A morning interruption

It seemed like any other morning, until the interruption.  I walk my daughter to school and then walk back every day.  It saves gas and I get the benefit of a two mile walk, round trip.  But last Monday had a little unexpected encounter.  For some, it would have been frustrating, perhaps a reason to explode in anger.  But perhaps I was tuned in to the Lord, because it was something else altogether.

A couple of blocks from our house there is a nondescript older white sedan, driven by a little older lady, either hispanic or native american.  She rarely speaks to me, though she has greeted my son on occasion.  The car had drawn my attention, because the back seat was so full of stuff that I’m sure the weight was affecting the gas mileage.  I know many people who keep things in their cars, even in the foot wells of the back seat, but few who keep so much that the seat is unusable.  This stash went to the top of the back of the front seats.  I had noticed that the car had at one point been elsewhere, then apparently returned empty.

That morning though, she was unlocking the passenger side, and I started to walk past. But she stopped and said something like, I think you stole my car, last year about this time.  Surprised, I stopped and assured her it wasn’t me.  She continued on, saying that she figured I must have done it because I’m the only one who walks by here every day at this time.  Well, given that it is a route walked by quite a few school kids, that was a bit inaccurate, but I responded that I would have no need of her car, since I have a nice car myself.

Well, she considered that a little but said that people do things like that sometimes anyway.  I insisted that we had all we need and did not need her car and I was sorry this had happened to her.  She did seem willing to consider that I might be telling the truth.  But she had something to get off her chest anyway.  She said maybe I didn’t do it and if I did, she would forgive me, but she wanted me to know that I ruined her grandkids Christmas, if I did it.  I was back to sorry this happened to you.

She suddenly realized she was going to be late for wherever she was going and turned to get into the car, which is actually a different one, I guess.  As I walked a few steps past, I could see that not only is the back full of shopping bags, there are some in the front as well.  This was the point where I think God kept her talking because she started to tell me how she has almost nothing of her own.  She lives with her daughter and her car holds her things and people give her a bad time about it but it’s all she has.

Well, I walked away and was thinking about it all the way home and then some.  It’s as if she started with accusation but moved to confession.  We don’t even know one another but she told me about her pain!  That is a God thing, if I’ve ever seen one.  I think God wanted her to have someone to pray for her, to ask for healing of her pain.  I’m willing, Lord hear our prayers!


About ansaphil

I am the fourth of five children, born and raised in Bakersfield. I am an at home mom of two teenagers. I attended the local junior college and worked my way through my last two years at USC. But that was some time ago and I do not think writing ability has much to do with where one attended school. I was never sure what to be when I grew up. But I always loved books and music. Several years ago I found myself writing more and more in my journals. It was almost as though I was processing life through my writing. Eventually it occurred to me that perhaps I might have something to say publicly, and not just in my journals. I hope my unique perspective on things will be a blessing to all.
This entry was posted in brokenness and tagged , , . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s