Too Simultaneous for Mere Coincidence
Ask and you will receive — 2
What angels invented these…this ocean of air above, this ocean of water beneath, this firmament of earth between? this zodiac of lights, this tent of dropping clouds, this striped coat of climates?1
DAVID humored me. He agreed to go view town homes one Sunday morning. He and his wife were almost decided on one, though I thought they needed to see one more community before making a decision. I drove; David had just sold their van and awaited a replacement.
As we arrived at the place, a woman of about 85 stood at the entry area. This was a small array of homes; she had watched our vehicle enter the drive. She walked hesitantly toward us, and then put up her hand as to ask us to stop.
At my window she timidly asked if we could help her find her car. She said a friend had taken it to a town about 30 miles south. She wondered if we would take her there so she could retrieve it.
David indicated with a nod that he was on board. Once inside the car, the elder began to describe what had happened, in a general sort of way. The address where the car might be wasn’t clear, but, she assured that she could direct us.
As we drove along we noticed that she changed subjects disjointedly. At one point she declared the teachings of the Buddha had been retained in a very pure way. I could agree, as I thought so as well, and was a bit surprised at this foray.
A thought arose: “She may not really know exactly the whereabouts of her car or the friend who took it!” We arrive in the town, and all of a sudden she exclaimed, “Turn right here, I think this is it.” I turned, and we motored along a neighborhood arterial.
As we meander, she isn’t sure which side street is the one. Then, “turn here,” she said, again without warning. David and I exchange a furtive glance.
Was that hope or chagrin written on his face? I turned the car onto another side street, and proceeded slowly at the passenger’s request. She had asserted, “This street and the houses on it look familiar.”
Alas, this same sort of process continued for another ten minutes, and, even though we’d driven across, down, and through town on many more neighborhood streets, there was no vehicle of hers to be seen. Nor a familiar house. David shifted uncomfortably in his seat.
I suggested that maybe it would be best to turn and go back home. It was clear David liked this idea. He visibly relaxed.
Now, on the way back to the highway, as we neared another arterial in yet another unexplored neighborhood, the woman exclaimed, most definitely, “This is it; turn here!”
David seldom showed frustration, but I could feel an emotion welling up, and a sort of cloud of exasperation began to permeate the cabin atmosphere. Nevertheless, with such a determined tone to, “This is it,” I turned the vehicle onto one more neighborhood arterial.
At least, I rationalized we are going in the direction home. “Might as well look again that we’d gone this far.” Within another block of streets, our lady of the road said, “Here, turn here.”
Slowly, ever so slowly, we inched along at her request. She closely observed each house as well as the vehicles parked curbside or in the driveway. David’s body language seemed the child of a long-suffering attitude as he lazily peered out the side window.
I noticed simultaneously in peripheral vision accompanied by a felt sense that David’s body suddenly became alert, alive, and just then, in an excited voice, he exclaimed, “Scottie, there’s my van; there’s my license plate, stop.”
He and his wife had experienced quite a bit of anxiety the past week over their van sale. The state of Nevada requires owners who sell a vehicle to keep their license plates, and David had forgotten to retain theirs. No one at the department of motor vehicles could provide information about the new owner.
He exited the car, knocked at the neighbor’s front door, and a few minutes later retrieved the plates from the van that was once his. His jaw was open, figuratively, on the return drive to bring our magical guide home. She thanked us as she departed, and we watched her as she peacefully entered her home.
She looked quite contented. She’d uttered not a word of direction after David found his plates. A week later we learned that she had Alzheimer’s.
Medical scientists call it a disease, but in this case it seems a greater intelligence found her condition to be a way to direct David to his license plates—and, hopefully, she had a joyride to boot. We expressed our astonishment when we learned of her condition. This affair was too “coincidental” to be simply coincidence.
There was synchronicity in the universe. David and his wife had asked, somewhat lost hope, but kept a shred of it. Then, out of the blue of a seeming random coincidence, they received an answer.
“Let’s trust life,” we said. We might at anytime, in any day, encounter an angel who guides us in some way. Indeed, Spirit answers requests in such mysterious ways. ∆
Ralph Waldo Emerson, Nature, Thurston, Torry and Company, 1849