I sat down on a dirty curb on Garson Drive. The tears rolled down my face and sizzled on the scorching July pavement. Across from me- my car- incomplete with only three inflated tires.
No one ever told me how hard it would be on my own. I wasn’t ready for this fork in the road- to come to this place that will completely redefine who I am. Somehow, I wasn’t prepared for how hard it would be to become my own woman- apart from my family and friends.
Here, in this new world, I’m not known as anyone’s daughter, sister, friend, or wife. I am only Abigail. Don’t misunderstand me- my life is full of wonderful, loving, loyal friends and family. But, for the first time ever- there’s a tangible divide between me and everyone else in the world.
So here I am- on a curb across from Passion City Church, where I felt like I was sitting by myself in a crowd of 2,000 people- like the world was moving around me while I stood still. I never knew that “alone” could be so tangible.
Conveniently, everyone I could call in the city of Atlanta was out of town or unavailable. I couldn’t even call my parents because helllloooo it was 11am on Sunday and they pastor a church.
Waiting on the tow truck, I couldn’t hold back the tears any longer. A desperate whisper fell from my lips: God, I feel so alone.
About that time, a man wearing a bright orange safety vest ran across the road with a bottle of water.
“Sorry, I couldn’t help you sooner,” he said.
“Why don’t you get in the shade, and let’s see if we can’t fix this tire.”
Well, at this point the tears are REALLY flowing. If you know me- this shouldn’t surprise you. I cancelled the tow truck, and for forty five minutes, David and another PCC traffic volunteer worked the stuck-on tire from my car.
“I know what this is like- being alone and broke in a new place. You can feel kind of helpless. I know what it’s like when you can’t afford a tow truck,” he said with a laugh.
David and I talked about his 20-something daughters and about life and how sometimes hard is good. Pouring sweat in the Georgia summer sun, David treated me- a total stranger- like a daughter. He showed me the love of Jesus.
That quiet voice welled up in my heart with an answer: You are not alone.
With a parting hug and a cracking voice I said, “Thank you so much. This means so much more to me than changing a tire. Thanks for being Jesus to me today.”
“If we could be Jesus to you today, than we’ve won. Thank YOU for breaking down right where you did.”
Thank God I broke down right where I did. Hard is good, and sometimes it takes a breakdown to hear God’s truth.
I am not alone.