Car-kindness shifts into high gear

The car continues to weave its way into my life in unexpected ways. On Sunday, it took the act of car-kindness to a new level. It was a lifesaver: it transported my husband to the emergency room. White with pain and shaking with shock, John sat silently in the passenger seat as I briefly tapped the brakes at stop signs and careened into the ambulance bay. In only a few minutes from the time John called to say he had fallen on the ice and heard something snap, he was in the ER. There's lots to say about all that but I don't seem to be quite there yet.

For now, I'm pondering where the car has been taking me physically and emotionally. Through these various car-related events, I find myself being transported to places I did not intend to be. In general, that's not how the car and I get along. I decide where we're going, which route, who's coming, at what time and at what speed. But recently, there's an intertwining of my journey with the machine that physically transports me.

In the first two installments, I connected with people by giving them a ride somewhere they needed to go. In turn, I felt a surge of openness to new people. On this third event, I didn't hesitate a moment when John called to say he needed to get to the ER. I ran down the stairs, jumped in, turned the key, stepped on the gas and was able to help get John where he needed to go. Were the first two getting me ready for the more-important, life-altering third trip? Did I make peace with the car so that it could be there for me when I needed it?

Being in need. There it is. Am I in need of the car or is the car the vehicle to other needs such as being open to a friendly mom on a rainy day, taking my husband to the ER or asking for help? I'm not sure. Yet as I sat alone in the hospital in the middle of the night while John's ankle was being put together with pins and plates, I found myself ruminating about it. Now maybe that's just the kind of abstract topic I needed in that moment as minutes crept by slowly in the darkness and stilness of a hospital at 1 in the morning. One hour, two hours, three hours ... three and a half. My mind was racing and yet in slow motion. Traveling from one spot to another with little control. Would he be OK? How were the kids doing at home? Who would help us through this?

These thoughts led me to Jenny -- and her car. In part due to the car, Jenny called from Hawaii. It was so great to hear her voice, to let her words bring me closer to her island adventure. While it was her car that was parked within sight, she seemed just as near. She could reach out and help me through the physical act of loaning me her trusty green wagon. Yes, we could have called each other any day. But it was this day, when I needed to borrow her car that we did talk on the phone.

When driving her car with my son, Max, he recalled a field trip Jenny and the girls took two summer's ago to the Jelly Belly factory. Max has brought that trip up a number of times but on Tuesday, his reminiscing took us both back to a warm summer day filled with a tale of sugary treats with Dr. Seuss-sounding names. We were transported to a simpler, summer day. Exactly what we needed.

Today I picked the car up from the repair shop. It felt very stable. Trusty. Comforting. Just what I need right about now.