It is often said that, “no good deed goes unpunished”. Well, that’s part of the story that befell my husband and I not too long ago. So, relax and get comfy because this story is going to take a little time to set up…
My husband is an avid music lover and has worked in the industry “once upon a time”. He especially enjoys mixing music for public events, and also for our church’s livestream. We have a very good friend who always calls upon him to DJ for her corporate events and high school reunions. He accepts wholeheartedly and often works for tips to save her the cost of a traditional booking. My husband has heart issues and doesn’t always feel up to driving, so I am often his taxi. Such was the case at the last reunion our friend had him booked for.
When I dropped my husband off at the venue, I wasn’t even out of the parking lot when my car started making a terrible sound. I texted him and he came back out to take a look. He was able to determine that the sound was coming from something that was stuck in one of the tires and advised me to drive slowly and to keep an eye on the tire pressure. This was happening on a Saturday evening, so we would have to wait until Monday morning to drop off the car with our local mechanic.
Throughout the weekend we kept an eye on the tire pressure, it seemed to be a fairly slow leak because we only had to inflate it a few times. We also continued to pray that the tire could be “patched” and we wouldn’t have to pay for a brand new tire on a brand new car in addition to whatever wait time that would involve if they had to order one. We were also a bit exasperated because the budget was a little tight at the time and here he was trying to help out a friend, and this is what’s happening now.
Monday morning rolled around and our mechanic said I could bring the car in right away, they had some time available to take a look at it. They are located on the outskirts of a shopping center, so I told them I would walk over to McDonald’s—nearly next door to them—and to call me when it was ready. (I had purposefully packed a book to read while I waited.)
I can tell you straight up I barely read any of that book. As soon as I stepped through the door of those “Golden Arches”, I was transported to a whole new dimension! At seven-thirty in the morning, the place was burgeoning with seniors and alive with group conversations—loud, raucous conversation—peppered with much laughter. Nearly every table was filled, and extra chairs were pulled up to widen these circles of friends!
I was completely dumbfounded and mystified as I stood at the counter to order. A friendly elder gentleman sidled up beside me for a coffee refill and I couldn’t help but ask, “Are ya’ll having Bible Study this morning?” He chuckled and said no, but didn’t miss a beat inviting me to the table.
I remember snippets of conversation from a woman who had begun chatting with two men that had just sat down with their order. She must have recognized one of them because they began speaking of the church she attends, but apparantly, that man was no longer attending. He introduced her to his friend and the long tales began…
When she found out where the friend was from, she had a look of shock on her face and a smile a mile wide! She said that was where “her people” come from. She kept using that phrase, “my people” over and over. I just love that phrase because it brings with it such a sense of belonging. God lays claim to “his people” too…
If my people, which are called by my name, shall humble themselves, and pray, and seek my face, and turn from their wicked ways; then will I hear from heaven, and will forgive their sin, and will heal their land. (2 Chronicles 7:14, emphasis mine)
On a chilly, cloudy Monday morning under the warmth of bright lights, the scent of food on a hot greasy grill, and the added liveliness of these seniors—all conspired to warm the very cockles of my heart! My misfortune with the tire had brought about a rich memory for me. It so reminded me of my mother’s small hometown, and “her people” there. I love it when God interrupts us this way!
Perched beneath golden arches in their golden years, those seniors possessed the recipe for a secret sauce all their own. They had nothing but time and rather than puttering away the hours alone, they chose to get up and get out in order to gather together in the richness of fellowship. This whole precious scenario that was playing out before me is exactly what I would want to be doing at that stage of life. It’s as if they possessed a special wisdom that comforts. Those passing them by on the street or down a grocery aisle, would never guess the animated energy or the sheer delight and love of life they still possess!
While the working masses are driving around the building to grab and go, they are missing the comfort that comes from building relationships; of bearing witness to the multi-faceted jewel of conversation. If only they could steward their time in a way that involves an earlier rise in order to share in a cup of conversation with friends, family or co-workers.
I love them that love me; and those that seek me early shall find me. (Proverbs 8:17, emphasis mine)
As I walked back over to pick up my car, still feeling enchanted with my breakfast experience, I decided to ask my mechanic something I had always wondered, “Where are you from?” (He has that sweet, southern drawl so familiar to me.) He replied, “Oh from a little town in southwest Virginia you’ve never heard of.” I told him my daughter went to undergrad out there at Emory and Henry. For the second time this morning, here comes the face of complete surprise and a mile-wide grin with familiar memories. He responds, “You’re kidding! I was all over that campus as a kid, my siblings and I used to swim in their pool.” And on it went…
This man had always been cordial to me, and I knew he was a Christian by the simple cross he wore around his neck, and in the way that he always spoke. Yet now there was something happening that was more than just a transaction between shop owner and customer—there was connection. Moments before, I was remembering my own childhood, and now, with just a simple question, he was remembering his. Never miss the opportunity to engage with the folks God brings across our paths. It can only edify, enrich, and encourage all of us along life’s way.
As for the tire, it did wind up being a patch job, praise the Lord! They found it was a large bolt that had pierced the tire. There was a construction site very close to the road as I was dropping off my husband for the event that Friday night and I suspect that is likely where it came from. It was a literal “bolt out of the blue” that had hit me, and I am so grateful for what I gained that Monday morning. It was as though I had set my feet right back in Shelby, North Carolina and into the warm embrace of grandparents and aunts and cousins—my people—huddled in a small, sleepy town with stories that flowed like a river.