I was fuming mad that afternoon. My husband was late! My daughter and I, together with three other kids who carpooled with us, had already been waiting for 30 minutes. He’d said he’d gotten stuck in a meeting with his client, then traffic was heavy along South Super Highway, and then he had a hard time getting a ride. Endless excuses.
I hate waiting. I do not have the patience for it. And to a brat like me, of course, there was just no valid excuse. My husband had stopped trusting me behind the wheel since this vertigo thing kicked in. He would drop us off at school in the morning, leave the car with me, then go back to school in the afternoon to drive us home. But that afternoon, he’d asked me to drive the car and pick him up at a certain place.
I sulked the whole time I was driving. So much time wasted, I thought. When he finally took over the driver’s seat and made a good effort to explain, I just remained quiet. I could not get past my anger.
As we were driving along our usual route, we had to stop. Nothing prepared us for the sight that greeted us. A truck driver had lost control, crossed into the opposite lane, and ran smack into the oncoming cars. Cars were total wrecks, blown-up tires and broken glass were everywhere, and injured and dead passengers were being lifted out of their cars. It was not a pretty sight.
All this had happened 30 minutes before we arrived. It happened at the usual time we pass by that bend, that road, that very spot, every day. My husband and I both looked at our passengers in the back seat. My daughter’s eyes were wide open in shock, while three-year-old Fides, four-year-old Maia, and seven-year-old Thea were fast asleep. I felt ashamed for being so angry. My tantrum seemed so shallow in the face of the tragedy that had just happened. I felt humbled. I was so focused on myself—my anger and the inconvenience that the situation brought me—that I had not even stopped to think that there was probably a good reason why all these had happened.
God truly works in mysterious ways. He sometimes wraps blessings in little packages that we tend to ignore because we don’t like the way they look. I silently thanked God for the persistence of my husband’s client, for creating a little traffic, and for that elusive ride that made my husband very late. I am and will forever be grateful to Him whose Mighty Hand was clearly at work, busily rearranging schedules just so my husband, my little angels, and I could get home safely.
About the Writer: Blanca feels at her finest when she is teaching but at her best when she is being a daughter, sister, wife, and mom.
(Photo by Erik / Zebra Pares via Flickr Creative Commons. Used for illustrative purposes only.)