There When We Need Him
My husband, Jim, passed away on August 28, 1988, at the age of 44. Our two children were then 8 and 12 years old. Not only was he father, husband and fixer upper, he was our best friend.
Earlier that year Jim forced me to get my driver's license, something I had no real desire to do because we went everywhere together, there was no need for me to drive. In fact he had expressed this thought himself on the rare occasions when I mentioned that it might be a practical idea.
About a month after the funeral the kids and I were going to visit their grandmother, about 160 miles away. I was in such a nervous state about my first long trek on the highway that we left our house without the suitcase we so carefully packed and put by the front door the night before. I had never driven more then a few city blocks till then.
My grip on the steering wheel was so tight you would have had to pry my fingers off. I was so frightened that I shook uncontrollably. I mentally called for Jim every mile of the way. Just when I thought it would be safer for me to pull over at the first gas bar and try to get help, I suddenly became very calm and it seemed that someone else took over the controls of the car. I felt that someone was there, in the driver's seat with me.
Just about that same time the water pipes began making noise. Each time the toilet was flushed the pipes would sing, very loudly, and the noise terrified the eight year old. The noise had happened before and Jim had fixed it somehow but I had no idea what to do. One day it was especially loud and my son mentioned that if dad were here he would know what to do. I casually told him that maybe he should ask dad if he would fix it again. He thought it was a pretty good idea and did so. It is now ten years later and we have not once heard the noise again.
There could be many explanations but we prefer to believe that Jim heard us, and that he was there when we needed him.