Rrrrrr, rrrrr, thunk.

Jerry and I had just finished lunch at one of our favorite spots. After hopping into the car, we were ready to get on with our plans for the day. Now the car wouldn’t start. Jerry checked under the hood, and reported back to me that everything looked fine. He had no idea why our car had died.

“We need to call a tow truck,” he said. I remembered we had free towing with our insurance and called our insurance company. I asked for a tow truck and soon received a text notifying me it would be 90 minutes before a truck would come to our rescue.

We sat waiting, ready to face doom and gloom. Frustrated, Jerry said, “This is going to be expensive.” Even though our insurance would pay for the tow truck, Jerry noted the cost for car repair would send us into a poverty-stricken orbit.

I suggested we pray. This is not something I typically suggest when confronted with a situation like this. I usually go to my preferred option of complaining.

But it occurred to me that we had a problem and who better to ask for help than God. After all, God’s endless artistry gives us snowflakes, rainbows, butterflies, sunflowers, the chambered nautilus seashell, and beautiful 18-foot tall giraffes that run 34 mph. God cares enough to give us this much beauty, then God must certainly care that Jerry and I need help. We prayed.

The tow truck finally arrived. Jerry and I climbed into the truck’s cab as it hauled our Buick on a flatbed.

After arriving at the Buick dealership, we met Karen. She took down our information and told us they would take care of our car while we waited in the lobby. She then said, “We have coffee and donuts in there. Well, the donuts are from this morning, so I’m not sure they’re still fresh.”

The lobby featured comfortable black leather chairs and a gigantic flat screen TV tuned to a show on HGTV.

I glanced at the stale donuts, sulking in their box. Jerry said he couldn’t figure out how to work the coffee machine.

With no pleasing refreshments to pass the time, we turned our attention to the TV. Soon I found myself involved in a show about house hunting. The show’s host, a thirty-something man with a flashing white-tooth grin, spoke with an older couple in their late 50s or early 60s. The couple had already toured two homes and hadn’t yet found their dream home. The host told them he had the perfect home. He drove them to a castle with a cream-colored stone exterior, a turret, and a massive wooden front door. The couple trudged up a series of flagstone steps and entered the living area. A natural fieldstone fireplace the size of a 2-car garage along with floor to ceiling fairytale-paned windows and a cathedral ceiling, something like 50-feet high, supplied a stately appeal.

“Oh Honey,” the woman said to her husband. “This is my dream home. I love this house.” She floated across the polished wood floor in a euphoric trance.

“Yes, I know you love those windows,” said the husband.

The woman stopped and turned to her husband, “Let’s just sit here in the living room and take this in.” She seated herself on the elegant, silk embroidered couch. “Honey,” she said, “I can see us having Christmas here.”

The TV host grinned so wide his face disappeared. All you could see are teeth. “I have one more property to show you,” he told the couple.

The host led them to acreage filled with shady trees. “This location is perfect to build your own dream home,” he said. The show cut to commercials and when the show returned, the couple announced their decision of which property they wanted to buy. They would build their dream home on the wooded acreage. The TV show fast forwarded as the words “three months later” blasted on the screen. I expected to see the completed construction of their castle in the woods.

Instead, only the woman of the couple appeared on the screen. She explained with a half-smile, “We have parted ways and I bought this condo for myself.” The camera panned a teeny room with a tiny table and a few wine glasses.

What? They split up? Did she not want to build on the shady property? Did they argue over the castle house where she saw Christmas? What an unhappy ending, I thought.

With the TV show over, Jerry left to check on the progress of our car. When he returned he said our car had a dead cell in the battery. “This is going to cost us. Maybe $300.”

Karen soon flitted into the lobby, explained our car was ready to go, and all I needed to do was sign papers. “It’s covered by our warranty?” Jerry asked, adding, “It’s electrical and that’s not usually covered.”

“You’re covered,” she assured him.

I said to Jerry, “That worked out. We didn’t have to pay a thing.”

“We prayed,” Jerry said, remembering we had help from above.

“We had our happy ending,” I said to Jerry. “But the TV couple didn’t.”

“How do you know, Bronwyn?” Maybe she’s happier in the condo. Maybe she’s happier to be rid of that guy.”

Yes, Jerry, that’s something to consider. But she won’t have Christmas in her dream home. And that’s kind of sad.

βω♥