Her Jeep Cherokee was in the left lane of a four-lane street, a little crooked, its hazard lights flashing. It was dark, but the street wasn't busy. I stopped next to her and tried to get her attention. She was talking excitedly on the phone, her car door open. She clearly was having car trouble.
So I got out and walked around to her. She told me she had been driving down the road when her car just locked up, started swerving and then just stopped. She was young, probably 20, and had been working at Sonic, according to her uniform. I told her I'd try to push her off the street. By then, another guy showed up with the same idea.
But her car didn't budge, even in neutral. So we were forced to wait. The other guy looked all over the car, trying to figure out why it had locked up -- probably dropped the transmission, he concluded. The driver, distraught, called the police, and her parents. And she broke down and cried at one point talking on the phone.
It was cold, and as we were standing there, watching the oncoming traffic and hoped those drivers were paying attention, I offered to pray for her. She nodded that would be OK. Her name was Ashley. I'm not sure at the time it did much good. She was pretty frazzled, worried about having to buy another car -- and she loved her Jeep. But I prayed the God would give her peace and assurance.
A few minutes later, a sheriff's officer pulled up, his lights flashing. It was my cue to leave. The other guy who was helping did the same.
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