Coincidence?

Some will say it was just a coincidence -- you know, the old thing about "being in the right place at the right time." But I doubt it.

I'm not normally in my office on Saturdays, but because the most important client meeting of the entire year was taking place in a few days, followed immediately by two days of meetings with our sales force, I had much to prepare for. So I spent a recent Saturday in the office, trying to prepare for what turned out to be a draining week of travel and meetings.

Our office is located in an industrial area, miles away from any residential neighborhoods.  Across the road from us is a "tank farm" where all the gasoline tankers go to fill up. We're also surrounded by a company that takes large ingots of aluminum and turns them into the cans used by the nation's big-name soda and beer companies. During the week this area is overrun with traffic, much of it consisting of big 18-wheelers and fuel haulers. But on weekends it's a ghost town -- hardly any traffic at all.

I worked non-stop through the morning, and a little after noon I had a strong feeling that it was time to stop for lunch. Dropping what I was doing, I walked through our reception area, heading for the front door. As I approached the glass double-doors I saw an interesting sight.

Parked outside by the entrance was an old, grey, Lincoln Continental. It was from the era when vinyl tops were all the rage, but the vinyl on this one was shredded and peeling. The hood of the car was up, and the windows were down. The condition of the seats matched the vinyl roof -- shredded.

Standing next to the car was a grey-haired black woman in a dress and high heels. Not exactly the kind of dress we see in this neighborhood. It was a hot day -- about 105 degrees. Above her head she was holding one of those fold-out Chinese fans to shield her eyes from the bright sun, and it was obvious that she was trying to figure out where to go for help in this desolate neighborhood. Her back was towards me as I stepped outside, so I called out, asking if she needed any help. She turned quickly, surprised by my voice, relieved that someone was there. She explained that she'd been on her way to church but pulled into our parking lot after hearing a noise that sounded like something under her car was dragging on the pavement.

Kneeling down, I looked under the car. There was nothing dragging, but I was alarmed to see that the entire underside of the engine was heavily coated with what appeared to be fresh oil. I told her what I'd seen and asked if she had any family in the area that she could call. She said she had no family but that there was someone she could call for assistance, so I invited her into the office and provided a phone. She called a number that she'd obviously memorized -- it turned out to be her mechanic. With a car in this condition I wasn't surprised she'd memorized the number. She had trouble hearing, so she handed me the phone and asked me to explain the situation to the mechanic. 

When I told him about the oil, he said, "Yeah, that old car leaks oil all the time." I explained that she didn't want to drive the car because it was making a strange noise, so he said he'd send a towtruck. The two of us waited in our reception area, and she gratefully accepted a cup of cold water -- a welcome refreshment after driving that old car without any air conditioning. She began telling me a little about herself: Her name was Gertrude, and she was born in Arkansas in 1920 --  90 years old! -- never married, no children, no relatives in Phoenix. Then came a stunner: She said "I have a job. I work three days a week cooking and cleaning for an elderly man." Then she added, with a smile, "He's elderly, but younger than I am!" 

The towtruck arrived as she was telling me about how, as a child in Arkansas, she loved to fish for bluegill. We went out to meet the truck, and the driver had a look on his face that told me he was very familiar with this car. He loaded the car, Gertrude stepped up into the cab, and they drove away.

The reason for relating this story is not to pat myself on the back. Anyone in my situation would have done the same thing. What I want to point out is that when people are in need of assistance, there is often a divine hand behind the scenes that helps puts these folks in contact with someone who can help.

President Spencer W. Kimball put it this way: "The Lord does notice us, and he watches over us. But it is usually through another person that he meets our needs" (“President Kimball Speaks Out on Service to Others,” New Era, Mar 1981, 47).

A memorable example of how this happens is found in the journal of Joseph Millett, an early missionary in Canada:

“One of my children came in, said that Brother Newton Hall’s folks were out of bread. Had none that day. I put … our flour in sack to send up to Brother Hall’s. Just then Brother Hall came in. Says I, ‘Brother Hall, how are you [fixed] for flour.’ [He replied]‘Brother Millett, we have none.’ ‘Well, Brother Hall, there is some in that sack. I have divided [it] and was going to send it to you. Your children told mine that you were out.’

"Brother Hall began to cry. Said he had tried others. Could not get any. Went to the cedars and prayed to the Lord and the Lord told him to go to Joseph Millett. [I said]‘Well, Brother Hall, you needn’t bring this back if the Lord sent you for it. You don’t owe me for it.’

And then Joseph Millett wrote this: "You can’t tell how good it made me feel to know that the Lord knew that there was such a person as Joseph Millett.” (Quoted by Thomas S. Monson in “Gifts,” Ensign, May 1993, 59. Journal quote is from New Era, July 1975, p. 28.)

Of all the places to pull over, why did Gertrude pull her car into our empty parking lot? Just coincidence? Or was it because the Lord knew there was someone inside who would help her? It doesn't matter that that person was me. That's just how He operates -- using us to answering the prayers of those in need.

Whose prayers might you answer today?