Just over two weeks ago, our car was stolen.
We’re a single-car family, as we have been for several years. We bought the car — a Kia — back in 2015 before a TikTok Challenge dared youth (and criminals alike) to steal Kias using a screwdriver and a USB cable.
The car wasn’t anything to look at: multiple key scratches graced its sides and the protective panels over one of the rear tires was missing. We took pictures of the dashboard when we passed the 100k mark; we popped the proverbial bubbly when the car was paid off a few years ago.
We dreamed of a new car someday, but buying a car wasn’t at the top of our priority list (or our monthly budget).
Until it was. That is, until the bad guys stole the car, just as James and the boys were walking out of the tunnel at the A’s game.
“Dada, uh, is that our car?” Canon asked, pointing at the car, less than forty feet in front of them. James started running towards it, tires screeching down the street. They say running towards the scene of a crime isn’t what you’re supposed to do in the moment, but they also say instinct is a powerful motivator that takes over when you least expect it.
Because, then the car was gone. Then, the police report was filed, the boys teary-eyed from witnessing the bad guys and from imagining what could have happened to Dada had the bad guys chosen to be even badder.
And then, an hour or two later, when we reported the incident to our insurance company, we found out that insurance wouldn’t be covering anything. Unbeknownst to us, the double-edge sword of an expired credit card and notifications sent to a spam folder resulted in us being up a creek without so much as any help.
But then, there was help. God, so much help.
Often, when tragedy strikes, the best in humanity comes out to play. Think about the volunteers who spend days digging through earthquake rubble, at the thousands of dollars raised in a single hour for victims of car accidents and mass shootings, cancer diagnoses and unexpected medical costs.
We humans are wired to help.
We bake cookies and drop off casseroles; we send “thinking about you texts” and pop checks in the mail. We do whatever we can to take away the pain, to be the helpers we most want to see in this world.
For us, we saw help from the minute the whole thing happened — when the neighbors I was with dropped everything to drive me to my family, and then, when my aunt and uncle loaned us their extra car for the week. When a friend, who happened to text in the middle of it all, had dinner delivered to our doorstep that night, and a couple more friends sent us a Door Dash gift card. When cousins of friends who delight in shopping for cars, just for the fun of it, texted multiple options to us, and when another friend happened to have an extra 30-inch bat lying around, just like the one Theo left in the car. When lucky red, peep-toed, preacher-lady clogs I’d then left in the car arrived on my doorstep a week later. When another set of friends loaned us their car for the second week and more offers to borrow a couple more cars came in soon after.
The list goes on, as it usually, always does.
Although I feel depleted from the stress of the last two weeks, my soul feels filled to the brim from all the help that showed up. We survived, thanks in part to the helpers among us.
We have a new car now, and it’s not a Kia, thank the Lord. Some are still believing that we’ll find our old car, and while I’m not placing any bets on the matter, wouldn’t that be a story if we found it.
Because then I’d have two pairs of lucky red, peep-toed, preacher-lady clogs.
What would I even do then?
Seems like this could be a whole book. Not just this story, but so many helper stories all stuck together??
Praise God!!!!
Love ya All, