This week was earmarked for emotional turmoil. It had been announcing itself to me on the calendar.
Wednesday would have been Mike's 55th birthday, and Friday will have been 5 years since my beloved brother Melvin has been gone.
I have been preparing myself, both mentally and emotionally, for this week.
And yet I feel as though my gaze has been diverted from the start.
And not in a subtle way.
In a dead-car-battery way.
In a dead-husband's-car-that-I-know-nothing-of way.
In a stranded-on-a-Sunday-afternoon kind of way.
Except... I wasn't alone. And this, in itself, was a blessing.
My kids were with me, so I knew they were safe. But also? My big sister was there with me, rendering moral support. As was my friend Rae, who thankfully had driven separately and could provide the necessary electricity for my car.
Also? I found the jumper cables.
And we figured out how to open the hood of Rae's 2-week-old car. And we found the battery, and the positive terminal.
But... where was the negative terminal?
Google it, Lynette, you say. But at the time, I didn't think about this.
(Rae, God bless her, was reading the car manual.)
As for me, I went down the path of good old-fashioned "ask a stranger".
And thankfully, I didn't have to try very hard or go very far because there was an older couple sitting on a bench not too far away from where we were (in a parking lot outside a restaurant).
And they didn't hesitate to come over. And he immediately found the negative terminal on Rae's partially obscured car battery.
Then he connected the jumper to her battery, and we walked the few feet over to my car with its already-open hood.
Except where I thought the battery was wasn't a battery. It was a fuse box.
So his wife promptly started talking to her phone after asking me the make and model of my car. "Where is the battery for a Toyota Highlander Hybrid?"
...After which she declared, "It's in the back of the car!"
Huh? Really?
So we all headed back there. And rooted around. And opened little compartments. And lifted the cargo liner and opened more compartments. No battery.
Heh. I was ready to call a towing service.
Then she asked, "What year is this car?"
After I told her, she started talking to her phone again. "Where is the battery for a 2011 Toyota Highlander Hybrid?"
In the meantime, I was heading over to Rae's car to disconnect the jumper cable, thinking I did not want to further waste these people's time. But before I could do that, the woman excitedly exclaimed, "I found it!"
And wouldn't you know? She had found it.
Then began the process of disconnecting the jumper cable from Rae's car so she could move her car closer to the back of my car.
And after that, we were finally able to jump-start my car.
We were all so very thrilled. I hugged the kind lady while her husband disconnected the jumper cables, thanking them both profusely. As did my sister and Rae.
She good-humoredly replied, "Well, I am glad we were able to help you all the way from Omaha, Nebraska!"
And to me, this pronouncement was like a big, flashing neon sign saying, "BLESSING."
That kindness can be delivered to us in this way felt divinely appointed.
Perhaps this seems small and insignificant to some, but it is not to me.
At the time, I was in survival mode. My brain was already clicking away at a contingency plan before I could even allow this kind couple to follow through on helping me:
What is my priority in the next hour?
Answer: To make sure my child is delivered to her music recital on time.
Do I have a solution for that?
Answer: Yes. I can ask Rae.
What is my next priority?
Answer: To start this car or get it to a shop.
Do I have a solution for that?
Answer: Yes. I can call a towing service that can either jump-start my car for me or deliver it to a service station.
Then what?
Answer: I will figure it out.
All these thoughts were running through my brain as this woman persevered in finding my car battery.
Literally, in seconds.
I had reverted to self-sufficiency: How do I solve this problem for myself?
And yet, in retrospect, God had provided an answer. And not only that, He basically called out, "Stop. I see you. I am here for you."
I feel reproached. For my impatience. For thinking I am alone to figure things out by myself.
For my resentment directed at Mike for leaving me with "his car" to deal with.
I am reminded that what is required of me, most times, and especially when I am struggling, is to let God be God.
And I am reminded that I am seen. I am blessed. Every day. In big and small ways.
And yet, I seem to always require reminding.
And it is always in retrospect that I seem to recognize blessing, even as I have become quicker to acknowledge it.
That said, I am getting better at being grateful.
And at recognizing that this is what is required of me this week:
To be grateful that God walks with me in this journey of mine, even as it is sometimes hard and deeply challenging.
To be grateful for the people that have touched my life and my heart, whether they still walk this earth or not. And without regard for whether they have done a little or a lot.
To be grateful for a life that offers me opportunities to be a blessing to others, just as I have been blessed.
Truly, this week is a blessing. Just as the weeks before it have been.
I am grateful for this change in perspective. For the dead-car-battery reminder to divert my eyes from pain and to look, instead, at God's face as I move through this week.
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