On a last-minute whim the Grandma I live with called our kids in Lubbock last Saturday night and invited their three rug-rats to spend the night with us. Exuberantly Nick and Will and Peter said Yes!, so we struck out almost immediately in Grammy’s van to pick up the boys 70 minutes south of us in Plainview.
After a leisurely supper at Furr’s, we loaded up the grandkids and headed northward through the darkness back to Grammy’s house. Not once did any of us look at the gas gauge. Not until the little yellow gas pump on the dashboard flashed and the bells began to ding at us.
If you’ve driven that stretch of I-27 at night, you know that it’s not exactly littered with gas stations. When the warning bell bonged, we had just passed Tulia.
“I can’t think of any place open in the next 30 miles,” I told my lady, “and it will take almost 20 miles for us to reach the next crossover and double back to Tulia.”
“Surely there’ll be an Allsup’s open here,” I hoped vainly,
as we eased into the little town of
“Now, what?” I wondered. Then I spied several cars at the
Embarrassed at having pulled such a dumb stunt, I inched into the door of their fellowship area, looking for a friendly face. “Is there any place a pilgrim can purchase a gallon of gas in Happy this hour of the night?” I asked after I introduced myself to the man in charge.
“Sure,” he smiled. “I can help you with that.” Then he explained, “My wife and I read your column all the time. In fact, she clipped out the one this morning.” As we stepped outside, he said, “Just follow me.”
Red-faced all the way, I trailed this good Samaritan to a
punch-in-your-number gas pump on
As I thanked our benefactor and bid him adieu, the Grandma who started all this found out who really took care of us. In the darkness at the rear of the van she heard 7-year-old Nick quietly say, “Thank you, God.”
While we grownups fretted, Nick had been praying. No wonder Jesus said, “Of such is the Kingdom.”