Pothole Evangelism

The first year of our marriage my husband and I lived in Ithaca, New York. Our families were five hours away in the New York City area, and because Jim was deep into his graduate studies, I often made the trip to visit family without him. I worked for the university, so it was easy to find company for my ride, one or more students who would gladly pay toward gas money to avoid having to take the bus home for a weekend visit. It was in the late winter of that year that I found myself driving a student to New York City.

John was a personable, talkative undergraduate. I had not known him before this trip, and we had a pleasant ride down to the city where I dropped him off. Two days later, I picked him up for the return trip upstate. Several hours into the trip, I heard this gentle voice in my head, one that I've learned to recognize over the years as a prompting from God. I usually know it's God and not me talking to myself because the sense of urging I have is to do something that I wouldn't think of doing on my own and often something I'd rather not do at all. What I was hearing this time was, “Talk to him about Me...”

Steering conversations into a particular direction is not my strong suit. My introverted self was rather enjoying John's talkative nature on the long drive, letting him carry the bulk of the conversational responsibilities. But I did sense a certain urgency that I was to engage John in a spiritual conversation. I spent the next hour unsuccessfully attempting to turn our chatter toward anything that I could introduce the word “God” into. Finally, I said, “Lord, if You want me to talk to John about You, You are going to have to give me an opening so big that I can't help but fall into it.”

I was at that moment driving on an interstate in the middle of Pennsylvania in a year the potholes were so big and numerous they eventually became an election issue. I had no sooner asked God for that big conversational opening when my car ran over what looked like two dark patches of blacktop. The resulting thud told me, no, those were, in fact, really, really big potholes. Out of the corner of my eye I saw both of my right side hub caps rolling off into the twilight. I pulled over to the side of the road, and John, sitting in the front passenger seat, got out to take a look at the damage. As he opened the door, I could hear the unmistakable hissing sound, and looking straight ahead at my dashboard, I visually observed the car slowing sinking to the right. John stuck his head back into the car, and with a horrified look on his face, informed me that I had two flat tires. I got out to take a look and saw that the potholes had been so deep both rims had hit and bent away from the tires.

Now this was back in the day when many cars still had snow tires on in the winter that were exchanged for regular tires come the spring. Jim and I would buy tires with rims so we could change and rotate the wheels ourselves. We were living in a small apartment, so we kept the regular tires, complete with rims, in the trunk of the car, along with the spare. When John informed me of the two flats, I told him, not a problem - I have three spares in the trunk, on rims. He then apologetically told me that he didn't know how to change a tire. (He just a short time earlier told me that one of the interesting things about growing up in the city was that no one in his family had a driver's license or owned a car...) I told him again, not a problem - I knew how to change flats. He offered to be the muscle if I would talk him through the process, and it wasn't long before we were back on the road. I got off at the next exit to have the underside of the car checked for damage. The mechanic put the car up on the lift, but found nothing more than a few minor scratches on the oil pan. We headed back to the interstate. John was quiet the first few minutes back on the road and then he turned to me and asked, “Do you ever think that sometimes there might be a God or someone like that looking out for you?” And there it was - the opening I had prayed for...so big that I couldn't help but fall into it...

We spent the next two hours talking about God and spiritual matters. John had lots of questions. His mother had recently gotten involved with Scientology, and while he could understand her spiritual searching, he somehow felt she was looking in the wrong place. I shared with him my experiences in searching and finding God in my own life. I told him about groups back on campus that would encourage and help him find a relationship with a God who loved him enough to provide for him in unexpected ways – like getting a ride from a girl who knew how to change flats and kept three spares in her trunk. I never saw John again after I dropped him off, though I did pray for him for a long time after that weekend.

Many years have passed since that road trip. I still get a sense of God's urging at times to talk to someone about Him. I still don't always think of doing it on my own, or have a deep desire to want to do it at all. And I'm not really much better at steering conversations in a particular direction. But I have become quick to pray - “Lord, You are going to have to give me an opening so big that I can't help but fall into it.” When I finally realized God doesn't always answer that prayer the way He did the first time I prayed it on that road in Pennsylvania, that the answer doesn't always involve potholes and flat tires, I was free to see the other ways God would work through my prayer. Ultimately, it is God who reveals Himself to the people seeking Him, drawing them into a relationship with Him. But He does use us to speak into others' lives, often whether or not we feel willing or naturally equipped to do a good job of it. Asking God for the opportunity, the opening big enough, wide enough and deep enough that we can't help but fall into it, starts positive movement in the direction of talking about Him to others. Suddenly, conversations get steered in the right direction. People hear and see the gospel in operation in another person's life, often growing hungry to see it in their own lives. Even one's own desire to see people come to know God grows. That graciously large, prayed-for opening, sometimes scary as it approaches, becomes a place of blessing for all – even when it looks big enough to swallow a car...

Concerning all acts of initiative or creation, there is one elementary truth, the ignorance of which kills countless ideas and splendid plans: that the moment one definitely commits oneself, then Providence moves too. - William Hutchinson Murray, mountain climber