Flat Tires, Full Hearts

I was preparing to turn out of my street and into my neighborhood this morning, when I happened to look down and notice a memorable section of curb. I don't make a habit of memorizing sections of curb, but this small bit of curb came to my attention last year and made quit an impression on me. It's an interesting slice of curb. You're all familiar with the typical curb configuration at the end of a street. Generally the curb will slope into a section that is convenient for walking over or riding a bicycle up. Well, most curbs could be described as rounded. This one is rectangular. It has a distinct 90 degree angle with pointy edges. I became quite familiar with these edges the day I turned too sharply and popped a tire on the curb. That was a miserable day. I'd already been feeling like a terrible person (although I can't remember why), just before popping my tire I'd accidentally backed my car into my uncle's new car (not my brightest moment, and please don't tell him about that), and then I got a flat tire while trying to drive to work. I clearly remember breaking down in the car and sobbing while I tried to figure out how to tell my dad that he was going to have to interrupt his evening to take me to a tire shop. I composed myself enough to get the keys to my dad's car, and then I sobbed my entire drive to work.

I have not been fond that section of curb ever since. I give it wide berth and avoid walking over it when possible. Typically when I see it I swallow hard and try to think of happier things than flat tires. Today, however, I thought of something quite different. I'm not sure why, but when I saw that dreaded section of curb I thought of divine intervention.

I'm a college student. The day I popped my tire my dad called around to various tire places and suggested that I replace my tire at our local $1 tire shop - Crazy Dave's. Dad's logic seemed reasonable, so we packed up and drove the car to the shop to be worked on in the morning. Up with the sun, we met Crazy Dave at 8-o-clock the next morning (a Saturday) to get the tire fixed. My dad had met Dave once before and chatted with him for a little while. He was a super friendly guy, very helpful, and extremely chatty. I'm afraid we distracted him a lot while he worked on my car. I suspect he could have changed the tire much more rapidly than he did, but we were enjoying our conversation. In the course of the hour and a half that we spent at the tire shop we learned a lot of things about Dave. As we neared the end of our conversation, he mentioned that his wife was very ill and bedridden and that he would be leaving work promptly at noon in order to assist her. In an emotional moment, I watched Crazy Dave, with calloused, stained hands, break down in tears. There wasn't a lot we could do for him, but we offered to pray for his wife.

A few minutes later, my car was ready to drive. We packed up, paid Dave, and rode away. I haven't been back since. But my story doesn't end there. I pass Dave's tire shop every day, sometimes twice a day, on my way to work and school. We prayed for Crazy Dave and his wife as a family for a couple of days, but when we moved on to pray for other things, I set up an automatic prayer reminder. Every time I drive past Crazy Dave's I say another prayer for Dave and his wife. Based on his description of his wife's health, I'm not sure if she's still alive, but I pray for them both regardless. I have said this prayer almost 5 days a week for over a year.

So back to flat tires and divine intervention. If I hadn't popped my tire, if Dave hadn't been working on a Saturday to help me out, if he hadn't needed to get out of work on time to help his work, if his emotions hadn't been raw, I doubt I would have learned so much about his personal life. I certainly know that I wouldn't have spent most of a year praying for him. In a perfect example of how today's actions affect our future, I realized that I didn't pop my tire for me. I got a flat tire for Dave's sake. I was handed an opportunity to serve in the unlikeliest of places, and I'm grateful to say I made the most of that opportunity. So here's to flat tires, imperfect actions, hard days, and God!