The EFM Feature

Thank you for all your e-mails of concern after Charles mentioned my whole family had gotten sick.
As Charles noted, I did finally ask for help. My friend Jana ran to the store for liquids, my friend Travis went to the drugstore and took care of some money issues, my friends Terry and Jeff accompanied Travis to a nearby town to pick up some things I’d bought off Craig’s List, and my Pastor and his wife Joyce babysat my dog Goggo for the night.
We are on the mend, and spent all day resting. Tonight, we wanted to escape the confines of our four walls, to lift our spirits, and we went to town.
At a restaurant, however, things started to go wrong. I couldn’t put my car in reverse. After much effort, I finally allowed the car to roll slightly back on the incline, and make a wide turn out of the parking lot.
But at the stop light things really got interesting. I was about to take off when the light turned green, when the entire gear shift came out. The whole thing. Like, I was holding the knob up in the air, about a foot from where it was supposed to be, important parts dangling like party streamers.
Acting on impulse, and in the dark, I shoved the metal stick back into the shaft under the knob. Unfortunately, I could only drive in third. This meant if I ever had to come to a complete stop, then I had to gun it, watch the RPMs go up, and pray.
Why, you might ask, do I — a mother of two — even have a stick shift? Because my lovely husband has two aspects of life about which he will not make concession: he always drives a stick shift and (ever since he made partner at his old law firm) he always buys Viva papertowels.
So there I rolled down the street, hoping against hope that I wouldn’t have to come to a complete stop. This is complicated by the fact that I was about to run out of gas, a chance I was willing to take in my current situation.
Then, I came upon a wreck and had to detour around a mall — meaning I had to start/stop/start/stop. So I was turning left and the car died right in the middle of the road.
Literally, the kids were curled up in their car seats praying. We made it home, finally, by not slowing down for hard right turns and trying to figure out a way to go down our long driveway and turn the car around so I wouldn’t have to reverse.
But that’s why it’s good to be me. There are so many people at church who have offered to help me should a problem arise that I had not fully exhausted my list of do-gooders throughout the recent illness.
So I called a man named Jeff on the phone, he sees it’s me and he answered, “Jeff’s Auto Service – you have a car problem, I’ll fix it.”
Keep in mind, I’ve never had him fix my car, so his greeting shocked me a bit anyway. (He has changed my lightbulbs, fixed my garage door, and put knobs on my kitchen drawers.) I tell him my ordeal, he hands the phone to his wife. As she is telling me about the church’s best mechanic, Jeff drives over to my house. For twenty or so minutes, he works on the car, then he drives it to Mount Pleasant and fills it up with gas.
Then, as if this weren’t heroic enough, he stays at my house with the sleeping kids, while I drive the car around the block to make sure I felt comfortable with the way it handled.
What a blessing to be in a community of believers like Zion Presbyterian Church. When David finally gets home, I’m sure a few people will breathe a large sigh of relief and be thankful I’ll no longer be calling them for everything.
But in the meantime, I’m so very thankful.


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