Buses, Batteries, and a Nap

Photo by Valentyn Chernetskyi on Unsplash

The sputtering start should have incited action earlier. Alas, I waited until the battery sputtered no more.

My car was dead, parked next to Lincoln Park’s Saturday morning Farmer’s Market.

What to do, what to do?

First, a bus ride and a transfer home, for a nap. It had been a long week and a nap was needed, after all.

Next? A phone call to the oldest of we three sisters.

She dropped solid advice and I heeded her words.

Three bus rides back across town. $100 later and I had a battery-charger under arm.

One last bus ride to my dead car’s parking spot.

Then, the moment of truth.

Lies, lies, lies instead. The battery charger did not charge my battery.

FaceTimed sister again. Hundreds of miles away, she asked questions through cyberspace in hopes of helping, “Are you sure you have the charger connected correctly? Are you sure you don’t have triple A?”

“I am not sure the charger is connected right,” I looked at the red and black ends of the charger and shrugged. “And, I don’t have triple A.”

“Are you moving?” a voice called out from a passing minivan, hoping to get my parking space and not realizing my open-hooded car was dead, dead, dead.

“Nope,” I smiled, looking over apologetically. “Wait! It’s a triple A guy!” I exclaimed exuberantly to my sister as I read “AAA” on the side of the minivan. I called out quickly to the driver, “Can you help?”

He helped. Sometimes, help is on the way, meandering through traffic, just looking for a parking spot. Because, ultimately, it is He who is our help.

“for you have been my help, and in the shadow of your wings I will sing for joy. My soul clings to you; your right hand upholds me.” Psalm 63:7-8