I brought my son, Jon, with me to the studio the other day to add some of his percussion talent to a new project I’m working on. We had to take our van, a vehicle I’m not that accustomed to driving, in order to fit both his electronic drum set and a full-size keyboard.
So, here’s how it went. We started out our trip at 6:30 a.m., the morning when daylight savings went into effect, so I was already in a groggy state of mind. Therefore, I chose the easy road, and didn’t fill up my gas tank before leaving town. Oh well, I figured I’d just fill ‘er up on the way home. After all, I had a half tank. That should have gotten me to Omaha, a three and a half hour trip. Or so I thought.
After a couple hours, I realized I was at a quarter of a tank. And then I had a flashback. Oops – I ran out of gas just a few weeks ago before the gas gauge warning light even came into effect. It hadn’t even officially hit the empty mark. With this recollection in mind, I was intent on stopping at the nearest gas station.
Not to worry. I could see a town up ahead. Great news. Except that there was no gas station. And to my horror, the next town was 18 miles ahead. While my son slept soundly, I prayed fervently.
“Dear God, please get us to a gas station before we run out of gas! Amen.”
I guess God didn’t think He needed to spare me from the natural consequences of ignoring the obvious. Because, after several miles of crossing my fingers, I suddenly felt the engine skip a few beats as I accelerated. I made the unwelcome announcement to my son.
“Guess what! We’ve run out of gas.”
I checked my GPS. We were exactly 1.2 miles from the nearest gas station. I walked to the nearest farmhouse. It looked abandoned and a bit frightening, so I chose not to knock on the door. Instead, I headed toward the highway and flagged down oncoming traffic. I was ignored. So, I called a couple of gas station phone numbers listed on my GPS to ask for help. I was told I should call the police.
Just as I was about to make the call, an old pick-up pulled up to the intersection where we were parked. I jumped out of my van and waved wildly. To my relief, an obliging farmer offered to go back to his farm, retrieve his gas can, and run into town to get us some gas.
Several minutes later, he returned to save the day.
“Have you ever heard of the Good Samaritan?” I inquired.
“No,” he replied.
“Well, that’s what you are.”
He chuckled, lamenting the fact that very few people stop for stranded motorists anymore. Thank God, he was the exception.
P.S. Just after the farmer headed to town to purchase the gas, I had a short cell phone chat with my husband who informed me of the purpose of our AAA membership. Oops again. Ignorance is not always bliss. Nevertheless, the experience proved that there still are some “Good Samaritans” in this world.
Kareen King is a Registered Drama Therapist and founder of The Golden Experience™, offering keynotes, concerts, and workshops to enrich lives in long-term care. For booking information, contact her at kking@thegoldenexperience.com or visit www.thegoldenexperience.com. You may also signup for our newsletter and receive a free download.
