You've heard this statement a thousand times or something similar when a good Samaritan steps forward, good deeds are done, etc. But, boys and girls, I'm here to add to the testimony.
This was birthday week. Yes, I decided that I needed to be off the entire week since the birthday fell smack dab in the middle, on a work day, no less. Thanks to the wisdom of my little brother, I adopted this "off on birthdays" routine years ago. The week was planned. Everything that I needed to do (or wanted to) was done. Washed the car and filled it up ahead of time in preparation for my trip to Nashville.
Why Nashville? Picking up SF. Going to check out The Hermitage, have lunch, drive back to Ripley and take care of some odds and ends, then head back to Nashville, stay a day or two, and back home. That's the plan. Pulled out Tuesday a.m., in plenty of time of make the drive and arrive on time. About two miles from the house, on the way to Rt. 19, there's a popping sound and the car dropped. Oh, no! A flat tire? Nope. Tried to drive...not happening; something is dragging.
A man, walking down the side of the road, sauntered over. His first thought was that it was a flat tire, as well. Then he announced that my ball joint had broke. While we were standing there, a pickup truck pulled over and two men jumped out. Everybody agrees that it is the ball joint. It can't be! I just had them replaced a month ago; upper and lower. Remember that saga?
They helped guide me to a grassy spot off of the road; flipped off the tire (didn't need the tire key). It's the ball joint. There's no nut or cotter pin. "As a matter of fact, it doesn't even look like it has been replaced." OMG! What am I going to do? SF is flying in; I don't have a way to get the car fixed; I don't know anyone to call. I was such a bundle of nerves until I couldn't get the key out of the ignition. Nope, you can't take it out when the car is in gear. "We can fix this." Are you serious?
Off we go to Auto Zone for a ball joint. All I needed was the pin but I had to buy the whole thing. OMG. I don't know these people. They can rob/kill me; take my car. Do they know what they're doing? From the back of the pickup (held together with spit and tape) comes not one but two jacks and several toolboxes. Two hours later, I am creeping back to the house. SF will rent a car and drive down. A call to King Cotton is in order.
I was so blessed. I'll leave you to come up with the various scenarios. SF and I have listed all of the what ifs...from being creamed on Rt. 19, Rt. 40, or worse. Lawd, Lawd. I will be forever indebted to these three men: Ronnie Crew; J.C. Davis; and Maurice Patton. I will never know the Lord's reason for me not to travel to Nashville that day but I know for a certainty that He sent those angels my way. While they were reimbursed for their time and effort, you and I know that there is not enough money in my possession to repay them for their good will.
Be safe. Be Blessed.
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