The rested optimist

by Tami Rudkin
Tuesday, July 22, 2008 12:56 PM MDT

I tend to be an optimist; I look at life as if something good could happen any moment.

And when bad things do happen, I try to find the positive angle; for surely there is one. I truly believe that “all things work together for good for those who love God …”

Last Sunday morning I was supposed to speak for a church in Worland. It’s a three-hour drive, and I was scheduled to speak at 10:45 a.m.

My daughter and I left our house about 6:40 a.m. thinking we’d have plenty of time to get there, get changed, get wired for sound (put on a lapel mic) and be ready to enjoy worship before I spoke.

About 35 minutes into the trip, I was getting really tired. There is something about a moving car; it lulls me to sleep. I rolled down the windows, turned up the stereo and tried to engage my 13-year-old in conversation. Nothing was working.

I needed a nap.

Finally, we came upon the rest area about 50 miles out of Casper. I got out, walked around, checked out the rest rooms and headed back to the car.

I was better. I was wide awake and ready to drive again. For at least 20 more minutes.

I was fighting heavy eyelids and arguing with myself about how seriously crazy this was that I couldn’t drive more than 30 minutes without getting tired. Then one of my rear tires blew.

There was the bump, the tattered feel of a flat tire flapping and then the smoke. I promptly, with great poise and self-possession, pulled over to the side of the road.

No problem, I thought. I can change a tire. After all, I changed a flat tire just … never. But I have watched my husband do it. And my boys have done it. I knew I could do it.

I jumped out, popped the trunk open, pulled out the spare and rigged up the jack. So far, so good. But then I attempted to get the lug nuts off.

I twisted (my body in all kinds of contortions), I pushed, I leaned into and I made all the sounds weight lifters make when exerting great energy.

Nothing. I could not move one lug nut, not one turn.

This was not looking good for making the speaking engagement. I called ahead to let them know what was happening. If someone would stop and help in the next few minutes, I told my contact person, I could still make it.

The good Samaritan is dead. No one stopped.

Reluctantly, I called my husband and the highway patrol. Tom was on his way when the dispatch called to tell me a patrolman would arrive soon. I closed my eyes.

An hour later the patrolman pulled up. With a smile on his face, he changed my tire.

The officer instructed me to drive about 50 mph and to “get right home” because those little “donut” spare tires are not meant for long distances. My daughter, who had been sleeping the whole time, looked over at me.

“I guess I won’t be speaking this morning,” I muttered. “Who knows why God allows things like this to happen.”

She shrugged her shoulders and said, “Maybe he kept us from being killed in car wreck somewhere down the road.”

She turned her head and closed her eyes again.

“And,” I said to no one in particular, “I got a nap.” I am the rested optimist!

(Larry and Linda Kloster sponsor this column.)

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