Thank you, Jesus

Mark was sweating. When we left Big Bend on Sunday, the gas station just outside of the park was $4.19 a gallon and he objected to being scalped for gas just because we were out in the middle of nowhere. We had less than a quarter of a tank (the gas gauge showed about an eighth) and he thought there would be another gas station before we hit the big "E" . . . But he thought wrong. The tiny towns we passed through had no gas stations.

I couldn't help but chuckle, "What are you going to do if we run out?"

He just groaned and said he didn't know. He sent up a prayer, but he figured "If I didn't get gas out of my own stupidity, He isn't going to help me!" A few minutes later the red light on the gas gauge lit up as we neared another small town. He was anxiously scanning ahead looking for a gas station, and unconsciously holding his breath.

"There's one", I said.

"Where? Where? I don't see it!"

When he pulled into the station, he just sat there a minute and took a BIG breath. "I need to breathe", he said, "I was really nervous."

"And you need to say 'Thank You, Jesus'."

"Thank You, Jesus."

 

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