The miraculous rebirth of Jodie's Story - another type of God whisper

 

Miraculous provision pierces a capsule of trauma

My sister Arlene wrote her version of this as a story which was published in Stories of Life (Talking Trees). This is that ‘God incident’ seen through my eyes.

To protect her family from further trauma, I have changed all names relating to my friend who passed away.

 

A blanket of shock clouded my mind as my sister Arlene and I drove along. We’d just been at the hospital visiting my close friend Suzanne, who had suddenly become seriously ill.

Shafts of memory pierced gentle clouds of reminiscing as we travelled towards home.

Su and her family were an important part of my life and I had always expected she’d be here long after I’d gone. She was younger and fitter than I was. Rarely sick.

Her sister Libby had rung me. ‘Jeanette, Suzanne’s very sick.’ I wept into my phone as Libby told me the details. Su was suddenly terminally ill. Suzanne – dying? Well, let’s say it as I see it, after all: Suzanne leaving us to relocate in her dwelling place in heaven.

But …already?

A few days after I’d received this shocking news, Libby rang me again.

‘Jeanette, she’s going down fast. You’d better come up and visit her now.’

So my sister Arlene and I drove up to Su’s house (oh, Lord, so many happy memories here). Libby drove us down to the Sunshine Coast University Hospital.

It was a happy time of love and laughter – but surreal. Surely, surely, this wasn’t really happening?

It was nearly sunset when Arlene and I were back at Su’s house and we began our drive home. The sun sank behind the mountains and dusk smudged the world around us. A few birds shrilled their evening calls.

‘I want to beat the darkness home,’ Arlene said. ‘I hate driving the highway at night.’

As we began the drive to the highway, a loud noise thumped over and over again, from under the car. Arlene was worried. She knew I was not well on top of being stressed over Su. She also knew I needed a ladies’ room. Soon. And we had a good hour’s drive to go on a busy highway.

Thump!

Thump!

‘I think we’ve got car trouble.’ Arlene’s voice was tense.

Oh no. Please, God. I can’t take anything more right now.

It was all still like a dream. A nightmare with no escape. My physical needs began to dominate my thinking. Perhaps we should find a local motel and stay the night? – toilets, food and beds. And colouring my thoughts always: Suzanne looked happy but she’s sick. Very sick. On the way out.

We pulled over to a garage – where nobody could help us. The likelihood of waiting an hour or so for the RACQ was daunting with my health issues but what was the alternative? … Then out of the near-darkness a voice asked Arlene, who was feeling anxious about my health, ‘Can I help you?’

The dim shape of a young man appeared out of the gloom. We had no idea if he really could help, but anyone assisting us was welcome.

The young man looked under the car. ‘I could get a better idea if I drove it around to where there’s some light,’ he said. His voice was gentle. Polite.

Arlene was battling a tug- of-war – pictures of dangerous strangers versus her desperation to get the car fixed. She leant over towards me in the car. ‘Do we let him?’

I needed to get home. To get out of this nightmare. I sent a silent plea to God, then, ‘Yes, let him.’

‘I’ll drive,’ Arlene said. ‘Hop in the back if you’re willing to help us.’ He directed us to a strong street light, then wriggled under the car.

Bangs and thumps. Arlene and I exchanged glances, hoping everything was all right. Hoping he was God’s provision and not a criminal. We had done a rash thing, after all.

‘Yes, it’s what I thought,’ he told us cheerfully. ‘I’ve banged the drip tray into place so you can drive it home safely but you’ll have to take it to your garage tomorrow.’

Phew!

As we thanked him, we asked him what he did.

‘I’m a mechanic. I like helping people but lots of people don’t trust a stranger to help them.’ There was something about him. A safe, familiar feeling.

‘You don’t happen to be a Christian?’

‘Yes, I am.’

So we thanked our would-you-believe Christian Mechanic and started the car to drive home. There was no more thumping.

As we resumed our trip down to the highway, we thanked God who had sent us one of His ‘kids’ who ‘just happened’ to be a mechanic. We even wondered if perhaps he was an angel. Whichever way, God had sent the help we needed.

I was glad to be almost home where I’d have time to myself to get my head around Suzanne’s situation. Heaven sounds good but she’ll leave a big gap in my earthly life.

The whole drama, miraculous provision and all, was infused for me with that shocked, surreal quality. Life had slipped out of control. Well, out of its normal routine.

 Suzanne was dying and I’d miss her badly – but amid the trauma, God had intervened and rescued us.