Over the Rainbow...

What is faith? Is it believing and being sure of something even when we can't see it? Is it knowing that we will be okay...no matter what? Knowing that we are being watched over and protected. Do we carry our faith with us without even thinking about it, or must we make a conscious decision to believe. And if we believe and have faith in God and in ourselves, why do we still spend so much time consumed with worry?

If we are skeptical, or choose not to believe and we don't have faith...are the things that work out for us, against all odds, just a happy coincidence?

Easter fell later this year. April 24, 2011. With two sons going to college in different states, each with the same end-of -year-get-out-of-the-dorm deadline, my husband and I sometimes have to juggle. We were juggling our way to Illinois on the Good Friday evening of Easter weekend, when somewhere between Kentucky and Indiana, the storms hit. Bad storms. The kind of storms where you can feel the power outside the car and you dare not say a word inside the car. The tail-lights ahead of you have all but disappeared behind a solid curtain of water.The air is heavy. Heart-pounding heavy, and you clutch the handhold and pray. The kind of storms that only happen when there is not an exit for another 20 miles. Nowhere to go.

"Why do I feel like we are weaving all over the road?"

"It's just the water on the road. It's okay. I'm only going 40." Which speaks volumes in itself when my own personal Mario Andretti slows down on the open road to a mere 40 miles per hour.

A huge bolt of lightning streaks across the sky just then, and I keep my eyes trained straight ahead, holding on for dear life...and, of course, praying all the while under my breath. St. Joseph, can you hear me now?

"Lloyd, are you nervous?" Of course, after 23 years of marriage, my husband knows there's only one correct answer.

"No, honey. It's just rain." And we go on. Eventually, we make our way through the storm and the skies calm.

When we finally arrive at the hotel and turn on the weather report, I shudder when I think about what might of happened. An F-4 tornado had ripped through St Lois that night and the same line of storms raced across the Ohio Valley as we made our way toward Illinois. But we were okay. Safe. Dry.

We spent Saturday with Matt, an "Easter visit" spent taking him out to eat, a movie, some bowling, a trip to Target, and just enjoying our precious time together. Our trip culminated with the loading of our car...packing a lot of his "stuff." We were bringing it home with us, leaving just the necessities in his dorm room, so that as soon as he finished his final exams, he could easily stow the remainder in his car and head home right away.
 
Early Easter morning, (smooch, smooch...see you in a couple weeks) the hubby and I are back in the car and on our way home to Tennessee in time for Easter dinner with Kevin. Our plan. Oh yes. Our plan.

There are many stretches between Nashville and Champaign, where long miles of highway between exits is the norm. The kind of distances that prompt Lloyd to look at me and ask "Do you need to stop?" before we zoom past the last potty opportunity for at least 20 miles.

A beautiful dawn on Easter morning...the sun is shining, and we zip along, light traffic, making great time. I'm feeling a little dozey and content, and we're talking about the things you talk about when you have been married forever, when my husband casually makes an announcement.

"Hmmm. That's weird."

"What's weird?"  I instantly perk up, sleepy no longer, my attention mode suddenly shifting into high alert. (Danger...danger. It's a woman thing. Or maybe just a Debbie thing. I don't know. It's automatic. Instinctive.)

"The gauge says low tire pressure on the left rear tire."

"What does that mean? Do you think we have a flat?"

Frantic, I try to get my bearings...did we pass the last exit before...you know...the dreaded 'no exit' zone? I  have a sudden vision of the two of us, on the shoulder of the interstate, surrounded by all of Matthew's belongings while my husband rummages in the trunk for the teeny spare and changes a flat tire on the shoulder of the interstate. All this while huge semi's are barreling toward us doing 80 miles an hour.

"I'm not sure. I have the reading pulled up. We'll keep an eye on it for a while... we can add air at the next exit."

Two seconds later..."What does it say now?"

"24 psi"

"What's normal?"

"Around 30 psi"

"So, maybe we do just need a little air."

"We'll keep close watch and if it gets any lower, the next time we stop for gas we'll fix her right up."

"How about if we just plan right now to stop at the very next exit to get air...and if you want to, you can top off the tank at the same time." I only make this pointed suggestion because my husband has been known to wait until the gas gauge is in the red...no... past the red. Way past the red. Let's just say 'On-star' has been worth every penny to the Jaeger family.

"Uh-oh."

"What does uh-oh mean? You can't just say uh-oh and not tell me what it means!! We have a situation here!"

"22 psi...21 psi."

"Lloyd. Look! An exit in 1 mile. TAKE IT!

"I will...at the very least we can find a place to pump up the tire and...it's going down pretty fast...18psi.

You have all seen the exit. It's the one that you DON"T stop at. The one where there is not a golden arch in sight. Where you aren't even sure why there is an exit, only you figure it's because the people who live in the area need a point somewhere to get off the highway. The exit that empties onto a little country road. But the sign says there are TWO gas stations. Manna. Even though the sign that says 'Gas Station' is hanging by one screw. That's okay. We are at least heading in the right direction. Off the highway.

