The Miracle Car

There are two things in life that make me feel like I can handle what comes my way—a working car and a cell phone.

So, when an elderly couple crashed into my car on a busy highway a few weeks ago, I sat on the side of the road waiting for police, thankful no one was hurt, yet wondering why this happened and what I was going to do.

On my way to pick up a rental car, I shed some tears thinking about events connected to my white car. I’ve driven it to the ground for the past almost six years, always remembering the miracle this car has been.

That day my ex-husband had gotten a red jacked-up truck and I knew, somehow, that it was to impress other girls, not me.

That day he packed his bags.

Those days I lived ten minutes from him and his 16 year old girlfriend, and would see them on the road together in the big truck as I passed them in the mini van that had so many problems the kids were shivering in the cold and transmission fluid leaked constantly onto the ground.

But also, the day I waited at a church for therapy (trust me, I needed lots and lots) and ran into someone who had hoped to meet someday. They ended up being like parents and took me for a day of car shopping. I’ll always remember driving home in my beautiful, warm, white car, paid for in full from my air bnb venture.

I no longer felt degraded as I’d pull up to his place to pick up the kids. The white car was a reminder that God was loving me, watching out for me, and present in my life—helping me pull things off when I’d ever only been a stay at home mom with little experience in the business world.

When we moved to the east coast, my brothers loaded that white car into a trailer and drove it across the country for me. The change from Pacific northwest culture to southern living was drastic but I had this constant reminder that God was with me everywhere I went.

But after some years, paint was peeling on the hood, the seat wouldn’t come forward to prop up my back, and the miles were adding up. Still, I refused to sell it or fix it and I kept driving this steady friend of a car until that sudden crash into the right side of the car warranted insurance to count it a total loss.

I fought their diagnosis but got nowhere, and pulled up to the rental car hoping my eyes didn’t show tears—but who cares if they did? The gentleman helping me was very kind and in the end as he handed me keys to a dazzling 2022 Toyota, he asked if I was an author. I told him he must be thinking of Lauren Daigle, the music artist.

“No,” he said, “My wife read your book and it changed our lives. When I saw your name come in today I looked you up to see if it was the same person.”

I stood there, hot, dirty, stressed, and all the way across the country from where the book had been written. And you can’t keep sunglasses over crying eyes in an office no matter how much you want to.

“Keep doing good,” he told me over and over. And I spoke it out gently, “Say hi to your wife for me.” We smiled in that raw moment of humanity, each aware that God was up to something.

I drove away knowing that the same God who helped me purchase my white car six years ago was still with me, still knew me in the fiber of my being, and still moved on my behalf.

The book that blessed his wife was birthed out of pain that was causing suicidal thoughts, many years prior. But once I started writing, I couldn’t stop—and in a smothered world, I found an opening for my voice. I remember my fingers flying across the keyboard of my $25 yard sale laptop as if the Holy Spirit Himself was making them move.

Words would form in my head as the kids played around me and I’d grab that laptop, type fast for thirty minutes, put it aside, and make dinner. It was only later that the same God who wrote through me made sure it turned into a book.

This morning a tow truck pulled into my driveway, loaded up my miracle car, and drove away while I walked into the house with tears in a peaceful sort of way.

Tears aren’t always sad. Sometimes they’re loaded with remembering things you’ve stuffed back for years. Sometimes they remind you to say good-bye to memories. Sometimes they let you know it’s okay to feel again, even after six years—because get this—there is no timeline for grief.

Yet, there is no space in time for bitterness or unforgiveness. If you refuse bitterness, God will help you by His Holy Spirit to sort out the grief over a span of time that looks differently for everyone. After awhile, you’ll notice that your tears are not always sorrow, but a soft realization of the tender mercies of God over your life.

He knows you intimately. He arranges things. And I rather think he allowed an elderly gentleman to crash into my car to help me say goodbye to it while I could still get some financial benefit from it.

Otherwise, I’d have called it my widow’s oil and driven it til it dropped. God knew I needed a car without things to repair, He knew I needed encouragement from the agent, and He knew I needed to get rid of my car and drive a better one.

He also knew my sister and brother in law needed to sell their car before heading back to Greece in a few weeks, and their car was a perfect fit for my little family.

Then, he knew a few girls would drive my car from Pennsylvania to North Carolina, visit friends, and all I’d have to do was pick it up 40 minutes from home while they flew back home.

Early Sunday morning, 6:30 am, my daughter dropped me off in the departure lane at the airport before they pulled up, then hopped out while I hopped in and drove away in my “new” car with a bit of the same feeling I’d had six years earlier when I bought the white car.

He does things.

He arranges things.

According to His will, in His time, and in His way.

And with Him, for Him, and by Him we are more than conquerors because all things work for good to those who love Him.

See that—ALL THINGS—because He is over all and cannot be undone.

May you know Grace in your very bones and marrow,

Sara