Why I Am A Bad Saint
Just to be clear about this, I am a saint. I performed three certified miracles, once upon a time, and thus was promoted from T. Rev to St. Rev, long ago. It's tested, it's proven, it's official.
I am, however, just about the lowest-grade saint ever. Here's the story of one of my miracles.
That Time I Healed a Car
So friend X had to get from Athens to Atlanta to catch a flight home, friend Y was driving him, and I was along for the ride. We were about halfway to the airport, which is to say on the highway in the middle of nowhere in particular, when Y's car broke down.
This was back in 1997, so none of us had cell phones. (I still don't!) Y pulled to the side of the road. We were miles from the nearest pay phone or other civilized amenity, so our options were limited. We all got out of the car and considered the situation. Y lifted the hood and peered at the engine. He touched it, gingerly. He got back in the car and tried to start it. He got out. We looked around. We looked at the car. Y got back in the car and tried to start it. He got out. He fiddled with a tube of some sort, hopelessly.
I looked at Y, who was staring at the engine in rapt incomprehension. I looked at X, who was getting more and more worried about missing his flight home. Y closed the hood, got back in the car, and tried to start it. He got out. I looked at the car. Well, there was no getting around this one.
I was going to have to perform a miracle.
I sighed and laid my hands on the hood. I concentrated. I visualized the smiling, idiot face of J. R. "Bob" Dobbs.
"Someone's pulling over," said X.
An SUV rolled to a stop, and our friend Z got out. She was driving past, here in the middle of nowhere, and saw us at the side of the road. So she stopped, and X got in, and she drove him to the airport.
He missed his flight.
That's the story of that time I healed a car, only not, except effectively I did, except in a completely ineffective way.
I am, however, just about the lowest-grade saint ever. Here's the story of one of my miracles.
That Time I Healed a Car
So friend X had to get from Athens to Atlanta to catch a flight home, friend Y was driving him, and I was along for the ride. We were about halfway to the airport, which is to say on the highway in the middle of nowhere in particular, when Y's car broke down.
This was back in 1997, so none of us had cell phones. (I still don't!) Y pulled to the side of the road. We were miles from the nearest pay phone or other civilized amenity, so our options were limited. We all got out of the car and considered the situation. Y lifted the hood and peered at the engine. He touched it, gingerly. He got back in the car and tried to start it. He got out. We looked around. We looked at the car. Y got back in the car and tried to start it. He got out. He fiddled with a tube of some sort, hopelessly.
I looked at Y, who was staring at the engine in rapt incomprehension. I looked at X, who was getting more and more worried about missing his flight home. Y closed the hood, got back in the car, and tried to start it. He got out. I looked at the car. Well, there was no getting around this one.
I was going to have to perform a miracle.
I sighed and laid my hands on the hood. I concentrated. I visualized the smiling, idiot face of J. R. "Bob" Dobbs.
"Someone's pulling over," said X.
An SUV rolled to a stop, and our friend Z got out. She was driving past, here in the middle of nowhere, and saw us at the side of the road. So she stopped, and X got in, and she drove him to the airport.
He missed his flight.
That's the story of that time I healed a car, only not, except effectively I did, except in a completely ineffective way.