautious for one lovely English matron who flipped me off as she careened by me on the right.
We finally made it to Wells and spent the next morning visiting one of my absolutely favorite cathedrals in all Europe. The congregation was active and the church grounds were vibrant with life, unlike so many dead cathedrals.
That was over ten years ago now. When she was in London last month, Julia made a special point of taking a picture of the very spot where we sat for an afternoon waiting for the truck from Heathrow. We've recounted the story endless times. Now we have the picture to go along with it.
Blessings on you for your courage in driving in England! Be safe, mind the gap, etc.
We miss you.
Karen Stein
From your earliest posts, I keep thinking that the role of the artist is to introduce us to the people, lives, and events that we would otherwise miss.
Happy Driving Safe travels, and you left your cell at home because?
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