I’ve learned that God has a wicked sense of humor.
Not wicked as in evil. Wicked as in extreme, and really, really cool. Unless you’re on the receiving end . . .
I’ve also learned to be careful about what I pray for, because often, that’s exactly when God likes to exhibit His extreme comedy skills and answer my prayers.
I pray a lot. It’s not always a down-on-your-knees tears-streaking-my-mascara kind of prayer. Most often, it’s just conversation. Some people talk to themselves, and that’s great. But I’ve found God to be a much better conversationalist than I am. Several times recently, I’ve mentioned to God in passing that I would like more time to read. Not study. Not prepare for anything. Just read a good ol’ stress-free sweet formula romance with lots of warm-fuzzy moments and a nice, happily-ever-after ending. I love those kinds of books.
Don’t you dare judge me.
I also love Hallmark Christmas movies, but that’s another article for another day.
Yesterday morning, I had a doctor’s appointment. My doctor’s office is about a 45-minute drive from my house. I packed my e-reader, just in case I had to wait a few minutes, but this doctor is pretty good about keeping a schedule, so I didn’t think it would really happen.
Halfway to my appointment, my car develops a mind of its own and swerves out of control. It takes me a half second to figure out what to do as my steering wheel fights against me. I ease onto the brakes and force the car to the shoulder of the road. I open my door and get out, cars whizzing past me, and inspect my wheels. The rear passenger side no longer has a tire. It looks more like a goth hula skirt, all fringed around the hubcap.
I get back in the car and call Superman, who is already at work. “My tire blew out.”
Long pause. Then, “I’ll be there as soon as I can.” Considering he works a half hour in the opposite direction, I figure I might as well get comfortable.
I call the doctor’s office, and miracle of miracles, they have a light schedule and tell me to just come when I can.
So there I am, on the shoulder of the road in the middle of Nowheresville with a fully charged e-reader and an hour to kill.
Thanks, God . . .
I’m all the way to chapter four, where the heroine decides the hero is a good-for-nothing freeloader, but the reader knows he is actually a New York Times bestselling author and wealthy philanthropist, when Superman taps on my window.
I was hoping he’d take longer.
He hands me his keys and tells me to take his car to my appointment. He’ll stay behind and fix my tire, then drive it back to work. Have I told you that man is my hero?
The ordeal wasn’t just a way for God to display His great sense of comedic timing. It also reminded me of His constant care in my life. That blowout could have been so much worse. I could have swerved into oncoming traffic. The car could have flipped. I could be typing this story from a hospital bed, or from the grave.
Even the fact that my doctor was able to still see me is evidence that God has me. He really, really has me.
None of the worst-case-scenarios played out. I ended up with two new back tires, time for indulgent pleasure-reading, and my own sweet hero romance. I’d say all-in-all, it was a pretty good day.
Renae Brumbaugh Green is a bestselling author and award-winning humor columnist. She lives in Stephenville with her handsome, country-boy husband, nearly-perfect children, and far too many animals. Connect with Renae at www.RenaeBrumbaugh.com.