Driving home from Colorado through the panhandle of Texas on an unseasonably warm morning, I noticed a car on the northbound shoulder. The driver’s door was open and a woman was frantically waving. No one stopped. Cheryl was sending someone a text, so she had not seen her. I said I was going to turn around to see if I could help her. We were driving on a divided highway, so I had to drive about a mile before I could turn around and go back. When I got there, she was standing in the same spot, and no one had stopped.

When I pulled up behind her, I could see that she had the owner’s manual for her thirty year old Buick in her hand. She was a young lady probably not yet twenty years old. Her shoulders were shaking and her face was covered with tears. I got out, walked to the back of her vehicle and she met me there. She was sobbing so hard she could barely speak. I gently put my hand on her shoulder and told her to take a deep breath and relax a bit before trying to tell me what the problem was. When she regained a bit of composure, she pointed to the manual and said, “This light came on.”  It was the temperature warning light. She had pulled over immediately and had no idea what to do. So I offered to check it out.

In between sobs she said she had come up from Amarillo and was on her way to a job interview in Cactus. She was more than halfway there when she pulled over. As I walked to the front of the car, I instantly smelled antifreeze. There was no puddle, but it had obviously been leaking. The radiator cap was not hot, so I opened it. There was no visible fluid. The overflow tank was also empty. I told her that either her radiator or a hose was leaking. Thankfully, she had a gallon of water and about two thirds of gallon antifreeze that she got out of the car. I put it all in. It did not fill the radiator, but it was not leaking out either. I had her start the car. The light was still on, but the temperature guage was dropping. The next town was less than 10 minutes down the road, so I told her to drive there and get some more fluids to put into her overflow tank. I also suggested that if it started to overheat, she could turn on her heater to draw heat away from the engine. She was anxious to get going, but she was still visibily shaken.

At this point I asked her name. It was Malea. I asked if I could pray with her, and she readily agreed. I prayed that God would calm her, remind her that He loved her and was in control of the situation. I prayed she would arrive safely to her interview and that it went well. And I also thanked God for showing His love to us all by sending Jesus to be our Savior, to live, suffer, die and rise again for us all.

She thanked me, took a deep breath, and drove off.

I got back in my car, found a place to turn around and continued my journey toward home. I was glad that I took the time to stop. It did not matter one bit to me that her skin color and heritage were obviously different than mine. She was my neighbor. She needed help. Jesus gave me the capacity and ability to help her. If anything, I did not do enough. I could have followed her to the next town and made sure she had the proper fluids to make it back home again. But I did not think of that at the time. Now I wish I had done so.

I have a habit of pulling over to try to assist people on the side of the road. Goes back to one of my favorite Arch Books growing up, which told the story of the Good Samaritan. It comes from Luke 10:25-37. Take a few minutes to read it today.

Lord, help me to be the neighbor you want me to be. Don’t let me pass by on the other side. Enable and allow me to show your love and care to my neighbors in Jesus’ name.