Lord, can’t you help him with just the basics of taking care of us？ I stormed out of the house.
Ten minutes later, ignoring A.K.’s warning about taking the shortcut in bad weather, I turned off the main route.
But as I rounded the corner a swirling mess gushed across my path. It can’t be that deep, I thought. But after a few feet, the car stalled. Almost 20 minutes passed, the car swayed. The chocolaty water surged. Please, God, I prayed, take care of me.
Three long blasts of horn interrupted my praying. Looking over my shoulder, A.K. ！
“Donna！I’m throwing a rope,” he yelled. “Hang on to it and walk straight toward me.”
I opened the door, grabbed the rope. I slipped in the rushing water, “ I can’t！”I screamed, straining at the rope.
“Yes, you can.” His voice was calm.
If it had been anybody but A.K. , I don’t think I could have done it. But I trusted my husband. I didn’t exactly as he instructed, and finally fell into his arms. “Thank you,” I said, sobbing against his chest. “I’m sorry I got so angry with you. It’s just that ...”
“Sssss ...” A.K. murmured. “It’s okay now. I’ve got you.”
God had reminded me that A.K. understood a thing or tow about taking care of us after all.
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