Everyone loves stories. Don't they?
Stories take you back to another time in your life. Stories make you laugh, make you cry, make you feel again what you experienced in that exact moment you are retelling. Stories are full of beauty. I love stories.
About 4 years ago, my mom and I were driving on a dark Oregon road to my grandparents house. It was late at night and we had been in the car for a very very long time coming from California. We were maybe 10 minutes away from my grandparents house when we heard a strange sound. We pulled over, and I saw our tire. It was completly blown. We were in trouble.
We prayed. We prayed for someone to help, a miracle. We didn't know what else to do. After some waiting, I told my mom to wave my white pillowcase out the window. She did. A few people drove by in what seemed like forever. No one really stopped and the cars were becoming less and less. One person finally slowed down, but shouted out the window, and then drove off. We were really starting to worry that we would be spending the night in the car. I really worried that I was going to pee my pants.
Finally, a man pulled up behind us. My mom was really worried so she locked the car and barely rolled the window down a crack. He asked if we were alright, and we told him we had a flat. He offered to help. We got out of the car and showed him the problem. We told him we had a car full of stuff. He willingly told us, "I can fix that!" After he was finished and put on the spare, he introduced himself. He stumbled over his named and murmured "A-A-Aaron." We thanked him so very much and got back in our car. As we looked in the rear-view mirror, his car and lights were nowhere to be found. It was almost as if he disappeared. Our prayer was answered. We believe Aaron was an angel. The story gives us chills. But there is no other explanation about what happened that night and what we experienced.