Our three cars are in a revolving door with the mechanic. The one named Anna is getting inspected. Larry has no left turn indicator. The third, Kiwi, had his alternator replaced last week. But then on a cold night he still refused to rev up. A friend was in the same parking lot and spent half an hour of his crazy busy evening helping us jump it. We tentatively kept using Kiwi, and my trust grew to the point where I drove him to the dentist. Which was a bad idea. 

On the return trip the radio turned off. Oh well, it is a luxury item anyway. Then the lights on the dash all flickered dramatically and went dark. The engine got noisy, and surged awkwardly. I slowed down but could not turn on the hazards. I tried to lower the window to wave to cars to pass me, but that did not respond either. I was less than a mile from home but the street I was coming up to is a very busy one, so I turned right on to a less traveled road, so I could struggle in a more private setting. I managed to chug down it, and even turned the corner toward the cathedral. I am resistant to using my phone while I drive but made an exception. Unfortunately google assistant rang the house phone rather than John's cell. Our indifference to the landline is such that we barely pick up even if we can find the receiver which goes wandering. Benjamin was in a social mood and answered. I asked for dad, while keeping the urgency out of my voice. At least John could talk me through the uncertainty. 

The steepness of that hill did not bring out the best in my gagging engine, and half way up it gave up the ghost altogether. I felt grateful to be safe, knowing that John would rescue me. Before he arrived a couple of cars came and their annoyed drivers had to go around me. But then a garbage truck approached. There was no easy way for it to navigate the muddy shoulder, and spent twenty minutes trying. John showed up and figured out how to coast backwards out of the way. The truck roared past. We called a few tow truck operators, and arranged for one to come fetch it. We went home to warm up, and thought the drama would subside. But the police were having a slow day and made plans to tow the nuisance vehicle, and called to inform us. Another squad car arrived at our home, and we begged them to wait for the tow truck, which they did. 

Our daughter happened to be visiting from Philly and heard of the kerfuffle. 

"You sure live in a small town!" she laughed. "Philly cops have bigger problems."

Even a day later the catastrophe of it all has dimmed. The prospect of steering a moving car in the throes of death sends my heart rate up, but actually it turned out fine. 

At this time of year I reflect on the turmoil around the Advent. The danger lurking in Bethlehem was substantially more dire than a stalled car. Perhaps the holy family felt frightened by the doors that would not open to them. The shepherds were alarmed by lights that flickered dramatically in the sky above them. Wise men had to take a different road, in order to avoid the vengeance of an angry monarch. 

Yet even with those adversities did not have enough power to thwart the birth of the Infant King. 

Love,