That’s Not How Bob Does It

Being a merciful person is right, but not always easy.

One summer afternoon in the middle of a Phoenix traffic jam, I noticed a elderly woman with a flat tire on the side of the freeway.  After fighting the, “She must have Triple A roadside service,” or, “Surely her husband, son, or grandson is coming to help her,” type of thoughts, I saw her open her trunk and begin to make efforts to pull stuff out.  My next thought was, “Even if I wanted to help her,  I’m stuck in the middle lane.”  No sooner than having thought that, both lanes to my right opened up.  “Alright!  I can take a hint,” I shouted at the roof of my car as I pulled over to the side of the road.

“May I help you?” I asked.  “That would be so sweet,” the little lady responded.  I began to dig the spare tire out, but she had no jack, and no lug wrench.  Fortunately, mine worked.  As I begin to place the jack under her car, she said, “No. That’s not where that goes.”  I paused for a minute.  She continued,

“That’s not how Bob does it!” 

“How does Bob do it? I patiently asked.  “I don’t know, but I know it’s not like that!” she snapped.  Did I mention it was 110 degrees? 

For the next 2 seconds, which seemed an eternity, I fought the urge to put my wrench and jack back in my trunk, and wish this dear woman adieu.  But something deep down inside me rose up that actually gave me pity for this woman and her situation.  I proceeded to change her tire, with her sideline directions coming over my shoulder the whole time. 

“Yes ma’am. No ma’am. Yes ma’am,” is all I said.

As I finished getting her flat tire in her trunk, I saw how dirty my arms and hands were, I also saw her digging in her pocketbook, then extending to me some cash.  “No, that’s okay ma’am, I don’t need any money.”  I shut the trunk, begin to say goodbye, when she said, “Thank you. Thank you so much young man.”  I told her it was no problem, and that I did it unto the Lord.  Then she said something that still amazes me,

“Things have been tough since Bob died.”

As it turns out, Bob was her husband of 48 years and had just passed away a few months ago. For another few moments she told me how he had always taken care of the car, and she never had to worry about anything mechanically.  Through the din of the traffic I listened.  Then I reached out my hand and asked if I could pray with her. She thanked me.

When I got in my car, I didn’t yell at the roof this time, but hung my head and said, “Forgive me God.  And thank you for using me”