Eyes to See

It’s humbling to have the old geriatric 1994 Villager minivan break down on the way to an appointment…to flip into emergency mode, call a tow truck, and wait for it in the freezing cold until your body feels like crackly peanut brittle ready to be crunched…and then to have the wrecker guy come…and offer (out of the goodness of his heart) to do a quick check before towing you off to never-never-mechanic-land…and for him to figure out the problem and even get the engine to temporarily work so it will run until you can get it into a garage at a more convenient time. 

This car is OLD.  It is no surprise when it breaks down like this.  The unexpected help from that tow guy (who charged a minimal fee and willingly passed up a chance for a real paying job) seems very much like divine mercy in action, at just the right time – as long as I have eyes to see it as such.

It’s humbling to have the hubby’s old senior-citizen body break down…with yucky physical fever plus bloody phlegm and chunks of grossness from his lungs…with coughing and wheezing and aches and sleeplessness…stuff that finally, out of desperation, sends him to the doctor…and there in the presence of compassion (in a clinical white coat) he’s told oh yeah, it’s pneumonia (no surprise), and by the way, you’re on the border of going to the hospital but hey, let’s try this antibiotic and bed rest first. 

This body is OLD.  It is no surprise when it breaks down.  The in-the-nick-of-time, aggressive but let’s-not-jump-right-into-invasive-mode treatment seems very much like divine mercy in action, at just the right time – as long as I have eyes to see it as such.