And then we are waiting. Sitting at the stop sign. Idling at the bottom of the exit ramp as we wait...for TRAFFIC.  Probably the only three cars in the whole town that are on the road this early on Easter morning. At this precise moment in time, they are slowly making their way into the intersection. We are losing tire pressure by the second. No choice but to wait for this tiny burst of activity to mosey on up the highway so we can hobble off the exit ramp. Friendly wave to us as they pass. They turn. Thank you.

"15 psi...14 psi"

"Well, at least we are finally off the interstate. Maybe we can find some of that flat tire fixer that you spray into the tire."

"Uh-oh."

"Now what?" I follow his gaze to the gas station on the right. At least that's what it used to be. Before the windows were boarded up. And the pumps removed. I swear I see a tumbleweed roll across the empty parking lot.

"One-stop! Over there. On the left. One-Stop Convenience Station. And they are open! I think I 'm going to cry! Let's pray for an air pump."

My husband gallantly maneuvers the limping Impala into the lot. 

"9 psi"

I am so relieved to be anywhere but on the interstate that at this point, I don't even care.

"Keep going around...look! Over there, against the building. Free air! (Although by this time we would have gladly paid for air! Paid a lot!)

Lloyd gets out and fills the starving tire ...and then we watch helplessly as it spits the precious commodity right back out. We are parked on a puddle, (a remnant from the storm, I'm sure) so, it is quite obvious from the bubbling of the water below it that this tire is not to be saved. My husband falls to his knees on the concrete (not to pray...although maybe he did that too, I don't know) and feels around to the back of the tire. He straightens up, slowly.

"It's bad. Really bad. The whole inside of the tire is shot...shredded. No fixing this one." He repeats the process on the other three tires. Turns out the other rear tire is in the same shape. One teeny-tiny spare. One trunk loaded clear into the back seat with most of Matthew's earthly belongings. Miles from nowhere. Easter Sunday. Should be in church right now.

"Is that why we were weaving all over the road on Friday night?"

"I would say so."

"Let me go in and ask if there's a Sears or something around here. Before we On-star."

"Okay...we aren't going anywhere anytime soon, that's for sure."

The couple standing behind the counter of the One-Stop Convenience Station looked up when they heard the bell on the door ring as I entered the store. I explained our dire situation, and asked if there was a mall or anything close by where we might be able to get help.

"Well, ma'am, I don't know about that, but I reckon you could call Chris over yonder. I s'pose he would probably come over and help ya'll out."

"Who's Chris?"

"He runs the towing service next door. Sells tires, too."

"Really? I mean, REALLY ?"

I went back outside.

"Honey, you are not going to believe this...turn around."

There, about 50 yards away, in all it's exquisitely beautiful, run- down, out- in- the- middle- of- nowhere glory, was the Sunshine Towing Yard and Services. And one of those services happened to be tires. If this were a movie, the sky would open and a ray of light would shine down right about then. A chorus of angels would sing, the music would crescendo.

Yessirree. One of those services happened to be tires. Lloyd called the number on the side of one of the trucks and, lo and behold, Chris left his warm cozy home on that beautiful Easter Morning and met us at the One-Stop within fifteen minutes. Not only did 'Chris' have two used tires he very happily put on the back of our Impala, he also invited us over for Easter Dinner ( which we respectfully declined). In the space of one hour, in the middle of nowhere, we had our emergency, it was resolved and we were back on the highway and headed for Nashville. Safely. With two of the most beautiful used tires you have ever seen, perfectly installed on the back of our car.

Now, I don't know about you, but  'what if?'

What if one of those shredded tires had blown during those horrible storms we drove through on our trip North just two days before?

What if it had happened when our son was with us?

What if the gauge had not warned Lloyd a few miles before we approached the last exit for 20 miles?

What if there were no gas stations at that little country exit? I mean what are the chances?

And what are the chances that a little towing yard was right next to the only gas station in the middle of nowhere, that also had two used tires that fit our car, and a sweet man named Chris who was willing to leave the heavenly smell of Easter Dinner bubbling on the stove, to help two strangers, who were just passing through.

A happy coincidence? Or faith in action? You be the judge.

For me, always...I believe that we are never alone. That we are never isolated. That there is a silver lining in every cloud. A rainbow at the end of every storm. It's okay to be scared sometimes. But that's when it's even more important to have faith. There is nothing so random as to go unnoticed or prove impossible for God.

Faith. That things happen just the way they are supposed to happen.

To paraphrase Hebrews 11:1
"Faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we can't see."

Perhaps poet Patrick Overton says it best in his Faith Poem:


Faith




When you walk to the edge of all the light you have

and take that first step into the darkness of the unknown,

you must believe that one of two things will happen:

There will be something solid for you to stand upon,

or, you will be taught how to fly

 

© Patrick Overton

The Leaning Tree, 1975

Rebuilding the Front Porch of America, 1997






Until Next Time,
Debbie