For the Love of Safety Wire . . .

Sparkling, shining, dazzling – rays of sun joyously bounced and danced on them. The keys glistened in the afternoon light. Instead of reflecting on the seat of my car however, I was wishing they were doing so in my hand. For, you see, the slightly opened window in the blue driver’s side door of my car was creating a locked and teasingly impenetrable barrier between me and the toothed objects which I so dearly needed at that moment.

The day had begun a little chaotic. I had awoken later than I should have – sleeping through alarms is not a normal habit of mine, nor do I intend to make it one. I then had to rush to get done in the morning what I needed to before heading to work. Work went alright, except we had quite the unexpected lunch rush for a Monday. That evening, I had a three hour long substitute teacher conference to attend. When I finally left work, I realized that if I wanted anything to eat before I had to be at my conference, I would have to stop somewhere along the way and demand that the employees make me a sandwich faster than the speed of light . . . ok, maybe that’s a bit extreme, but now you understand how little time I had before I had to be checked in, papers in my hand and nametag on my chest.

Quickly, I chose Panera as my victim and bolted my way there in my trusty blue Lumina. I pulled the keys out of the ignition and set them on the seat to search through my purse for my debit card. Unwise decision. My mind was focused on getting food and getting back in my car in the quickest manner possible.  I opened the door, naturally locked my car, and literally ran myself to that restaurant. I had just finished ordering and was filling up a cup of water when it occurred to me that my keys were nowhere near me. My heart picked up pace a little bit. My eyes scoured each counter to which I had been – no luck. As if it were on a trampoline, my heart was now leaping into my throat and then sinking into my stomach with each fast-paced rhythmic beat. The question loomed ominously in my head like a dark storm cloud, but I already knew the answer. As I walked to my car, my strides lengthened, my gait quickened, my stomach twisted.

There, on my seat, lay my keys where I had forgotten them in my rush, peacefully oblivious to the trouble they were now causing me. I frantically ran around my car, trying each door, looking like a crazed idiot while doing so, I’m sure. Then I had a bright idea – my window was rolled down a bit, so why not try and pull it down farther to stick my hand in and attempt to unlock my doors?! Perfect! Or, maybe not so perfect . . . all that came of that was a thick smattering of fingerprints at the top of my window, each mark mocking my fruitless efforts. I then got on the phone with my father. After telling him the whole story, he started making suggestions, suggestions which were not helpful because my AAA card was at my apartment and my apartment keys were on the now imprisoned lanyard. He finally said, in the disheartened tone only a father can have, “Ash, I really can’t do anything to help you at all, short of getting in the car and driving all the way down there (a nine hour drive that really would be of no use to me at all).”

And then, HE walked up. I don’t know his name. I don’t know where he came from. I don’t know why he walked over. What I DO know is that this was the most overjoyed I had ever been that someone had safety wire in their truck! When he came back with the wire, he said he was a mechanic and did this all the time for people. He expertly made a hook on the end of the wire, carefully and gently worked at fishing for my keys in the blue sea of my car, and then slowly pulled them out through my cracked window. I couldn’t have been more ecstatic if he had pulled out a clump of hundred dollar bills. I literally did a couple of embarrassing hops, clapped my hands together, and thanked him over and over. I eagerly offered to pay him but he, of course, did not accept – either he was just a good-hearted man or he thought I was a bit crazy and wanted to leave as soon as possible. I went to unlock my car and looked back up to see there was no one in sight. Maybe he was a fast walker. Or maybe he didn’t need to WALK away. Either way, I know that God knew the trouble I’d get myself into and was already finding a solution to a problem I did not imagine I would have.

I was only ten minutes late to my conference. It ended up not being a big deal anyway - others showed up at even later times than I. Later, I started to think about this situation. I called my dad almost instantly when I couldn’t fix the problem on my own. It was an automatic response, a reflex, if you will – I didn’t even have to think twice about whose number I would dial. My heart and head know that Daddy can fix almost everything. But logically, Daddy can’t fix ALL things – he is still merely a human, even if a child’s mind sees him as unstoppable. When my dad said he could do nothing for me, my heart sank and my mind began to whirl. Even though I am an independent capable twenty-three year old woman, when dad says he can’t do anything to help, even though I know he wants to with everything in him, the world can seem as though it’s liable to crash at any given moment, if just for a split-second before I get my wits about me again.

When we have a problem, an addiction, a disaster, a conundrum, we always try to fix things on our own. We use every idea in our brain, every possible resource at our own disposal, anything we can think of without asking for help – but often times, our solutions are not the best path we could take. Then, when we’ve tried everything in our power, that is when we remember we have a Father who will never say he cannot do anything to help us. It is not always an automatic response to call our heavenly Father. Even so, He is always at the ready, waiting to answer our cry, often times before we even think to utter a word. He’s always got our back, no matter what sort of trouble we get ourselves into. His eye is on the sparrow, and I know he watches me . . .