Ever since I first heard it, I’ve identified with that story about the businessman barreling through the countryside in his Lincoln Town Car. The guy is hopelessly lost, finally admits it to himself, and stops in a little one- horse-town he happens upon, pulling into a service station in the days when service stations were actually service stations. The attendant saunters out, chewing on a straw, and asks the man what he needs.
“I’m lost,” the businessman confesses.
The gas station attendant stoops down, squints at the driver and asks, “Let me ask you, Mister, do you know where you are?”
“Yeah,” the businessman says, “I saw the name as I drove into town.”
“Well, sir, do you know where you’re going?”
“Yes, yes, of course” the driver answers, growing impatient with the questions.
“Well,” drawled the service station worker, “if you know where you are, and you know where you want to be, then mister, you ain’t lost, you just need directions.”
I like that story because it reminds me that in that very moment when I’m humble enough to admit where I am, that I am powerless and need help, then I’m no longer truly lost, I just need directions going forward in this journey we call life. Most often, those directions come from the most unlikely of sources, which pushes me even further in that arena of humility but thankfully, not out the door of hope.
Driving through Southeast Texas, years ago, I made a wrong turn somewhere between Cleveland, TX., and Cut and Shoot, TX. The sun had settled into a hazy glow, casting an eerie, yellowish hue on my Ford F-150. I thought I heard Rod Sterling’s voice, “And now, you have entered, ‘The Twilight Zone.’”
That’s when I had a blow-out.
The husband of the dear little lady from whom I had recently bought the truck suffered from Alzheimer’s, and I would later find out that between the time I had inspected the vehicle for purchase and actually acquired it, he had removed the spare tire and hidden it.
I tried calling AAA; there is no cell service in that Twilight Zone, between Cleveland and Cut and Shoot.
It was beginning to rain when the driver of a pick-up truck mercifully stopped long enough for me to hop on the bed of his truck, which was packed with workers riding home from the day’s labor. So, I hunkered down, crushed between a large, bosomy grandmother and her sniffling grandchildren—all singing in espanol. I hummed along as best I could.
“Buena suerte,” they happily shouted as I jumped from the slow-moving vehicle and headed toward a convenience store in the middle of nowhere.
“Only one man can find a tire for me at this hour,” the store manager informed me.
“He usually stops by about 7 or 8 each evening.”
“How will I know him?” I asked.
“You’ll know him,” he grinned, “looks a lot like Gomer Pyle.”
The manager was right. “Gomer” was tall, lanky, wore a crooked cap, and bobbed his neck in front of his body as he walked.
Gomer listened to my plight, then told me to hop into his truck.
“Over there, maybe you’ll find one,” he shouted as me as we tromped through his junkyard of tires, which doubled as the landscaping for his house.
Tripping over tires in the darkness, feeling isolated and confused by the thick fog surrounding me, I suddenly had a horrible thought: “What if the convenience store owner and Gomer are partners in crime, finding stranded motorists, robbing them, and taking their vehicles to the junk yard before murdering them? What if they are serial killers. No one except the workers in that pick-up would have a clue where I was.”
“Dear Lord,” I prayed, “don’t let Gomer kill me. Get me out of here.”
“That should do,” Gomer said as wiped his hands after changing my tire.
He wouldn’t let me pay him.
“You’ve had a hard night, just stop by sometime when you’re this way again.”
And his kindness continued, “Now, let me give you directions out of here. Where ya headed?”
“Directions,” I whispered, “a gift from the Lord.”
Miles down the road and deep into the night, I stopped for an early breakfast.
I slowly breathed in the aroma of bacon and eggs frying as the early morning café crew hustled in.
Ignited by the promise of a crisp, fresh morning, I suddenly felt a surge of energy, and picturing Gomer extending me a hand of grace, I smiled as the pancakes slowly melted in my mouth.