Loaves and Fishes Miracle

4 miles to empty.

Apparently Kirk’s car is really specific when warning of impending doom.  And apparently I’d missed its warnings for the previous 46 miles.

But there it clearly stated my situation.  4 miles to empty, with St. George an imposing 25 miles in my future.

A barrage of thoughts competed simultaneously for top billing.

“Has Kirk ever pushed his car this far?”

“Is this one of those ‘4 miles until you really ought to fill up, but idiots like you can probably squeak out an extra 30’ type of warning or an actual, literal, 4 miles to empty?”

“Which mile marker did I most recently pass so if I have to call for help I will at least know where I am?”

“How on earth did I just manage to drive from Las Vegas to St. George without even once thinking of the fact that cars need fuel?”  By the way, it had something to do with my intentional decision to stop thinking because my imagination kept running away to scary places I didn’t want it to go.  Apparently when I shut down the irrational thoughts, I shut down the rational ones, too.

I would have been stuck on that last thought were it not for the fact that the warning message now read “2 miles to empty.”

I considered my options.  My very limited options.  I called Kirk to find out if he had any past experience on which I could gauge the extent to which I should be worried.  And then I remembered the recent Facebook post of a friend.  “Ran out of gas for the first time ever.  #wantedtoseehowfaricouldgo #apparentlynotquitefarenough”  As I wondered how a person made it to be 30+ years of age without ever running out of gas (as I make it a yearly occurrence, have already written about 2 such instances - 2010 and 2013 - on this very blog, and should in all fairness disclose to having a 2014 story which I have not yet chronicled), I related to her husband’s comment best.  “It’s only a problem if you run out.  The last drops of gas have just as much potential energy as the first.”

I called Logan - through the bluetooth of course.  (Kirk hadn’t answered because I called him during church).  I explained my predicament, and he asked me what my plan was.  By this point, I was dealing with “0 miles to empty,” 20 miles to St. George, and a one-lane stretch of construction zone.

“My plan?” I responded.  “To call you and ask you to pray for a loaves and fishes miracle.”

He laughed until I insisted that really was my plan.  To pray that just like in the miracles of the Bible when the Lord fed a multitude with a few loaves and fishes, somehow the last few drops of fuel would get me to St. George.

I hung up and prayed.  During some of the miles, my faith wavered a bit and added a back-up prayer.  “If not a loaves and fishes miracle, then at least a Good Samaritan?”  And knowing there was bound to be one of the latter helped me put my faith fully into the loaves.  “0 miles to empty,” the car read mile after mile.

Again my faith wavered a few miles from St. George.  “Just watch… I came this far, just to run out of gas now,” I pessimistically surmised.  Then I reminded myself that even being closer to St. George was certainly helpful; fewer miles for my Samaritan to travel for a gas can.

And then I made it.

Ta-da!  Which is almost anticlimactic, because in reality, my trip was never in any danger.  Some (read at least ½ of my brain) might say there was enough gas all along to get me those last 25 miles.  After all, Kirk does not drive his car to empty and I hope never to test the theory again.  Others might proclaim faithfully that I experienced my own little miracle on I-15.  (Hmmm… potential movie title?)  Since I really won’t ever know, I’m going to say this.

My Heavenly Father loves me.  He cares about everything I care about, even the little things.  And even though some prayers don’t get answered in quite the ways I would like, He is mindful of me and watches over me.  Whenever I fall short on my own, He is there waiting with the loaves and fishes I need.  I drove 20 miles more than the car said I could.  That’s a miracle to me.