She checked her hair in the front door’s reflection before entering the body shop. Her gaunt frame, pale complexion and obvious wig were clear signs of a seasoned cancer patient. She smiled and quietly asked, “Can I get an estimate?” The receptionist recorded her information and turned to me to take care of her. We introduced ourselves as we walked outside to her car.
She worried aloud, “I hope it’s not very much,” an indicator to a collision estimator that she was probably uninsured. Her frail demeanor and shy body language touched me and I sensed a presence I’ve learned to credit to the Holy Spirit.
Standing in front of her older model sedan, I reacted, “Ouch! This right front wheel is pushed back several inches!”
“Yes…” she mumbled, “it pulls to the right and it’s real hard to drive.”
“Martha,” I said, “You really shouldn’t be driving this car. It’s not safe.”
Reliving the incident, she recalled, “I had my left signal on at the traffic light and thought the oncoming traffic had cleared – but as soon as I started to turn, a car came out of nowhere and hit me!” She looked to me for help, her eyes welling with tears.
I worked to stay in professional mode. She followed me around the car, her eyes wide as though I might have some good news yet unspoken. She made me uncomfortable. I was guilty of thinking, “Hey, lady… I’m just the collision estimator here… I’m not a police officer… or your husband… or your son…” and it was at precisely that moment that the Spirit of God whispered to me, “If not you, who?”
Back at the counter, I handed her the estimate and watched as her worry melted into despair. Her eyes dropped from mine to the estimate. She shook her head and whispered to herself, “But I don’t have two thousand dollars…”
My heart went to my throat and Bible verses about caring for widows and orphans flashed across my mind. If we were anywhere but here, I’d pray with her—but the busy lobby of a body shop isn’t exactly the best place for that.
Using the excuse that I needed to look at her car one more time, I invited her to walk out with me. She followed me toward her car. Still not sure what to do, I surprised myself when I turned, put my hand on her shoulder and said, “Martha, the Lord wants me to pray with you.” But as soon as I spoke the words, she collapsed—she went straight down, she lost her legs. I caught her as best I could and helped her to the car. She explained in a mechanical fashion that she had cancer of the heart and just recently underwent extensive chemotherapy and radiology. I asked, “Martha, do you know Jesus Christ as your Savior?”
“Oh yes!” She replied with renewed energy, “He’s really the only strength I have!”
I had no professionalism left to offer her as together we cried in the parking lot. She explained how her family no longer lived in the area—even if they did, they were financially unable to help. She described how her church had done all they could. I felt her desperation. I prayed for her and sent her on her way, promising to call her with better news.
I pled her case to my boss, who—though reluctant at first—agreed to repair her car for whatever amount she could afford (which, as it turned out, didn’t even cover the parts). I’m convinced his kindness continues to be repaid in ways he will never fully realize.
When Martha came to pick up her car we praised God together for his provision.
Three years later, I learned Martha had passed away. I look forward to seeing her again. I just hope she isn’t still driving that old wreck.
There are few things we can do in this life that provide a deeper sense of satisfaction than to advocate for the helpless. Jesus, the champion of kindness, promises us—
“The one who receives a righteous person because he is a righteous person will receive a righteous person’s reward. And whoever gives one of these little ones even a cup of cold water because he is a disciple, truly, I say to you, he will by no means lose his reward.” Matthew 10:41-42
Read Ron’s column, Simple Faith, each Saturday on the Faith Page (page 3) of the Lancaster Eagle Gazette, or visit www.lancastereaglegazette.com.