Crazy beautiful life

Sometimes it amazes me how strange and beautiful this world we live in is. This amazing circle we call life is such an interesting journey, and I'm so thankful that I always feel like someone out there is watching out for me.

For instance, today I had planned to go to Beaver Lake and take a walk around while on my break before Willy Wonka rehearsal at Carolina Day. I would have gotten there around 1:30 and left between 3:00 and 3:10. The only reason I didn't go is because Scott and I decided to meet for lunch in Skyland instead. Tonight I caught some headlines in the news and found out that there was a fatal accident this afternoon right in front of the gas station next to Beaver Lake...at 3:10 this afternoon. I immediately felt extremely lucky to be alive. It's very sad that someone out there wasn't so lucky today, but I'm still thankful.


I guess what really started me thinking about all this philosophical life and death stuff was when I logged onto Facebook today and realized that one of my former college professors (who was very close to our age and a friend to most of us) and his wife (who was my voice teacher) had their baby two weeks ago. What really got me is that while they were spending their day welcoming a beautiful little girl into this world, Scott and I spent that same day with his family and friends saying our final goodbyes to his brother, Michael. For some reason, this realization struck me as a very beautiful thing. One of my favorite quotes from Gone with the Wind is when Melanie says, "The happiest days are when babies come." I've always identified with that philosophy - every time I know someone who is having a baby, even if they're only an acquaintance or (most likely) a parent of one of my preschool kids, I'm always excited on the days when babies come. And you know...somewhere in the world, that's every day. Every day is a happy day to someone out there. Even when we're dealing with our own tragedies, somewhere out there, a baby is being born. I think that's reason enough to be happy.

I'm really just spouting off thoughts now, but I'd kind of like to end this with one of my favorite stories, my own personal evidence that God exists and that he has some kind of plan for us. About four years ago now, I was driving down Highway 321 in the afternoon, trying to make it to South Carolina for the monthly showing of the Rocky Horror Picture Show, which I was in down there at the time. I foolishly forgot to check the coolant level in my ancient blue Ford before I left, so right when I was at an almost middle-of-nowhere spot on the highway, my car began to overheat like crazy. I knew I couldn't keep driving it, so I pulled off at the next exit I came to without really looking at the exit number or even which direction a gas station was in.

Well, I turned right when the gas station was to the left. I drove for about half a mile, and just when I was getting really anxious and thinking about turning around, I came upon a little country church. "Oh, please God, let there be a water spigot outside the building!" I thought, pulling into the deserted parking lot. I got out of the car and propped the hood up as steam billowed out from under it, then got an empty water jug from the trunk and began looking for a spigot. Miraculously, I found out on the backside of the building and got my car in working order again.

As I was leaving the parking lot, I glanced at the church sign out front, and as soon as I read what was written, I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. There was no Bible verse, no announcement about a church picnic or a quote from a famous theologist. The sign contained only three words:

God's Filling Station.

Now, as much as I'd like to leave the story there, there's a second part that didn't come into play until very recently. Even though I traveled down 321 several times over the next three years after that day, I was never able to figure out exactly which exit it was that I had taken to get to that little church. I had been so stressed out about the car at the time that I could only remember turning right off the exit when the gas station was on the left. Well, a little earlier this year, Scott and I were driving somewhere near his home town, and I mentioned to him that a road we were on looked very familiar. I told him the story, asked him if there was a little church down that road, and he said he wasn't sure.

After that day I hadn't thought that much about it, until two weeks ago when I was driving down to Maiden the day before Michael's funeral service. Scott had given me directions to a gas station just off an exit on the left, and he was going to meet me there so I could follow him on the back roads to his house. I was a little earlier, and as soon as I got to the exit, I suddenly realized it was the same road that had looked so familiar to me on our earlier trip.

On a whim, I took a right off the exit. Sure enough, half a mile down the road, there stood that little brick church. I wish I could remember word for word what the sign said this time, and maybe if I was telling this story in a more formal capacity I would just make something up that sounded nice. But I do remember the sign was just as simple as before; no flowery verses quoted, no long fancy speeches. It was a simple message saying to lay your troubles on the Lord.

I don't know a single soul that goes to that little church; I can't even remember the name of it. But that little building will always hold a place in my heart for being so many things: a filling station when I needed it most, a reminder that we are not alone in our troubles, and most of all, a gentle little nudge that God had led me to my wonderful man who had grown up just off that little two-lane road.