In early spring a year after my husband died, I finally felt like I could rejoin the universe.  With God’s help, time and support of good friends, I realized I was able to function as a individual and be on my own to do whatever I pleased. I decided a journey it would be! I would show myself I could be alive again.

Off I went on an adventure to John Campbell Folk School! I had been to the school before, but never stayed a whole week.

I spent a week by myself and learned how to do needle-felting tapestries.  It was a beautiful week of wonderful people, learning and fun.  Lots of laughing! I enjoyed life again.


The week passed quickly! Boy! I was on top of the world. What a high!  I was thankful to my Higher Power for the gift.

Then I faced the 450-mile drive back home.

I got a late start for the 5 to 6 hour journey to Florida.  I ran into lots of delays in Atlanta. As evening approached, it looked like clear sailing. Then I hit something in the road. Thump!

At first, nothing happened. No worries! Then, the “low tire pressure” light came on.

I had been driving 80. I need to cool my jets. I got off I-75, taking the 2nd exit to Cordele, Georgia.

Suddenly my elation dampened and prayer poured forth. Is this a test?

It was evening and after 7. I passed 2 tire places, both closed.  I stopped at several gas stations. One attendant told me to head into the main part of town. On my way, I passed 2 more tire places and 2 car parts stores. Every place was either closed or unable to help.

My last stop was an O’Reilly Auto Parts.  Two sales men were leaning on the counter talking with a good ole boy. He was wearing a beard and a baseball cap with his ragged brown hair sticking out. His t-shirt read “I Love My Truck.”

I broke in and asked for tire help.

The sales guys in matching shirts shook their heads. “Can’t help ya’. You’ll have to wait till morning.”

The G.O.B.  Looked me in the eye and said, “I can fix it. I have the stuff in my truck.”


I grinned. “Well then, let’s do it!”  What a delightful young man. 

He had a lift in his truck and repair materials. Five minutes later my punctured tire was repaired. He and I had become instant “buds.”

He told me he was a truck driver and had to fix his own rigs all the time.  He said, “I’d do this for my grandma!”

We parted with hugs and blessings.

I don’t know his name. To me he was my Bubba Angel.


Amy (Nov. ‘17) adds, “I miss my husband. It takes a long time to heal from loss.”

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