While driving home from my mother's house today (in a foot or so of snow) our van got stuck going up a hill. Really stuck. Our rear tires were on the precipice of a ditch. Our front tires were stuck on ice-covered snow. Stuck in the ice and snow with two very tired little girls and a fussy baby.
We were beginning to feel a bit of panic when something made me look up. Just up the hill on the main road was a gorgeous sight: flashing orange lights. I hollered to Jeremy--who was valiantly trying to shove twigs under our tires--to run and see if it was a tow truck. Those of you who know Jeremy would have been amazed. The man practically floated over the snow and ice with such speed and grace I never imagined he possessed.
It was an older man driving a wrecker truck. He was lost. Jeremy explained our situation and for $25 and directions to where he needed to go, he extricated us from our perilous perch and pulled us up to the safety of the plowed main road.
Amazingly, during all of this fracas and the subsequent drive home, all three children nodded off. Their little faces so sweet and happy with the memories of snow, family, and Christmas fun.
By the time we got home, I couldn't help but marvel at our experience. A friend has since told me that tow trucks usually charge $100-$200 to do what he did. And I couldn't help but to thank God for helping us--being a woman, my mind had played through every possible dire outcome. How lucky we were that after mere minutes of being stuck, we were rescued.
In reflection, I can't help but ponder: were we made stuck to help the lost driver or was he made lost to help us? Or was it just a coincidence? It definitely felt like divine intervention to me.
