What would you have done?

It was a dark and muggy night. Being missionaries, we were making one of those epic drives through a very rural part of the USA on a trip to visit family, friends and supporters, when our Chevy van began making noises. Not “Gee, I wonder what that is?” noises. These were, “Omigolly this thing’s gonna explode!” noises.

I think my wife and kids woke up – only because I cannot imagine they could have slept through it. As much as I love them, I was completely focused on what needed to be done, sizing up the situation. The van sounded really scary, but we were almost to an off-ramp.

What would you have done?

With the whole van roaring and rattling like concrete blocks in a three-ton blender, with warning lights glowing and gauges accelerating toward red zones, I wrestled the wheel as I steered down the ramp, blew through the stop sign (which is completely against my principles … no, really!) and rumbled into the first parking lot I saw.

Just as I pulled into a space the noise shifted to a new paradigm. The shaking stopped with a sharp clang that reverberated, a clang that was to clangity-clang-clang what Don Imus is to Mr. Rogers. I thought it prudent to turn the engine off. Then …

What would you have done?

I wanted to melt, to cry, to scream, but I couldn’t yet. I jumped out, ran to the front of the van and popped the hood. To my great relief, I saw no fire.

A deep breath probably should not have been my reaction. I gagged on the odor coming from under the hood, and what I saw wasn’t much better than what I smelled. Front and center were the remains of the air conditioning compressor, the pulley ripped off the front. The serpentine belt that went on that pulley – which runs the alternator and water pump and power steering – was shredded and melted, bits and pieces lying on the ground and dangling from the hood.

Turning away I caught my breath, in more ways than one. I was in a fast-food restaurant’s parking lot. A couple more fast-food places were nearby, as were a few motels. And just up the road was a Chevy dealership. God had taken care of us.

It was late enough that the restaurant where we had parked was closed. So was the Chevy dealership. Lights were on at a hotel a half-block away, so I set off in that direction. As I did, I wondered how I was going to pay for a hotel stay, let alone for repairing the van. We were going on faith to make this trip.

Oh, sorry. “Going on faith” is missionary jargon for, “We were broke but hoping folks would give enough so we’d be able to pay for the trip and maybe have some left over for ministry.”

And then I noticed the church on the hill.

I stopped and looked at the church. I could see it pretty well. But I saw no cars in the parking lot, and it appeared that only security lights were on.

What would you have done?

I considered going up to the church and looking around, then decided I’d just try to get a hotel room with a credit card. But they were full. They were kind enough to call all the other hotels in town for me, but they were all full as well. I thanked them and walked back to the van, where we all tried in vain to sleep.

It felt like days before morning came. We were tired, hot and stinky. I had to get the van in to be repaired, and we needed a place to clean up and sleep, not necessarily in that order. As I waited for businesses to open, I noticed a few cars pull up to the church. People were there.

I know what you’re thinking. Why not just go to the church, explain the situation and ask for help?

Put yourself for a moment not in my shoes, but in their shoes.

A bedraggled, stinky stranger walks up to you, tells you this story and asks for help.

What would you have done?

Wouldn’t you like to be able to say you’d put us up and feed us and help with the cost of the repairs? Can you really say that? I know I couldn’t.

And I know this sounds cynical and pessimistic, but I thought that telling them I’m a missionary would make it less likely that they would help me.

But you know what? That’s not really the point.

Yes, I missed an opportunity to see God at work and let others see Him at work and glorify His name – but I’m not sure that’s the point either.

Yes, you’re right, I was afraid of rejection and let my own pride get in the way – but is that really the point?

I’m thinking the real issue is that I allowed my agenda – getting back on the road – to get in the way of whatever it was that God was trying to do, regardless of whether that meant spending two days or two weeks or (gasp!) longer in that little town.

I had things to do … but what is that compared to what God wants to do?

What would you have done?