A few years ago my mother was asked by a friend to accompany her on a trip. This friend had a recent history of many problems, heartaches and troubles and was going to move in with her son in Florida. She would be traveling by bus and did not feel she could, nor wanted to travel the long journey alone. My mother was her true, compassionate friend and cheerfully agreed to go.

 

Because of the situation, my mother planned to just make a round trip, accompanying her friend to her destination, then immediately returning home.

 

She traveled light, with only a large tote bag for the few necessities she would need on the bus. It was summertime. Good weather. The trip south went well and both enjoyed the scenery and the peaceful journey. In Tennessee they had to switch buses--not simply a bus switch, but a bus lines switch, which required them to walk just a city block from one bus station to the other.

 

After delivering her friend to her awaiting son, my mother boarded the next bus north. She looked forward to another pleasant trip enjoying the passing countryside. Only the one bus switch was on the itinerary. She was able to take a good restful nap and entertain a few small children so their mother could do the same.

But as the bus drew closer to Tennessee, the sky began to darken. Storm clouds were brewing. Dark storm clouds. She began to fret a little about the timing of the storm. She made a very specific prayer request, asking the Lord to hold off the storm until after she had transferred to the next bus and was headed home. The bus pulled into the station as the wind kicked up and the clouds broke loose. It was a torrential downpour complete with lighting and loud thunder. My mother was wearing capri pants and sandal-type shoes. She had no umbrella, only a light-weight sweater and one of those thin, folded plastic bonnets that women keep in their purses with which to cover their hair if caught in the rain.

She had one hour until she needed to be on the next bus at the other bus station a block away. So she waited by the door, hoping for a break in the rain. But this was a real cloud-burst--it poured incessantly. Water was several inches deep in the street and the storm drains couldn't keep up. The rain was relentless.

Finally there was no time left and she knew she would have to make a dash for it. So she donned her little folded plastic hair cover, buttoned up her thin sweater, pulled her tote bag close and dashed out the door. She no sooner started to run when she saw another lady, also without an umbrella, attempting to do the same. My mother had noticed her in the bus station, alone. Now here she was trying to make the same sprint to the other bus station, carrying too many bags for one person.

My mother immediately went to her aid, taking two of the larger bags from her. Together they hopped, skipped and jumped over and around the puddles, in a futile attempt to keep dry their shoes and feet. When at last they entered the next bus terminal, they pushed through the doors and found an unoccupied bench. As my mother (then in her late 50's) leaned over to set down the bags, it was then she noticed that they were grocery sacks--the plain brown paper kind. And they were each filled to the top with canned food. 

For a moment she wondered how much those bags must have weighed and how she could have run a full city block carrying two of them without noticing. But she had only a few minutes left before boarding and her mind was racing to think about how or if she would be able to dry off a little first. She rushed into the restroom, untied and removed the little thin plastic hair cover. As she pulled the ends to snap it shut, water sprayed everywhere. She dropped it on the counter and quickly removed her sweater, thinking to try to wring it out. But when she got it off, it was dry, bone dry, She felt her slacks. They were dry. She kicked off her shoes. They were perfectly dry also.

The bus was pulling into the station in Cincinnati by the time my mother started to grasp what had happened to her on that dark stormy sprint in Tennessee. She had somehow -- miraculously -- been strengthened, protected, covered, as she cast aside her own need to care for the need of another. I know that the God and Father of our Lord Jesus the Christ gave my mother a very special blessing that night, a memory to hold on to, to always remind her that He is and that He cares and that He is able to do exceedingly abundantly above anything we could ask or think when we willingly lay down our lives and trust Him.

Send this link a friend!