If you’ve read any of my Too Blessed to be Stressed books, you’re already acquainted with my trusty metallic prayer & praise partner, Sir Lancelot. Lance for short. My 21st century loyal steed, Lance transports me through time and space to the very throne room of my King as I worship in the Cathedral of Papa God’s Creation surrounding our secluded Smoky Mountain cabin.
Lance’s predecessor was Trigger, my very first 4-wheeler (I’m not edumicated enough to call them ATVs), purchased during a wild hare on my 50th birthday. I rode the mane off dear Trigger and when he finally had to be put out to pasture, Lance charged into my life. I adore him as much as anyone can love a mechanical beast.
Alas, darling Lance is now starting to show his age, and on a recent cabin visit, he threw a shoe. By that I mean he suddenly tooted (backfired, which earned him his name, “flatuLANCE A LOT”), stopped propelling me along a mountain trail and his engine died. I did CPR to no avail (that means I tried everything I knew to recrank him but he didn’t respond). Code red. I was all alone about a half-mile from my cabin (and any other outposts of civilization) with a phone that had zero bars. I felt panic rising up like a volcano in my innards.
So I sent up a rhino-in-the-road red alert prayer to Papa God and felt instantly calmer. But still in a pickle.
Looking around, I realized I was on a gentle slope, which turned into a steeper slope about 30 yards away, and if I played my slopes right, maybe I could put Lance in neutral and carefully guide him down the mountain through the woods to the vicinity of our cabin.
Ha! Have you ever tried to guide a charging elephant? That’s pretty much what it felt like. Once we got started rolling downhill, I had to just hold on and whip through the air like a flag as he careened down his own chosen path, mowing over dense underbrush as we flew, bouncing off a few stalwart trees.
When we finally rolled to a stop with me gasping for air and draped over Lance’s saddle (seat), I just laid there for a few minutes to regain my senses. Good luck with that. If I’d had any sense in the first place, I’d never have tried to pilot an 800-pound, out-of-control machine down a mountain.
So when my brain kicked back in, I realized I’d landed downhill of my cabin and would somehow have to get Dumbo here back up the mountain about 80 yards at a 45-degree angle. Yeah, right. And thunder was rolling across the mountaintops. A storm was on its way.
I shot up another HELP-me-Lord! prayer and heard a still small voice whisper to my heart, “Try cranking Lance.”
“But I’ve already tried eight times. He’s dead.”
“Well, I’m in the resurrection business. Remember Lazarus? Try again.”
So I did and Lance purred to life like a big metallic kitten. I hopped on as fat raindrops began to fall, revved and drove him back uphill to the cabin, where as soon as I pulled into my garage, he release one last massive toot/backfire and expired, dead as a fence post. The lightning flashed all around us and rain soaked the ground but not me (or Lance) inside the nice, dry garage.
I just love Papa God’s grace notes, don’t you? Grace that He loves to give to His children even though we don’t deserve it but have the audacity to trust Him enough to ask.
So tell me, dearest BFF (Blessed Friend Forever), how has our heavenly Father shown you his incredible power lately? What or who is your Sir Lancelot?
What a fun God-wink story! I could just picture the whole journey. Glad you both made it home safely.
Thanks, Cheryl! I appreciate you taking the time to post a comment. Hugs to you, sister!
First of all, loved your story??
I have had many , many instances of help from my Heavenly Daddy throughout my life and am so very thankful. But, when I had cancer a few years ago, he provided me with His biggest miracle to date.
I was on chemo and steroids and among other things was immune compromised. Was still working at a job that required me to be in and out of shelter pretty much all day long. One morning I woke up to a horrendous downpour and thought “I can’t do this” . But being in Florida, my next thought was “ Just go ahead and get ready and it’ll stop before you have to leave”. Not! So I called out to my Heavenly Daddy and asked Him to please not let me get wet and sick(er). I wasn’t so sure I would survive that too.
It stormed on. Until I reached the top step of my front porch. And just like a faucet, the water was turned off. Throughout the day until I was safely back home and stepped back onto my front porch, the monsoon raged. But every time without fail, He had stopped the rain when I had to be out in it. That was a true, straight out of the scriptures, miracle in my life. I was well aware that He could control the elements. But to do so, leaving no doubt that it was His hand that was sheltering me (and who am I for Him to grant such a mighty miracle to?!) was truly life-altering to this Christian girl.
But that’s not the end of the story. Until I was through with all my chemo treatments and then the radiation treatments, every time, without fail, when it rained the same thing happened. His hand sheltered me and surely as the Israelites feet remained dry as they walked the Sea bed, so too were my feet (and everything else) remained dry.
Oh, Donna, I absolutely LOVE your story. Papa God was taking care of beloved daughter in a most intimate way! Reminds me of when I invited a new acquaintance to church and didn’t know she was a smoker; I’m VERY allergic to smoke and melt down like a cat gagging up a hairball when I’m around smokers. When I saw (and smelled) her heading my way to sit beside me in church, I shot a rhino-in-the-road panic prayer to Jesus asking Him to block my allergy. And he did. Not just that day but for the two years she attended church with me, even though I still had the terrible reaction to smokers at ballgames and public places. Yay, God! Thanks so much for sharing your story – you’ve encouraged us all to keep our eyes open and expectations up for everyday miracles (I call them Grace Notes!). Hugs!