Today at CVS, I saw two men rush to stop a car from rolling backwards through the parking lot. Luckily, it was a little car. Especially lucky for one of the pushers, who noticed that the car was headed straight for his truck. The men maneuvered the little car back to its space, and one wedged an empty automobile oil container behind the back tire so the car wouldn’t escape again. Just to be safe, the man with the truck moved it to another space, one that was uphill from the car.
I watched this, told the men I was grateful they were there (though not as grateful as the man with the truck, he told me), and continued into the store to do my shopping. On my way out, I noticed that the little car was gone. The oil canister that saved it was abandoned in the parking lot.
I wonder if that car’s driver realized how close he (she?) came to disaster this morning. They probably just forgot to put the car in gear, neglected to set the emergency brake. Maybe they were distracted by a fussy baby, or an upsetting text message, or the morning news. Maybe they were just running into the nearby organic bakery, grabbing a green smoothie or muffin while the drama unfolded outside. Returning to their car, they put it into reverse and headed on their way. Backing over an oil container on their way out was just a strange annoyance, hardly worth a second thought. They never knew how lucky they were.
I know that I am like this driver in many ways. I too miss miracles everyday because I am not looking for them. Every time I get in the car. Drive on a highway. Walk the dog. Send my children to school. Lay down in my bed at the end of the day. Wake up in the morning, my eyes seeing, my heart beating. The fact that all these events go on and on, usually without notice, is miracle in itself. I don’t think about the people who manufactured my car and made is safe and reliable. Or give thanks for the drivers who let me merge onto the freeway, or the teachers who love and protect my kids, or the neighbors in our town who make it a blessed place to live.
There are no guarantees that any of these events will end well. So often, so often, they do. It is the song of life that it all flows along. Soon, I will close up this computer, get back in my car, stop to buy milk, pick up the kids. Ordinary day. Sometimes, it takes coming across a runaway car in a parking lot to remind me that it’s not so ordinary after all.
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