Wanting Warning of Warnings

It didn't even sputter.

The only clue as to why my car had suddenly stopped moving forward was located inside my dashboard: a small, orange light in the shape of a gas pump shining firmly over the gas needle that was plunked down on E.

I don't know what I was expecting, really, aside from making it to the gas station. I have a friend who runs out of gas so commonly that it's the first question her children ask if they stop unexpectedly on the side of the road. But even so, I didn't really ever think that running completely out of gas was something that could really ever happen to me. And, if it did happen, the car would give plenty of warning in the form of choking, sputtering and general discomfort to warn me to pull off onto the next side road.

But my car offered no such convenience. Coasting comfortably along at 45mph, it took all of 10 seconds to come to a standstill. Enough time to get into the right lane, yes...enough time (or power) to pull into the next driveway, nope. And so I put my emergency flashers on and sat in the right lane of Guess Road, watching in my rearview mirror for a few seconds to gauge my safety and come up with a plan. Thankfully, I had stopped at the top of a small rise and people seemed to have no problem seeing my van. I watched as car after car after truck after van pulled into the left lane to pass my sorry load. I knew I couldn't push the van into the nearest driveway by myself, but I didn't feel good about leaving it in such a precarious position as I walked to the gas station. So I said a short prayer and when the traffic had a slight lull, I unbuckled myself and my baby, stood on the side of the road, and tried to look helpless so someone would stop to help me.

A moment later, a man pulled into the driveway I had been eying and started walking towards me.
"Do you need some help?"
"Yeah. I ran out of gas here... do you think you could help me push the van into that driveway so it's out of the way?"
"Sure - this is actually my family's house," he said pointing to the house whose lawn I was standing on. "Let me go get my brother."

Coincidence or answer to prayer... I'll let you decide for yourself. But I sure felt blessed as he walked up to his front porch. Seconds later, a police officer pulled behind me with his lights on and I was grateful for the added visibility. The man came out with his brother and, together with the police officer, they pushed my van into their driveway.

The brothers had a gas can in their shed which happened to be holding a couple gallons of gas which, with insistence and no hesitation, they poured into my tank. My van soaked the gas up greedily and soon hummed back to life. With words of thanks and promises of good karma coming their way, I drove off and didn't stop until I was snuggled safely under the awning at Costco with a gas pump to my left.

So today, when my gas light appeared on the way to Carson's preschool, I was quick to remember that that was indeed the final warning . . . and I made sure to stop at Costco on my way home.

Because, it turns out, my van can - and will - run out of gas if I push it too hard.