Uh-oh. I spot the unmarked,
four-inch ridge of pavement
a smidgeon too late …
But I’ve jump-cut ahead.
Flash backward with me —
before the detour.
My husband, Dreamer, and I go cycling most evenings. We wear black tights and neon-yellow jerseys (plus neon argyles, for yours truly).
Picture two elderly bumblebees.
Dreamer rides a high-tech, acid green trike; I pedal a black recumbent. Seated roughly two feet above the ground, we count on our strobing head- and tail-lights as well as flapping pennants to alert drivers of our presence.
Perhaps passersby think we’re “spry.” It’s hard to miss Dreamer’s white beard.
Tonight, while powering through a neighborhood construction zone that includes a long stretch of gravel, I collide with the small, aforementioned, asphalt cliff.
The bike jolts.
Bones judder.
Adrenalin surges;
my tire collapses.
I wobble … but don’t fall.
“Everything okay?” A man out walking pauses to ask.
Dreamer carries a pump and patch kit. “Got it covered,” he calls.
“Thank you for asking,” I add.
By the light of the setting sun, innertube removal commences. Always a challenge.
Then, Dreamer’s pump fails to work. By now the pedestrian’s long gone. Streetlights bloom around us.
SOS phone calls to family ring … and ring … unanswered.
What now?
“I could hoist the front end,” I venture. “Walk the bike home.”
Dreamer frowns. “Five miles?”
“Oh.” I feel hope waver, thready as smoke from a guttering candle.
As if in response, a bright blue truck pulls alongside. “Hey, I couldn’t stop thinking about you. Came back to check.”
It’s the walker who stopped earlier. Glory be. I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding.
“Brought my pump, just in case.”
The guy, an avid cyclist, brims over with rescue stories. He’s funny and kind and generous. Four bike-savvy hands complete the task.
Then, in with the good air …
Long ago, Archbishop Anselm of Canterbury said, “Our charity [for others] is so little fervent, yet you, Lord, are so rich in mercy.”
Would I have stopped? Twice?
A long hiss-s-s-s. My newly patched, re-inflated tire goes flat. Again. We stare in dismay.
“Nearly dark,” the man observes, “and getting cold.”
As if we haven’t noticed.
“Let me give you a lift.”
We don’t even know his name.
Turns out Dreamer’s trike won’t fit beside my recumbent.
“Hop in,” the stranger says to me.
By myself? I wonder if it’s safe. And then: How dare I suspect such largesse? I want to say, Okay, but let us pay you. But I know my offer would disappoint him.
I clamber into the passenger seat.
“We’ll follow your husband,” he says. And at 12 miles per hour, we do. He even offers to go back to his place to get Dreamer a jacket. Breathtaking kindness, rich in mercy.
Our rescuer reminds me a little of One who arrives — in various guises — asking: “Need any help?” The same One who smiles when we mention our self-sufficiency. And who returns, despite nightfall, with our welfare in mind.
The One who sees us safely home.
You are my help in the darkness, the psalmist says. “I will rise to give you thanks” (Ps. 119:62).
Before our new friend pulls away, we learn his name is Rich.
Friends, who’s restoring your faith in humanity?
Photo by Chris Becker on Unsplash
I was stranded once on a dark mountain road, in the middle of the night. All the lights in my truck are out. I panicked at first, imagining spending the night there. But, then, without so much as a “Lord, please help me…” I see headlights, winding up the switchback road. A white van. The man stepped out and said, “What’s the problem?” “No lights” I said. We lifted the hood and he saw the problem right away. My fuse box was melted. There was a 40 amp fuse where there should have been a 4 amp. “HMMM.” he said. He rummaged around in his van for a minute and came out with new fuse box, one made for my kind of truck. While I held the flashlight, he mounted it expertly, replaced all the fuses and said, “Fire it up.” It did.
He drove away amidst a shower of thanks and praise. I drove home, astounded at what had just happened. How did he have just the right parts and just the right sense of generosity, at two in the morning? But then, that scripture came to mind. The one about “entertaining angles, unawares.” (Heb. 13:2 KJV)
A few years later, my wife and were stranded in a snow storm, on the side of the freeway, far from home, A white van stopped, this time with just the right fan belt and just the right skills. This time I held the umbrella.
Yahweh Sabaoth is the Lord of Angelic Armies, and at least two of them drive white vans.
WOW. What amazing stories! Deftly paced, in the retelling. I’m right with you: tense, curious, wonder-struck.
And now . . . on the lookout for white vans . . .
Thank you for sharing! Your stories evoke contagious astonishment, build faith, and bolster hope.
Rich
In mercy, kindness, generosity and know-how…
An angel unaware.
An extension of God’s love…
Rich
What a perfect summation.
A poem akin to a sigh.
Ahhh. I rest — afresh —in your recap.
Encompassed again.
Praying for your travels!
First, I wryly smiled at your observation that others’ might see you two as “spry”. The same thought (applied to us) has occurred to me as I’ve been out hiking with my silver-haired mate. Somehow, imperceptibly, it’s happened to us!
I’m so thankful for strangers who “go the extra mile” to extend mercy. And above all, the ONE who provides it for us with every breath! I’m thankful you two made it home safely. As usual, I appreciated every perfectly placed word that told this story.
And, p.s., Craig just noticed the cover of your poetry book, “Where the Sky Opens”, the other night, and remarked, “Oh, that’s a beautiful cover.” Yes, indeed, my love. It’s a beautiful book, through and through.
Spry . . . oh my, yes, how did we ever arrive here so soon?
Dear Pacia, thanks for celebrating with us our safe return via a stranger’s abounding kindness.
