Almost Missed

February 28, 2018

She turned out to be as small and fragile as her voice had sounded on the other end of the line. She had advertised some almost new snow tires that were just the right size. Next winter, Linda’s car would need them, and the price was right. She happened to call when I was nearby in Brooklyn Square, so I told her I would be over to look at them in a few minutes even though I didn’t have the money on me at the time. The street sign where I needed to turn was hidden by an overgrown yew, so I had to turn around. Otherwise, she would hardly have had time to hang up the phone before I arrived. 

She was shoveling her sidewalk when I drove up. I introduced myself, and she led me up the steps to the side porch where the tires were stacked next to some children’s toys. Baby formula sat in a case on a shelf. “I’m sorry this is such a mess, but I didn’t have anywhere else to put them,” she said apologetically. I assured her it was OK, and she proceeded to show me the receipt for them. They were merely a month old when her old Taurus car finally gave out. She was agitated, apologizing over and over. “My daughter has traumatic brain injury, and is getting hard to handle. I’m taking care of her and her kids...” 

Assuring her that I wanted the tires and would come back the next day with the money for them, I drove off, saddened. It was one of the poorer parts of the city, where life can be hard and unforgiving. She was perhaps ten years my junior, but the lines in her face revealed the hardship she faced every day. 

The following morning, Linda and I drove into town to get the tires and attend to some errands. I stood on the sidewalk and called to let her know I had arrived; she came to the door a few seconds later, and we made the deal. As I handed her the money, I asked about her daughter. Turns out she had been in a serious car accident fifteen years ago. Fifteen years. From the awful news on that terrible day, to the sleepless nights wondering if she would live, to the daily routine of caring for her daughter while reliving days that would never be normal again, here was a woman whose courage and strength belied her small stature. I was humbled at her calm acceptance of her lot in life, and her faithfulness and perseverance through fifteen years of heartbreak and disappointment.

I got in the truck to drive away, but couldn’t. Quickly exiting, I flagged her down just as she was closing the front door. “I forgot something,” I told her. “Would it be alright if I prayed with you?” 

Tears welled up in her eyes as she said, “Please do.” When I finished, she looked at me and said, “This made my day.” My heart was lighter, too. Nothing in her circumstances has changed. Her daughter still has traumatic brain injury; she still provides care; she is still poor, overworked, and overwhelmed. 

I almost missed it. God dropped an opportunity right in my lap, and I almost missed it. I shudder to think of all the times I wasn’t paying attention and missed an opportunity to pray for someone or witness to the saving power of Jesus Christ. The people are all around us, but like in the story of the Woman at the Well where the disciples go into town and see only human vending machines—people who can serve their need, Jesus saw people ready for the harvest. I am too often so wrapped up in my agenda that I miss God’s. This time, I didn’t, and I am thankful for it. And I pray that tomorrow, God will open my eyes and heart, and that I will open my mouth.