God Drives a Tow Truck

God Drives a Tow Truck- An Anthology of True Encounters

The story of how God uses a nobody

As though she were a somebody

Written and illustrated by

Vicky Kaseorg

Other books by Vicky Kaseorg

I’m Listening with a Broken Ear - 2011

God Drives a Tow Truck

Illustrated by

Vicky Kaseorg

ISBN-13:

978-1468014792

ISBN-10:

146801479X

Disclaimers and Dedications

This book is a collection of true stories, colored only by the natural distortion of time and memory. I have endeavored to present the facts as accurately as I can, despite the fact that my family accuses me of fabrication. I tell you, I
did
see a bear on roller skates when I was five years old. I admit, it is possible that he was not as skilled a roller skater as I remember, as it is not likely that he could have outrun the farmer chasing him with a pitchfork, at least not when roller-skating across such a bumpy surface as the field.

Nonetheless, my family no longer trusts everything that emerges from my pen, but I assure you, God is amazing and truth is indeed stranger than fiction. Really, I am not clever enough to have made up these stories.

The only fabrication in these stories is, on occasion, I have changed the names of some characters, to protect the people who populated my past that might prefer to remain incognito.

I gratefully thank my dear family and friends that have allowed me to share the presence of angels and miracles on earth recounted in this book.

Chapter One

God Drives a Tow Truck

Hebrews 1:14

¹⁴
Are not all angels ministering spirits sent to serve those who will inherit salvation?

The day I was slated to die, I had not seen my husband for six weeks. I was working towards advanced certification in my field, Occupational Therapy, far from home. I had traded the twelve foot snow drifts of New York for six weeks of classes in balmy Augusta, Georgia. When the classes ended, winter was almost over, as well. I set off for the fifteen hour drive back to NY. Most sane people would have split that drive into two days, but I was anxious to get home, and at that stage in our life, a hotel would have been a luxury.

When I left Augusta, it was warm and sunny, with early flowers already blooming on the azalea bushes. By the time I hit the Pennsylvania mountains, not only was I propping my red eyes open with toothpicks, but the temperature had plummeted fifty degrees. Snow and sleet were beginning to pelt the windshield. I shivered as I wearily slogged through the endless miles. The roads grew slicker as the sleet fell steadily, and darkness descended.

This combination was not the perfect recipe for safe driving. I was not a good snow driver under the best of circumstances. I repeatedly studied the charts detailing how to turn the wheel into a skid, but prayed I never had to challenge my retention skills. To be truthful, at that time I would not have exactly
prayed
. I would have crossed my fingers and rubbed a rabbit foot. I did not know God, though I was wondering about Him. I
was
reading the Bible, mostly to prove that it was a bunch of nonsense. However, I sometimes offered God a challenge. If you really
are
there God, then show me. To this point, He had not hopped out from behind any burning bushes, nor had He bothered to whisper in my ear. He certainly had enough fans, and didn’t need my ticket sale.

As the night grew darker, the sleet became a wall of ice shards and I was having trouble seeing. I had slowed down considerably, so now was entering my fifteenth hour of driving, with two hours still remaining before I reached Binghamton. There was almost no one else out on those treacherous roads now. It was late, the road conditions worsened, and I was exhausted.

It was inevitable that would be the night I faced death. When the car began to skid on the black ice, it was really the only thing that
could
have occurred. It had only been a matter of
when
. I tried to turn my wheels into the skid, or was I supposed to turn
away
from the skid? I quickly realized that no matter which way I turned the steering wheel, there was no traction and the car was free from the effects of friction, which I had until that point in my life, cherished far too little.

The car skidded blithely into the oncoming lane, not seeming to care one whit that the driver was begging it to consider other options. I spun the wheel into the curve, and then away from the curve, but still the car was gliding, sliding straight towards the guardrails propped like spaghetti alongside yawning, black chasms.

I am going to die, I thought sadly, and my poor husband is waiting in vain for me to come home. I will never have children, and I will never become a famous artist. My parents will be disconsolate, and I will never find out if my hair will one day be silver like my mom’s, or just dingy grey like a jackal. I will never find the perfect haircut, or a shoe that is both beautiful
and
comfortable. I had just begun to live and there was so much I wanted to do. I felt not so much fear, as grief for all I would never have a chance to experience. The wall of white snowbank filled my world as the car slammed against the guard rail, skidded back to the other lane, and flipped. Then, there was nothingness.

I opened my eyes, hearing a faint knocking. Maybe I had it backwards, but I was under the impression that
I
would be the one knocking at a pearly gate under such circumstances. I was surprised to find Heaven was exactly as big as an old VW bug. I straightened my back, and felt the seatbelt against my lap. This wasn’t Heaven, or thankfully, any place warmer. I knew that because surely, no one needs seatbelts in Heaven, and there would be no snow drifts in Hell. I concluded I must be alive, and I was still in my car. I heard the knock again, and then noticed a man in a grey uniform peering in the car window.

“Are you ok, ma’am?” he asked.

“I don’t know….am I?” I sat up.

“You have four wheel wells bashed in, but I can straighten those for you.”

I looked in my rear view mirror. There was an enormous shiny tow truck behind me with myriad rows of flashing lights all blinking like Christmas. Where had that come from? I had been completely alone on the deserted highway. What a miracle that he had chanced along just at my moment of need.

He went right to work, moving around the four corners of my car. It didn’t occur to me that he had no tools, nor any helper, and was apparently smoothing and aligning crushed metal bare handedly. He returned to my window and said, “You should be fine now. Do you have far to go?”

“No,” I answered, “Only about another hour.”

“Well go slowly, and you will make it. I will wait for you to pull out to be sure your car is ok.”

I thanked him, and realized, as he returned to his tow truck, that he had not asked me for money. I thought that was what tow trucks
did
on such miserable nights. Why hadn’t he asked me to pay him?

I put on my turn signal, glanced behind me, and pulled onto the road. The car drove easily. I glanced back again and paused. Something was odd. I looked over my shoulder, and then in my mirror. Where was the tow truck? Where was the immense shiny truck with yellow lights flashing in the icy darkness? It seemed to have
vanished
. I looked in front of me. No, it was not there either. There was not a soul on the road. Only me, for as far as I could see ahead or behind. I stuck my head out the window and looked up. Nothing but snow swirled before my eyes.