I met an angel, probably more than one, but this particular one wore heart-shaped sunglasses and stood under five feet tall. For all her small stature, she was a bundle of energy and blessings. I met her in, of all places, a washroom in a rest area off Inner State 10 in northern Texas.
I’d just finished talking to a fellow I’ll call John who was in a “pickle”. He was driving a small car with a larger sticker on the back announcing, “In GOD we trust”. It was large, really large. You couldn’t miss it! I knew that was a saying but once I got talking to John, I knew he meant it.
John approached my van when I pulled in behind him. That’s when he saw my licence plate cover that said I lived for Jesus. It was then he realized I wasn’t the vehicle he was waiting for, but nevertheless, since he was almost at my door, he came to apologize for his hasty approach and started telling me why he thought I was the person he was waiting for, which I was not.
On this long highway that had few towns that were miles apart, he was running on fumes and was grateful for a safe place to pull over. He’d called Triple A to bring gas and was waiting for them to come from 200 miles away. (There was a town 50 miles away, so I didn’t understand why they were coming from so far away.)
As we talked, I learned he was living on faith as he felt called to help reunite wayward fathers with their children through the gospel. Call it a divine appointment – because I don’t believe in coincidence – I had a gallon of gas that I kept for using with my generator. I offered John the gas; he thanked me but said the Triple A gas must be on its way. When our conversation ended, John got back in his car to wait and I went to use the facilities.
That’s where I met my angel. She was enthusiastically cleaning the stalls and naturally we struck up a conversation. I told her about John’s problem, and she insisted I bring her to him. So, I did. I think if I hadn’t, she would have dragged me.
She herded John out of his car and told him the sheriff often brought gas for people stranded; Triple A would cost a fortune; and she had the sheriff’s number for him to call. She also informed him there was a small town 14 miles further up the highway that sold gas. John was still reluctant. He thought his car was so depleted of fuel he wouldn’t make 14 miles even with my gas.
My angel, now our angel, again insisted he call Triple A. She was a force to be reckoned with, highly recommending he cancel what would have been a most expensive fill-up with no guarantee that it was even coming that day. She eventually coaxed him to take me up on the offer of my gas, and finally, at her urging, he complied, saving himself what could have been hundreds of dollars better used to support his self-funded ministry.
Angels pop up everywhere. God placed this one, with the heart-shaped sunglasses, on a lonely interstate. And we, and hopefully others, were blessed that He did.
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