Answers...and Questions

In the deep end of life, we long for answers. When things are tough, we ask, plead, beg for answers. But why do the answers we desperately desire sometimes lead to more questions?

We were driving home (from CT to OH) on Saturday. We knew we had at least a 12 hour drive ahead of us, and were planning on only going about half way, and completing the journey home on Sunday. We got a late start, it was dark outside, the weather started raining & sleeting, we were about two hours away from our scheduled stop, when the sound started...

KLUNK...KLUNK...KLUNK...KLUNK...

and it was getting louder and more serious sounding. I know you can relate. Not a good sound for your car to be making 6-7 hours from home, in a strange place, at night, with it very cold out, and your car is loaded with your family. No one wants to be stuck on the side of the PA Turnpike at night with 70 MPH traffic whizzing by you, inches away.

So we pulled off at the next exit. We found a Hampton Inn with availability and spent the night. We figured we would be here until at least Monday, when we could get someone to look at the car. But we were praying, asking, pleading for answers.

When we were checking in, we began talking with the young woman behind the counter about our situation and what was around the area. She mentioned that her sister's boyfriend was a mechanic and had his own garage. She gave us his name and number and told us to call him in the morning. Sunday morning. Really? Sunday morning? He would be willing to look at our car on Sunday morning? Possibly.

In the morning, I placed a call to Don, the mechanic. I explained the situation about my car, how I came to get his number, and he graciously gave me directions to his garage. It was about 20 miles away from the hotel.

I got in the car and headed to Don's. The car sounded horrible. I seriously wondered if I would make it to his garage before breaking down, it was that bad. I was traveling slow, thinking that I didn't want to create any more damage, not knowing if that had an ounce of logic or reason. Needless to say, I prayed, and prayed hard, the entire way. Asking, pleading, begging. I was in an unknown area in the PA mountains with no cell service with KLUNK that was slowly transforming to a GRIND.

I approached a section of road that called for a speed limit of 55MPH. What was I going to do? The cars behind me would soon be getting irritated. That's all I needed on top of everything else: Hunting Season Eve Road Rage. So I sped up to 55. At this speed, the sound of the grinding was a bit lost in the road sounds. But I knew it was still there. It was there all yesterday, masked in the road sounds on the Turnpike, only to reveal itself when we slowed down.

I traveled at this speed for about 10 minutes, still praying for this problem to go away, and then came to an area where I needed to return to about 35MPH. When I slowed down, I couldn't believe my ears. There was not a sound from the car.

The answer I was begging for was given.

I continued on to Don's garage and he looked over the car. He jacked it up so we could look under the entire car with a fine-tooth comb and found nothing. He poked, probed, prodded, tugged, and twisted. He could find nothing. I felt just like my wife when she insists the car is making a weird sound, but it never replicates for me when I am listening for it. While Don was looking at the car, I explained that I had been praying that the car's problem would go away, but I would have also liked the assurance of knowing what caused the problem.

Here's the dilemma that I started with: Why do the answers we desperately desire sometimes lead to more questions? Is this really an answer to prayer, or a twisted trick my vehicle is playing on me, only to start grinding again about a mile down the road from Don's garage? Why can't we just believe, give thanks, and move on? Why is an answer to prayer sometimes so unbelievable? Which makes you wonder if that's where we're coming from, why pray at all? Do we pray, believing in an answer, or only skeptically hoping? Tough questions for all of us...or at least me.

As I thought about the situation and the evidence before me (that there was nothing that could be found wrong with the car), I believed whole-heartedly. How could I not?

During a test drive of the car (before I left Don and his garage), he and I drove a few miles down the road. Don started to share with me that his girlfriend doesn't believe in miracles. But he says, if you believe in God, how can you not believe in miracles. If we believe He is the creator of the universe, He can do anything He darn well pleases. A stranger in Hopewell, PA (no joke...that's the name of the town), reminds me of faith, miracles, and answers.

As I write, hindsight reminds me that the car's fix was not the only answer; there was the available hotel at the right spot, the woman who had a friend who was a mechanic, the mechanic willing to look at a strangers car on a Sunday morning...that was a holiday weekend, no less, the kindness of strangers, safety, etc, etc, etc.....

For the remaining six hour drive home that afternoon and evening, the car never made a sound. And why should it?