Writings By Phil

January, 1990

Chicago. I wanted nothing more than to distance myself from the “Windy City, ” The images that blew through my mind that raw January afternoon were of gangsters, and thugs spewing violence against the innocent, of a big city filled with uncaring people, where neighborliness was a foreign word. To be stranded there, risking my life and the lives of my wife and three small children was not a pleasant thought.

Our newly purchased used car purred up the interstate, but the smooth sound of the engine did not match the turmoil roaring in my heart. The gas gauge read empty. We had not driven the car enough to know if it was accurate. I prayed! But why should God help me? My predicament was self-inflicted. Gas stations had been in abundance when I had first noticed that we were low on fuel, but I had driven on, hoping for another brand or a cheaper price, or . . . Sometimes folly doesn’t have an excuse!

Fear morphed into panic when I realized that the last few miles had been void of signs intreating me to patronize this station or buy that brand of gas. My heart grew heavy as despair pushed it into the pit of my stomach. Anxiety hurt! Like my heart, the gas needle sank lower until it was below the big E, and it wasn’t long before the motor hesitated for just a second. With mounting dread, I pulled into the outside lane. We were out of gas and in just seconds, we would be stranded in South Chicago!

My heart, like the gloomy winter sky, was cold and grey. There was no sunshine, but a glimmer of hope broke through the clouds of my spirit when another exit came into view.  Maybe God did hear my prayer. Maybe there would be a gas station. Maybe, but could we make it? The answer came an instant later, fast and without a speed limit. The motor, again, floundered and halfway up the ramp the engine, all its life petrol drained from its veins, struggled, and died. I just had time to pull the car onto the shoulder before it stopped rolling.

“Oh God, why here?” I silently moaned. No gas stations begged for my money. The landscape was bleak. Two huge round storage tanks stood next to us, their once white sides cracked and stained with rust. Beside them were piles of oxidized scrap metal. Beyond them, dilapidated buildings spread through squalid lots. Waist high weeds, stripped of their leaves by the ravages of Old Man Winter added to the ugliness that filled the horizon.

What do I do now, Lord?” I asked. God didn’t answer and I felt so alone and utterly deserted. It would have been easier if my wife had broken the silence and said, “I told you so!” I deserved it! She didn’t, but I could see the worried look in her eyes. We could wait in the car and hope help would come. And not muggers! Or I could start walking and look for help.

The car, deprived of the heater, became a freezer. We made sure the children were bundled up against the cold. Then we prayed that God would send help or guide me to where I could buy some gas. I asked the children to pray. Their faith was bigger than mine! I knew God wanted me to come to Him expressing my need with child-like faith, but my trust in my heavenly Father was dead, drowned in a pool of unbelief. Why should He hear me?

The temperature continued to drop inside the vehicle, and no cars were using our exit. I decided I better look for help and started walking. The biting wind swirled around me and blew down my neck. I shoved my hands deeper into my pockets and trudged on. Deep in my heart, despair raised its ugly head, accusing and taunting me, “God doesn’t care! You brought it on yourself, you know!” The ground beneath my feet was trashed with paper, beer cans and broken glass. My mind was littered with doubts, “Does God care about us? Will He protect my family, while I’m gone? Where will I find gas?”

I climbed the ramp to the overpass and stood contemplating my left and right options. Neither was promising. Far to my left sat some apartment buildings. Next to them, a church, it’s steeple a white arrow piercing the gloom. Surly at the church I could find help- it was Sunday! I choose to go left.

But the streets were empty. No cars traveled. No people strolled. I was alone. There was no one to help me, to help us!  In desperation, I reminded God that He had promised to be “a very present help in time of need.” We were His children, and we had a real need. I suggested that I was like the man in the Bible who had prayed, “Lord, I believe, help my unbelief!” Jesus had helped him, so, please, I prayed, ” Jesus, help me now! “

For the first time since I had left my family, a car came up from behind me. It slowed as it drew alongside. I was afraid that it was full of muggers who wanted my money. Instead, it was a lone man. He looked okay! He leaned across the seat and rolled the passenger window down. “Are you the one who belongs to the car back on the ramp?” he asked? I nodded.  ”Get in!” he commanded.  I obeyed. It felt so good to be out of the cold.

The man wore work clothes and had a wool cap pulled over his head. He smoked a cigarette, but so what, he was friendly and his car was warm, unlike that street outside. “I saw your Florida car plates and your wife and kids back there,” he said. “I was worried about you! If you had kept walking the way you were, there’s a good chance you wouldn’t come out alive.  They’re animals in there!”

He did a U-turn and headed the car back over the interstate.  Slowly his words sank in. I was walking into a neighborhood where I could have been robbed and even killed. But here a total stranger sought me out to rescue me from possible demise due to my ignorance of the area. It was as if God said to me, “You’re still my child and I care. “

I began looking at the cigarette-smoking man with new eyes. Could he be an angel? Hadn’t God given His angels charge over His children to keep us in all our ways? The man took me to a gas station and waited while I paid a deposit on a can and bought two gallons of gas.  He then returned me to our car.  My stereotype of Chicagoans had been shattered.  I told him so. He smiled and waved as he drove away.  I was happy, too! Joy had displaced the gloom in my soul.

However, my problems were not over.  I poured most of the gas into the tank, saving some to dump down the carburetor. It was not enough! Through the engine sputtered it did not run long enough to fill the gas line.  We were still stuck in South Chicago!

Again, we prayed and within two minutes a car stopped. For the second time I was on my way back to the gas station. The man not only brought me back to my car but stayed to help me by pouring gas down the carburetor while I cranked the engine. The motor roared to life, and we were soon on our way back to the gas station to return the can and fill the tank. I turned the fan to ‘High,” so we could bask in the warmth of the heater.  My heart was aglow as I thought of what had occurred. Had God sent men, or angels to help us that afternoon?  I couldn’t be dogmatic in either choice, but one thing was for sure; My Heavenly Father cared for me and answered my prayers!

End

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