Chivalry

This evening, as I was leaving a friend's home in the neighborhood, my car would not start! Quite surprised, because it is a newer car, and a little embarrassed, I went back to ask for some jumper cables and a jump. The nice elderly man who lived there was on his way out the door to go Home Teaching. But, being the Good Samaritan, he pulled up his car to give me a jump.

To my relief, this man's Home Teaching companion lived down the street. He noticed my peril and trotted, Ensign in hand, on down to our vehicles to give his assistance. These two gentlemen concluded my battery and alternator needed to be tested at the Auto Zone, and that my husband needed to take it there. They told me they would follow me home (so as to provide another jump if I got stranded) so I could switch places with Spence. This just cracked me up. Of course my husband needed to be the one to fix the car. I am just a woman. To humor these men, I obeyed.

What makes me laugh, is that I know a TON about broken down cars. My cars have broken down yearly since I was 16. I have had a transmission go, the ball bearings on my alternator melted, batteries died, battery cables go bad, mufflers rust through, windshield wipers fall off, I have replaced the light bulbs in my tail lights, you name it, I have experienced it. I can usually diagnose my car's ailment by sound and story. I actually pride myself on my knowledge. But tonight, my husband and his father get to diagnose the car.

I can't pass up the opportunity to share my favorite stranded story. It happened in December of 1999. I was driving to see my boyfriend, Spence, at 11 pm at night (I had just gotten off of work and HAD to see him). It was in the days of the I-15 construction. The freeway was shut down and I was merging on to the I-215 belt loop. I had a manual car, and this was when the ball bearings on the alternator melted from the severe traffic. Lucky me, I was a 19 year old with no cell phone. So in a dress and little sweater, am standing on the miniature shoulder of an off ramp, in the snow, waving my arms in the air for assistance.

A nice couple in their 40's pull over to pick me up, with another man in the back seat, and a rather large potted poinsettia. My fellow back seat companion picked up the plant, and held it on his lap as we drove to my destination in Fort Union. They asked all about me. I did not give a good impression, and I kind of ripped on BYU for their insane standards (although now I fully support them). As they were dropping me off, we exchanged names. I was sitting next to Kenneth Cope!!!! The whole time! I died. I was so embarrassed.

Kenneth Cope's music moves me. I gained my testimony from his albums, My Servant Joseph and Woman at the Well. I LOVE him. I owe a lot to him. I could have told him that. Instead I said, "I attended your concert in 1996 in Poway. It was amazing, you signed my CD's. But my car was broken in to last month and all my CD's were stolen including yours."

The woman in the front seat said, "See, people are still wanting your music, they are even stealing it!"

Totally funny, but I derived from a previous conversation Kenneth was struggling with his new CD and was a bit down on himself. I did not know what to say, and this is where the story ends. Good bye spiritual mentor.

I am so grateful to the men who have come to my rescue. They sure make a good story.