I don’t like traffic jams. Who does? But a couple of months or so ago I heard about some traffic jams with a difference. The story has to do with my dad.
It was a Friday and he was considering paying a visit to one of the elderly members of his church who had been in poor health and was confined to his house. He decided to leave the trip until after the weekend when he would be able to bring him the latest edition of one of the church magazines; instead, he would take time on the Friday afternoon to visit my mother’s grave.
His journey did not go to plan.
The route from his house to my mother’s grave was badly blocked, so he decided on a detour. Turns out that the alternative route – through the city centre – was also blocked. The third option took him to a part of town close to the home of his shut-in friend. So he decided to call.
When he got to the house, his friend was lying helpless on the kitchen floor. He had fallen 2 hours previously and it would be another 3 hours and more before his family would have called to see him.
He had prayed that the Lord would send someone to help.
And he did.
Of course the story doesn’t answer all the questions and solve all the mysteries that exist about prayer or how God works or how he answers.
But he did then.