Miller: Listen to that still, small voice
My dad taught me many years ago that it was less dangerous to hit something in the road than swerve quickly into another lane. I’ve always remembered his words and followed his sage advice throughout the years. This week I noticed a large piece of metal in the road and ran over it rather than swerve.
“Oh! What it the world was that? It looks like something fell off a vehicle. Let me pull over and check things out!”
After looking under the car and carefully checking the tires, I cautiously continued on my way. The metal had made quite a racket, and I was concerned that perhaps something had been damaged. Bump, ba-bump, ba-bump. I noticed this sound and pulled the car over once again to inspect the tires. Again, everything appeared normal.
I started the car and painstakingly made my way down the road. This time I rolled the windows down to listen carefully to the bumping sound. I wondered if what I was hearing was just the normal road noise and now I was more aware of any little sound. The bumping was very faint, and I didn’t want to overreact so I dismissed it. I was still careful though and decided to take the car in to the tire shop after the weekend.
Sitting around has never been very easy for me, so soon I thought of somewhere else I needed to be. After my trip to the nail shop (what a necessity!), I could hardly even hear the bumping sound. My mind was on other things, and I could barely hear any noise at all so I hit the interstate rather than going through town.
I had just made my way off the ramp at north Picayune when a man pulled up beside me pointing and yelling. I finally made out the words.
He shouted, “Your tire is flat! Your tire is flat!”
I pulled off the road, breathing a prayer of thanks for God’s protection. After a phone call or two, help was on the way. Funny thing though, I woke up the next morning to notice the little donut that my friend, David, had put on for me was also almost flat. He came to the rescue again and aired my tire up.
Today I’m sitting in the waiting room at Gene’s Tire while they take care of the problem for me. Everything worked out, but I think I was foolish to go down the interstate without having my tires checked by a professional. What I had been hearing for hours was a warning, and because I couldn’t see anything happening I almost totally ignored it, thinking I knew best.
I am reminded of the still small voice that the Father speaks to our hearts. I know from my own life that sometimes we can’t see what the warning is all about, but I do know that Father knows best!
Jan Penton Miller can be reached at firstname.lastname@example.org.
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