A STRANGE ENCOUNTER

After visiting Rowan Oak, the home of the late writer William Faulkner, then strolling around the courthouse square in Oxford Mississippi, I decided to stay in Oxford for the night and get an early start in the morning for home. It had been a long day. I had attended a conference that morning in Jackson and was a little tired.

Driving in dense fog on Interstate 55 towards Jackson the next morning, I noticed the gas tank was a little low, and it would be three hours before I would be in Jackson, then on to Interstate 20 towards Louisiana and Texas. Why hadn't I filled up Saturday while in Oxford?

When I saw an Exxon sign, I turned onto the exit. Pulling into the station, I noticed an Afro-American lady of about 30 walking back and forth near the door entrance. I got out of my Cambry, looked at the pump prices--$3.29 for regular. Wow. Then I heard a barely audible lady's voice.

"Sir, can you help me?"

I turned around and saw this old beat-up car next to the station. The Afro-American lady sat there with the window rolled down. I hoped she was not an alcoholic or drug addict looking for a handout. Thinking about the need to be careful, I walked slowly towards the car.

"Where you going? I asked, looking into the car. Clothes and other odds and ends were piled up to the windows in the back seat. She didn't look like a drug-addict.

She said, "I am going to Jackson. I am coming from Chicago, and ohh...it's been rough trip. My baby's in the back."

Hearing the anxiety in her voice, I looked quickly into the back seat. A baby lay there in the clothes. Probably everything she owned was in that car. Compassion filled my heart, and I felt an unction to give her something. I pulled out a ten dollar bill and gave it to her."

Then I said, "No, give it back."

She looked puzzled.

"I want to give you a twenty instead."

"Oh...bless you," she cried.

"No problem."

I walked back to my car and began filling up. I heard her car as she parked near a pump to get a little gasoline. Bad muffler. I went into the station.

While getting coffee, I thought, "She is going to need more. It's over a hundred miles to Jackson." I paid for my coffee. The clerk said, "Bless you." She must have known of the woman's plight.

The Afro-American woman was in the store getting a little food for her and the baby. I gave her another twenty and walked out.

Driving back onto Interstate 55, I shed a tear as I prayed for the women on her journey to Jackson and her journey in life. I wandered what awaited her there. Then I shed another tear as I thanked my Heavenly Father for the many blessings He has given to me.

Two strangers had told me, "Bless you." I felt in my spirit that another stranger would say those same words, and it would be a confirmation from the Lord that this woman was in need.

At the very next station I stopped at, as I paid for my coffee, the clerk looked at me and said, "Bless you." He knew nothing of the strange encounter, nor of the women's plight.


A Prayer: Father, forgive me when I whine, and for being selfish. Teach me to be sensitive to the needs of others, and help me to live to bless. In Jesus' Name, Amen.