A CAUTIONARY TALE

This is a story about a rock.

I’d been trying to follow a piece of advice from Brother Lawrence of the Resurrection, in his spiritual classic, The Practice of the Presence of God. 'Never,' he saysO, 'do anything hurriedly or impulsively'.

I had to admit to myself that of course, that means not breaking the speed limit, which I was wont to do.

Breaking the speed limit is a sin. So at the cathedral in Palmerston North last Saturday for a Lay Carmelite meeting, at confession beforehand with Fr Brian Walsh I said that on my way down to 'Palmy' I’d realized, on those bendy bits north of Norsewood, that to compensate for keeping to 100k on the straights, I was driving faster than I should through the bends. I thought about that for a good two minutes, but I continued to drive faster than was safe.  

Suddenly there appeared in the middle of the south-bound lane in front of me, a good-sized rock. Right in the middle. Just one rock, no little stones or sign of a slip from the slight bank on the left. I had no chance of avoiding that rock.

It ripped my front left tyre open.

I limped along until I could safely pull over. I put the hazard lights on and walked back to remove the rock so no one else would hit it. There was no sign of that rock.

I had to call my long-suffering husband (known to readers of NZ Catholic as 'im indoors'), who had to get dressed (this was around 7.40 a m) and come outdoors to drive some 30 ks to change my tyre and lend me his car to drive on to PN, where I'd missed Morning Prayer but was in plenty of time for the Gospel. (Deo gratias.)

Now, how do you explain that? No way, except that the Holy Spirit Himself was teaching me a much-needed lesson in patience. An expensive lesson: not only was the tyre wrecked, but the wheel as well.

That rock cost us $300. 'God works in mysterious ways, his marvels to perform.' Or something like that.