the cracked and broken driveway. Weeds surrounded a rusted old washing machine on the front lawn.
“Do you mind if I just run in the house for a second?”
What does one say to a kidnapper?
“No, of course not,” I said, wishing that those frontal lobe neurons had connected before this misbegotten adventure.
With another “AAAAIIEEEEWALK!!!!” and shake of his head, he scurried out of the cab and into the house. I sat there wondering what to do. If I got out and ran, I would be in a strange city with no clue where I was, and the neighborhood we were in was sure to swallow me in violence. This was in the pre-cell phone days, so I had no way of contacting anyone. If I remained there, I was pretty sure I was going to be cut into little pieces and stored in his freezer.
Surprisingly, I felt sorry for him, almost as much as for me. It dawned on me that the strange eruptions of sound were unconscious, and a disability of some sort. I would take my chances with him, I decided and silently prayed that somehow I would come out of this alive. I remained in the cab, trying not to cry. Lord help me. Please help me.
I didn’t have long to ponder the implications of asking for help from a deity I denied. The cab driver emerged from the house carrying a sack. What was in the sack? Oh dear, I was frightened!
“Thanks,” he said, “I need to drop these off and it is right by the hotel I am taking you to. AAAieeeewew!” He started the cab and we drove on. I am still alive, I thought. This has got to be a good sign.
“What kinds of things do you love to do when not driving a cab?” I asked. Keep him talking, keep him talking!
“I love to garden. Aaaaieeewwwweeeeee!”
“So does my mom,” I said, “I can’t grow anything. Everything I touch dies.”
“You have to water it and watch it every day. You have to check for weeds or they choke it- aiieeewweeeeewie- and you have to love it. Plants sense that.”
“Yes,” I said, “My mom would agree with you. I guess I don’t talk to my plants enough. You seem to be a sensitive person. I am sure someone someday will see that and appreciate it.”
“My girlfriend didn’t seem to. Aaaeeeeiaw.”
“But someone will,” I said, “There are many fish in the sea. You shouldn’t settle for anyone that doesn’t value you for who you are.”
He peered at me again, and said, “You are right. I always seem to feel I need to apologize for loving my daisies and my roses. Most people don’t like that in a man.”
“Oh I admire a man that can grow flowers! It is so important to be who you were meant to be.”
“She used to make fun of me.”
“Well she wasn’t very nice then.”
“No,” he said, “I guess she wasn’t.”
I realized I hadn’t heard his strange explosions of sounds in a few minutes.
“Here we are!” he said, “Thank you. I have enjoyed talking with you.”
“Well you are a nice man- don’t let anyone make you feel otherwise. What do I owe you?”
My hand was on the handle as I was about to escape to a freedom I had not loved so desperately as I had in those terrifying moments in the cab. I stepped out into the fresh air, the glorious blue sunshine.
“No charge,” he said smiling at me.
With that, he waved and drove away.
That night I discovered that if I stood in an unbearably hot shower with the stream of water hitting my tortured bottom, the itching (now replaced by third degree burns) would stop for several hours. I stood in the soothing steam and thought of the strange cab driver. I did not thank God that I had not been harmed. I still gave little thought to God, now that I was safe.
But years later, I remembered the cab driver and that strange episode. And I am so grateful to the God who so longed for me to know Him, that He put me in the lion’s den, and then gave a meal for the lion other than me. I had no idea that I was being preserved, but now I realize I was. So now I say, “Thank you Lord, for all the protection I
“Do you mind if I just run in the house for a second?”
What does one say to a kidnapper?
“No, of course not,” I said, wishing that those frontal lobe neurons had connected before this misbegotten adventure.
With another “AAAAIIEEEEWALK!!!!” and shake of his head, he scurried out of the cab and into the house. I sat there wondering what to do. If I got out and ran, I would be in a strange city with no clue where I was, and the neighborhood we were in was sure to swallow me in violence. This was in the pre-cell phone days, so I had no way of contacting anyone. If I remained there, I was pretty sure I was going to be cut into little pieces and stored in his freezer.
Surprisingly, I felt sorry for him, almost as much as for me. It dawned on me that the strange eruptions of sound were unconscious, and a disability of some sort. I would take my chances with him, I decided and silently prayed that somehow I would come out of this alive. I remained in the cab, trying not to cry. Lord help me. Please help me.
I didn’t have long to ponder the implications of asking for help from a deity I denied. The cab driver emerged from the house carrying a sack. What was in the sack? Oh dear, I was frightened!
“Thanks,” he said, “I need to drop these off and it is right by the hotel I am taking you to. AAAieeeewew!” He started the cab and we drove on. I am still alive, I thought. This has got to be a good sign.
“What kinds of things do you love to do when not driving a cab?” I asked. Keep him talking, keep him talking!
“I love to garden. Aaaaieeewwwweeeeee!”
“So does my mom,” I said, “I can’t grow anything. Everything I touch dies.”
“You have to water it and watch it every day. You have to check for weeds or they choke it- aiieeewweeeeewie- and you have to love it. Plants sense that.”
“Yes,” I said, “My mom would agree with you. I guess I don’t talk to my plants enough. You seem to be a sensitive person. I am sure someone someday will see that and appreciate it.”
“My girlfriend didn’t seem to. Aaaeeeeiaw.”
“But someone will,” I said, “There are many fish in the sea. You shouldn’t settle for anyone that doesn’t value you for who you are.”
He peered at me again, and said, “You are right. I always seem to feel I need to apologize for loving my daisies and my roses. Most people don’t like that in a man.”
“Oh I admire a man that can grow flowers! It is so important to be who you were meant to be.”
“She used to make fun of me.”
“Well she wasn’t very nice then.”
“No,” he said, “I guess she wasn’t.”
I realized I hadn’t heard his strange explosions of sounds in a few minutes.
“Here we are!” he said, “Thank you. I have enjoyed talking with you.”
“Well you are a nice man- don’t let anyone make you feel otherwise. What do I owe you?”
My hand was on the handle as I was about to escape to a freedom I had not loved so desperately as I had in those terrifying moments in the cab. I stepped out into the fresh air, the glorious blue sunshine.
“No charge,” he said smiling at me.
With that, he waved and drove away.
That night I discovered that if I stood in an unbearably hot shower with the stream of water hitting my tortured bottom, the itching (now replaced by third degree burns) would stop for several hours. I stood in the soothing steam and thought of the strange cab driver. I did not thank God that I had not been harmed. I still gave little thought to God, now that I was safe.
But years later, I remembered the cab driver and that strange episode. And I am so grateful to the God who so longed for me to know Him, that He put me in the lion’s den, and then gave a meal for the lion other than me. I had no idea that I was being preserved, but now I realize I was. So now I say, “Thank you Lord, for all the protection I
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