I stopped at a red light this past Sunday morning. It was pretty congested, but what I noticed was a young man trying to push his stalled Ford pickup through it. Even though I was first in line and turning right, I did not go on my merry way.
When I put the car in park and turned on my hazard lights, my wife asked me, “Are you going to help?”
“Yep.” I opened the door and stepped out into traffic.
Two other men—both of them younger and skinnier than I—also exited their vehicles. The three of us converged at the back of the truck and started pushing. I mentioned their youth and stature because by the time we pushed it about 50 yards, I was gasping for breath.
The young man thanked us, and the other two ran back to their vehicles. They ran. I couldn’t catch my breath. Fortunately, my wife had driven the car up to us. It took me almost five minutes before I could quit gasping and get back into the car.
Other than reminding me that I need to finish setting up my weight bench and rowing machine to get back in shape, the events of the day also reminded me of a time several years back when I gave a ride to a man whose car had run out of gas.
On the way into town, I saw a vehicle pushed over to the side of the road. Two or three miles later, I came across a man carrying a gas can heading back in the direction of the stalled car. I pulled around and asked him if he needed a ride. He did and hopped in.
A second later, he said, “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome,” I replied.
His next question startled me. “Why did you pick me up?”
“You looked like you needed it.”
He chuckled. “No one offered me a ride to the gas station, and you’re the only one of all the cars that passed me on the way back. You even turned around. Why?”
I smiled and shrugged. “Because when my family moved to Arkansas, our car broke down outside Brownsville, Tennessee on I-40. We were there over 24 hours before someone helped us.”
“Really?” he asked.
“Yes,” I answered. “I don’t want anyone else to go through what we did.”
Helping people doesn’t take much effort. Giving him a ride made me late to my destination, but I needed to do it. Nothing makes you feel more insignificant than being stranded and watching thousands of cars pass by.
I missed a friend’s birthday party once because I stopped to help a mother with two small children change her flat tire. I even had to call my wife and ask her to bring up her lug wrench because mine didn’t fit the woman’s car. Years ago, we stopped and gave a ride to a woman who had been stranded along a dark stretch of road in the middle of the night.
Stories abound of people walking away when they could have helped. All I want to do is try to be a source of hope for anyone to keep them from feeling abandoned.