And for your kind words about the writing—always a boost.
It is a delight to me as I prepare for a second book to make its way into the world to hear Craig’s observation! And yours. It will be sometime next year, and I’m looking forward to what the brilliant art department will create . . .
Oh my.
Makes me cry.
Such a gift to receive.
But greater still to give.
Gail, I love your tender heart, brimming with empathy and wisdom. And now I’m trying to recapture that photo you sent me, you aboard something with wheels, a personal means for locomotion among the islanders. But the memory’s fuzzy. In my mind, you are another “giver” in the ranks with people like Rich, each of you on errands of mercy. Blessings on you today!
Oh Laurie, I love this story! I especially love the title of your article, “Rich in mercy.” It brought up memories of times when God has sent someone to rescue me when I was stranded. Once I was out hiking and dropped my key out of my pocket on the trails. When I returned to the trailhead, I was stranded. A man found my key and hiked all the way back out to the trailhead to give it to me. Blessings to you! Thanks for continuing to write. I’m always blessed when I read it.
Dear Linda, what a well-chosen word, “stranded.” It draws me right into your experience and the frustration and, perhaps, helplessness(?) that might have jarred you. (Losing a key sends me into a panic!)
That fellow hiker, what a remarkable man!
It lifts my heart hearing stories like yours. Also thinking of all the times you’ve lifted my heart.
AND? Happy birthday! Hope you celebrate all month. : )
What a wonderful event a flat tire can be!!!
Jenny, I must thank you. You’ve opened my mind.
I realize I hadn’t quite made it to the possibility of making an overarching statement like yours.
But you’re right. Absolutely, winsomely, and persuasively.
So . . . may I consider the possibility “[this could be] wonderful” FIRST (or at least, second) . . . the next time I’m in a fix. :>)
Well written.
I could see it.
Started a future Ricky Rap the other day with just # 9 & 10 so far…
1.
2.
3.
4.
5.
6.
7.
8.
9. The only absolute I know…
10. Mercy endures.
When it’s complete and posted, expect to be tagged – again.
Thinking on what you shared so well, music resonates…
I’m sharing two links of songs I revisit periodically,
Make Farris singing Mary Gauthier’s Mercy Now… be sure to watch to the end…
https://youtu.be/Qt8wiGInALs?si=_2LJE1TH0ydNhZl5
and Pat Terry’s The Gift Of Mercy. Never fails to get my attention…
https://youtu.be/b1YUexelIWI?si=tlV3j5Y4th250yuX
Once again, thank you.
“Rich”ard (Rick).
Dear Rick, also r(R)ich, in mercy,
thank you for sharing these songs with all of us. Both are new to me, and what a blessing to steep in each of them: lyrics and melody and heartfelt interpretation.
“… Mercy. Never fails to get my attention…” That statement really strikes me, the breathtaking truth of it, that little stun to the mind and heart within when witnessing it.
“Weren’t our hearts burning within us when he was opening the scriptures to us?”
Looking forward to the tag . . .
Laurie, this weekend I was in conversation with a friend about different ways to think about hospitality. We spoke about being hospitable to our own weakness and frailty so we can be welcoming of God and neighbor. How fitting your new friend is a fellow cyclist with stories of his own “deflated” seasons of life. May I have the same courage and hospitable heart as this light-bearer to see others’ need as an opportunity, not an inconvenience. Get this sweetie pie some argyles!! 😍
Oh, friend, I laughed out loud over the argyles!
I so appreciate you sharing part of the conversation about hospitality. I am, at this moment of reading your words for the second time, realizing I need to take a deep breath and do likewise, shake off a bad attitude that glommed on, this past hour, so that I, too, will welcome “an opportunity” thrust before me now, at day’s end. Back to Mercy I go, to be filled afresh in my crankiness. What a gift you’ve given me, thank you!
Loved this. I felt like I was there for the adventure as I read it. And it did bring back memories of how God provides in such unexpected ways.
Mike, you’ve made a writer’s heart glad. : )
And not only that: your mention of similar experiences amid the unexpected bolsters my hope in the unending stories of God’s faithfulness — no matter how fractious and fractured the world around us. Thank you!
LOVE this God story! Thank you for sharing it. Faith Builders come in all guises.
Linda Jo, I like your phrase, “Faith Builders” — especially paired with “come in all guises.” Such a great reminder.
Here’s to more sightings ahead . . .
What a glorious story of God’s provision! Thank you so much for telling it, Laurie. I can’t share the particulars, but suffice it to say, your closing question brought to mind some people who’ve helped to restore a brokenness in my husband’s and my hearts. Once again I found myself thanking God for where he’s brought us in this chapter of life–a place of healing. He knew what we needed and provided for us!
Nancy, it was fun to relive (safely home again) in the telling. : )
How marvelous to read of this deep-in-the-heart restoration that occurred for you and your husband. With so many things fracturing around us, I’m always grateful for evidence of goodness in motion. Each glimpse and story heartens me. Thank you!
Needed to hear this today.
Dear Michele, thanks so much for letting me know our twilight rescue spoke in a needed way. Love you!
Thank God for “angels unawares”!
We’d’ve been near-flash-frozen bumblebee-sicles by the time we’d trudged home!
Exactly what I was just going to write! (re Dreamer’s comment).
Thank you Laurie. Such largesse! Such loving-kindness. Thank you for sharing this wonder-full (true) story.
It was such a pleasure to share it, Vanessa. Thank you for rejoicing with Dreamer and I in the windfall graces and surprising kindnesses that still appear, thank God — no matter the size of the chaos: neighborhood-small or global. I want to keep watching for it!