A few days before we left Moraga (our delightful semi-rural San Francisco East Bay town), a neighbor caught sight of my 2009 Honda Civic and joked, “You’re not taking that thing, are you?” I would not be driving it south, Dave would tow it behind the U-Haul, but you make do with what you have, so…
…I giggled when I walked out to the street where we now park my car to find a CA$H FOR CARS: WE BUY ALL CAR$ business card tucked into the driver’s side window. Maybe cards had been tucked into all the car windows lining the street; maybe mine was “special.”
Last week I couldn’t join Dave at church for his first service as Co-Lead Pastor at San Clemente Presbyterian Church because I’d been too enthusiastic about helping move in our new couch the day before. I watched the service on my phone, laid out flat in bed.
As I drove to church today for the early service, I looked forward to being in church alongside him.
[I also noticed, again, how fast SoCal moves. Most days in Moraga, if I drove at all, I drove the speed limit: 35mph. I haven’t seen a speed limit that low in SoCal beyond school zones. One small point of culture shock: everyone drives fast!]
As I drove home, I anticipated some time to myself: to write, to read, to whip up a nice lunch Dave and I could enjoy together when he finished up with the second service.
About halfway into the drive, I began to hear a flutter near the side mirror. I turned off the AC. I turned it back on. I looked around, because maybe it was the football flags mounted to both doors of the huge Dodge Ram truck coming up on my left. I wondered if it might be some remaining pine needles from the many, many pine needles the windshield wipers had flung aside earlier. I resolved to check later.
And then I heard a THUNK. More than that, I felt a THUNK, and I felt the car dragging something. In the middle of six lanes of traffic, I’m not sure how I safely got to the shoulder. I know I signaled and looked over my right shoulder, but I actually don’t remember those few panicked seconds.
Dave was already into the next service but I called him anyway, trying unsuccessfully to hold back sobs. He answered yet couldn’t help; he had a service to lead and a sermon to preach. He offered to send someone, but it made no sense to add another car to the freeway shoulder while semis roared past. He asked if I thought the car was driveable, though I was sure it wasn’t and I didn’t want to try.
I called AAA—this is exactly why we pay for AAA—and then I collided with AAA’s phone and online bots, neither of which were helpful, both of which continued to leave me stranded on the freeway.
As I furiously typed too much information into a tiny form without the aid of my reading glasses, I noticed a shadow. A tow truck had pulled up behind me, and a man wearing a yellow CHP-embroidered safety vest crouched at my passenger’s side window. I rolled it down.
“I just wanted to check if you’re okay…?” he ventured.
“No,” I choked, “I’m not okay! We just moved to town, my car broke down, I’m fighting with AAA, and I don’t know what else to do!”
He handed me a pamphlet as he offered to tow my car to the Park & Ride at the next exit. “We don’t charge for our services,” he offered.
Later, when my heart rate had returned to its regular rhythm, I could read:
ORANGE COUNTY FREEWAY SERVICE PATROL
Your friend on the freeways
Inside, it informed me that the Freeway Service Patrol is available during peak traffic hours, with limited off-peak weekend hours. It covers approximately 300 miles of Orange County freeways (no service on toll roads) as managed by the Orange County Transportation Authority and funded by Caltrans.
Surely a Sunday at 10:30am had to be “limited off-peak weekend hours,” yet here he was, this soft-spoken stranger who proceeded to hook up my car to the tow truck, then stood at the rear to make sure I could exit safely. He held open the back door of his truck for me to jump up while he continued maneuvering my car into proper tow mode.
I texted Dave a picture of the tow truck: “Not AAA, a freeway angel.”
My angel came back a few minutes later. “Did you hit something, do you know?” He held large, black, mangled pieces of something unrecognizable in his two hands. “I believe this is your car’s intake valve that brings air into the engine.” He commented that the pieces were still melting from the road friction as he held them.
All I could tell him was what I’ve told you: the car seemed to be driving fine, then I heard a little flutter, and then, thunk. But wow, those pieces of car look substantial!
When the hook-up was complete and he hopped into the driver’s seat, I asked his name. “Angel,” he replied.
I can only hope the laugh-snort that burst from my being sounded friendly. “Is it really? Angel?” He nodded.
“I just texted my husband that a freeway angel had come to my rescue!” Angel held his own confidence.
We pulled into a Park & Ride maybe a half-mile from where I’d pulled over on the freeway. I asked Angel how long he’d been doing this work. Since April, so only a few months.
“You are a brave human. Don’t you get scared?”
He admitted that he felt scared during his first day. “I just have to be cautious,” he explained. But let me tell you, I was watching. Angel had to stand on the white line that marked the road’s edge. Some of those semis, 18-wheelers, drive right up on that edge. If Angel had been standing there at just the wrong moment…I shudder.
I gave Angel a tip before we said goodbye. He didn’t want to take it and I put it in his hand anyway. It wasn’t much, though to me, this morning, it wasn’t enough. Angel was my everything, my angel.
I sat in my broken car in the Park & Ride until church was over and Dave picked me up. We have until tomorrow morning to move the car (hoping AAA will be more helpful in a non-emergency event), and then I’m not sure how the story ends.
Except with gratitude, so much gratitude.
Flashback: When I was in labor with Q21, five weeks early, a retired pastor from our church came to the hospital to pray with me. He read Psalm 91, and verse 11 stood out to me:
“God will put his angels in charge of you to protect you wherever you go.”
For the remaining hours of labor, I prayed that verse over and over on repeat.
C26’s birth had been dramatic, with an emergency C-section after 23.5 hours of labor. Q21’s labor was dramatic because he came so early. I prayed God’s protection over our family as they rushed me into surgery with C, during the unexpected hours of Q’s early delivery, for years, and to this day.
From the day of his arrival and all throughout his childhood, we prayed Psalm 91:11 with Q every night during our bedtime ritual. Maybe you’ve heard our family’s story of how God provided angels to protect Q when he got lost in Yosemite National Park. That experience, and that story told over time by all of us, has provided an anchor.
Today, I lived a new story to add to our gratitude-anchor: I will forever be grateful for my freeway Angel.
