Quite recently, in fact less than a week ago, I gave my guardian angel(s) quite a workout. While breakfasting with friends, I had inadvertently left my headlights on through the duration of the meal. No problem, you’d think. The van battery is plenty strong enough to handle such an insignificant workload. And you’d be right, only I had left the interior lights on in the van for roughly fourteen hours two nights prior and had to elicit my wife for a jump.
Isn’t that special?
So, here I am at the close of a breakfast-slash-conference, van headlamps burning out and already overworked battery on its last spark, offering to take one of the gentlemen to his home in Villa Rica. You know, as a favor to the other gentleman who brought him. Nice of me, I know. My friend followed me out to the van and we instantly knew something was wrong when my automatic sliding door crept along its track a few seconds then stopped.
Quickly thinking, I called another friend at that moment, and asked if he might be out and about and could he give us a jump. He said he was not out but would be there in fifteen minutes. And, sure as shootin’, he was, for God dispatched an angel and his name was Alan. Quicker than you can say “Scott’s-in-yet-another-fix” we were jumped, thanking Alan profusely and heading toward Villa Rica.
Not the end of the story.
I got my friend safe and snug to his house and turned the van toward D-Ville where I needed to run a quick errand for Sandy before heading home. As soon as I exited onto Fairburn Road heading north, the van sputtered. Ruh-ro (deuce). I instantly looked to the needle on the gas gauge and was comforted to see it was still inside the red marker at “E”.
As long as it’s still in that thick red line, I reasoned, there’s still time to run the errand and make it to the gas station.
Probably, oh…a hundred yards, give or take, from a gas station I wouldn’t have normally chosen, the van shut off and I had to somehow coast it up and over some rubble, guide it (with no power steering, I might add) through a jungle of guy-wires and telephone poles and into the gas station proper. Of course, all the nearest bays were occupied so there was just enough momentum to get me four feet from the very last pump.
And it stopped. Dead as you please.
As God would have it, a couple brawny fellas were walking to their car that was next to mine and—long story short—they pushed me the last 48 inches where they even offered to pump my gas for me. Heaving a sigh, I thanked the Lord that I hadn’t caused a traffic jam on Fairburn Road and didn’t have to track down Alan-the-Angel yet again.
We’ve all had days like this, but usually we want to ask on such days, “What else can go wrong?” By God’s grace, on that day, I found myself asking, “What other ways can God show up?”
I wasn’t pulled from a burning house or a raging river but the faithfulness of God was so astounding last week when He sent His ministering angel all the way to where I was stranded one moment, then getting a couple other angels to push me the four feet where I needed to be the next.
Count on it. Four feet, four miles or four hundred miles, God knows where you are every single moment you’re alive and He certainly knows where you need to be. And He’ll brave hellish fires and ford raging rivers to get you there.