I hope you enjoy this sample of my work.
© 2014 Amy L.Magaw
You can find this story in my new release, The Collage!
Not to be used without permission.
"Against All Odds"
Don’t speak to strangers. That’s what I’ve always been taught. And yet the Bible says in Hebrews 13:2, “Be not forgetful to entertain strangers: for thereby some have entertained angels unawares.” Some Christians may choose to believe that this doesn’t happen today; but after an eventful three hour road trip, I know I will never ignore this verse again.
It had
been one of those weeks when everything goes wrong—not big things, but little
things here, and little things there. They just added up. The little Chevy Cavalier that we had borrowed
to help save gas on my college commute had a sensor panel that started lighting
up like a Christmas tree about ten minutes into my one-and-a-half hour one-way
trip.
I’m not
an expert on automotive repair by any means, so I called my husband. He said for me to keep a close eye on the temperature
gauge to make sure that the engine did not overheat. We couldn’t afford to replace the head on
this little car, which was a loaner from my brother.
I kept
my eyes focused on that gauge, for the next thirty minutes on Interstate 26
Westbound heading towards Newberry, South Carolina. As expected, I ran into the five o’clock
traffic in the Columbia, the capital city.
As I strategically weaved in between lanes to avoid getting caught in
the wrong lane, I was particularly proud of myself. I still kept a close eye on
the temperature gauge, and the old little car was flying just fine. Just
one more exit left in the city, and then it should be smooth sailing straight
to Newberry. We’re not running hot, and
everything looks good.
I passed
the final Columbia exit, and sure enough, the traffic thinned out, as did the
exits—there is not much in between Columbia and Newberry. Just when I thought I was home free, the
Cavalier began to slow down involuntarily.
My eyes immediately went to the engine light, which was still shining;
then to the temperature gauge, which was fine; but I failed to notice that another
light had turned on—the gas light. The
car was now beginning to shut off, and I did the best that I could to steer it
onto the shoulder of the interstate, very close to the off ramp of the next
exit. I was out of gas.
A
thousand scenarios ran through my mind, and none of them were good. I called my husband who was at work, two and
a half hours away. He could not come to
my rescue. There was nothing left to do,
but grab my purse, lock the doors, and head for a gas station at the next
exit. The late afternoon sun of mid-April
beat down like a heavy hammer and the smell of tar-laced asphalt filled my
lungs. As I walked along the shoulder in
my long skirt and panty hose, sweat ran down my back. My tongue began to swell as I craved a drink
of water. I held my car keys
defensively, with the longest key sticking out of my clinched fist between my
index and middle finger. I was praying
on the inside for the best, but I was prepared for the worst. Please,
don’t let anyone stop for me.
Almost
as soon as I thought the words, I heard a car rolling up behind me. Terror crept up my spine. I could see the headlines on my hometown
newspaper: “Local Pastor’s Wife Abducted and Murdered on I-26.” As the window of the very new pearl-colored
Cadillac STS rolled down, I saw a middle aged man’s smiling face offering me
assistance.
Years of
school teachers’, Sunday school teachers’ and public service announcements’
warnings flooded my mind. “Don’t ever get into a car with a stranger,” I have
always been told.
“Are you out of gas?” he asked.
“Yes,
sir,” I answered.
“Would
you like a ride up to the next gas station?”
As soon
as the words were spoken, an unexplainable peace flooded my soul. Get in the car—everything will be okay, a
voice seemed to say in my heart. Every warning
that I’d ever heard from teachers, parents, and after-school specials screamed for
me to keep walking. I knew what statistics
said. But again, the voice in my heart told
me that I would be okay. Against my own understanding,
I took God at His Word, and I got into the car.
Upon
sitting in his very nice, very air-conditioned, expensive car, the man began to
make small talk as he realized the awkwardness of the situation. I was able to read his work badge just a
little from where I sat. His name was
Joe. The logo on the badge belonged to a
hospital, but it was strange—I’d never heard of that hospital system
before. I’d lived in South Carolina
almost all my life, and I’ve known all the major hospital systems in the
Columbia area. His badge was not from
any of them.
He
explained that he was new in the area and that he really only traveled I-26 and
I-20 to work. Strangely enough, he never
said where he worked. He only mentioned
that he had recently come to South Carolina from Florida. During this conversation, he drove me to the
gas station where I purchased a gas can that he filled with gas for me. We made the loop back around to my car. He filled the gas tank for me, and then had
me start the car and run it for a while to ensure that everything was working
properly.
I was
able to share a Gospel tract with him, accenting my husband’s church contact
information printed on the back.
“If you
are ever in our area, please let us know so that we can repay your kindness,” I
begged, as I handed him the tract.
He said
that he would, and bid me safety on my trip.
I drove
away with a sigh of relief. When Joe
offered me a ride, the Holy Spirit comforted me and I knew in the recesses of
my heart that everything was going to be okay.
Under God’s leading, I had gone against all odds, and He had
delivered. To this day, I am still
convinced that Joe was not who he appeared to be. I am also convinced that I will see him
again—either as one of the Redeemed, or as one of God’s Guardians sent to
protect his child on a hot April afternoon.
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