My Interstate 40 Angel

If you don’t believe in angels, you may not fully appreciate this story, but it happened exactly the way I’m telling it. I’d be skeptical myself, if it hadn’t happened to me.

Back in 1976, I had flown to Memphis, Tennessee from the Virginia Peninsula to load our little Datsun station wagon full of household goods and drive it back to Newport News, where I had accepted my first full-time ministry position. I had spent most of the day loading up the wagon, and before I got all the way out of town, I had had to stop twice to fix a stuck accelerator linkage. I finally hit Interstate 40 just before sundown, heading east toward Nashville with my station wagon loaded to the ceiling and my bicycle strapped to the roof.

As the sun began to set behind me, I turned on my headlights but noticed that the dash lights were unusually dim. I had had trouble starting the car earlier, and I was afraid that perhaps the alternator wasn't charging the battery properly. I decided to keep going for fear I wouldn’t be able to restart the car if I stopped. I was barely a hundred miles into my thousand mile journey. Needless to say, I was concerned.

Not ten minutes later, I noticed the engine beginning to sputter and the lights going completely out. Almost instinctively, I reached for the key and turned it in the ignition. For some inexplicable reason, doing so caused the engine to start and the lights to come back on, but when I returned the key from the start position to the on position, everything went black. I turned the key again, and once again, everything returned to life, but only for a moment. I turned the key to the start position again and tried holding it there, but after a few minutes, my hand began to cramp.

I found a screwdriver in the glove compartment and slipping it's blade into the slot on the top of the key, I wedged it between the steering column and the dash to keep the key in the start position. For the moment, this seemed to do the trick. I had lights and the engine was running.

I prayed for an exit, hoping to find some help. Having made the trip from Memphis to Nashville many times, however, I was well aware that there was not much in the way of civilization between Jackson (which I’d long since passed) and the west side of Nashville. The sun had completely set, and I noticed that even with my makeshift key wedge, the dash lights were once again growing dimmer. I began to panic. I could feel my heart pounding like a jackhammer in my chest.

My headlights were now so dim that I could no longer see the road in front of me. Not even the moonlight was enough to navigate by on this very dark October night. I slowed and slipped the car over onto the shoulder of the road where the dim glow of my headlights reflected slightly against the continuous row of markers beside the road. I had visions of being stranded in the middle of nowhere with a car full of my family's most prized possessions and my bicycle on the roof. I began begging God to help me.

My headlights finally faded out completely, and as they did, I whispered yet another prayer for help. Almost immediately, I noticed faint headlights in my rear view mirror. I slowed a bit, and as the car drew closer behind me, its headlights shone brightly on the reflective markers on the road’s edge. Able to see my way now, I sped up a bit, hoping to find an exit before the car passed me and I was left alone in the dark once again. I tried to maintain my speed and, almost as if by design, the car behind me did the same. Like a celestial guide it stayed right with me, lighting my path by its headlights illuminating the reflectors along the shoulder.

After what seemed like hours, I finally saw lights in the distance indicating that there might be an exit. As I approached the lights, a green interstate highway sign flashed by announcing the next exit. Hope was rekindled for a moment. As I got closer to the exit, I noticed that just off to the left of the Interstate was a small service area, complete with garage, restaurant, and motel. I headed toward the lights, up the off ramp, and prayed that God would forgive me for running the stop sign at the end of the ramp. (I was sure that I would not be able to restart the car if I stopped.)

As I turned left and crossed back over the highway on the overpass, I glanced to my right to catch a glimpse of my nighttime benefactor. To my surprise, there wasn’t a car in sight. I slowed a bit and looked up and down that long, lonely stretch of Interstate 40, but saw nothing. I looked behind me to see if the car had followed me off the highway, but there was no sign of a car anywhere. My expressway escort had simply vanished!

I turned into the drive of the service station just as they were closing the giant doors of the garage. I rolled into an empty bay and came to a stop. I asked the attendant if he could possibly charge my battery overnight, and he kindly agreed. I took my bicycle from atop the car and rode it to the motel across the street. I asked the clerk for a room and he announced that he only had one left, but that I could have it. I checked in and asked if the restaurant was still open. He said he doubted it, but that I could take my chances, which I did.

I rode my bike back across the street and parked it just as the last customers were coming out of the restaurant. I slipped in the door and was greeted by a friendly, older woman with a kind face. "We're closed!" she said, almost apologetically. I briefly explained my dilemma and told her that I'd eat leftovers if she had them. She smiled and said she'd see what they had left in the kitchen and that I could stay and eat while they cleaned up.

I finished what was one of the best home-cooked meals ever and pulled out my wallet to pay for it, but she waved me off and said that she'd already cleared out the cash register and that it would be more trouble than it was worth to try to ring up my meal. I thanked her profusely and rode my bike back over to the motel.

Next morning, I woke up early, made arrangements with the Datsun dealership in Nashville to work on my car, and then called friends who lived there and asked if I could hang out with them while my car was being worked on. They picked me up, took me to their home, fed me, and entertained me for most of the day until my car was ready. Several hundred dollars later--evidently, I had fried my entire electrical system, including voltage regulator, alternator, battery, and ignition system--the car was ready to go, and so was I.

I made it the rest of the way to Virginia without incident, but I will never forget the night my "Interstate 40 Angel" guided me safely to food and shelter.