A Wagon in God’s Hands

We went as far as the car would take us.  As it started sputtering again, I pulled over to the side of the Interstate, where it promptly died.  I turned off the key and looked at my 14-year-old son.

“Well, let’s get out and stretch our legs a bit, shall we?”

This old Honda wagon had been with us since Jonathan was two.  It had taken us far and wide, and had been good to us.  Unfortunately, I no longer had the funds to be good back to it.  I had pushed this poor thing ‘way past its potential, and we had been riding in God’s grace for the past few years.

The sun would be going down in a couple of hours on this summer Sunday.  At least the weather was good.  We got out, stretched, and ambled a few kinks out of our legs and backs.  I walked off a bit, and looked over at the car.  We had been homeless for a few years, had found lodging with others for a few years, and now were on our way to perhaps a new life.  We both had felt that this was where God wanted us to go.  All the doors were open, and this was the first shut door we’d encountered.

We joined hands and prayed.  “Lord, we really think this is what You want for us.  We’re going by faith, since we don’t have much else to our names.  Just You.  We wouldn’t be headed in this direction if we didn’t think it was Your desire for us.  That car can’t get us there, but You can.”

A few minutes later, we got back into the Honda.  It started up, and we took off.

And that was the beginning of how we got to South Dakota from Michigan.

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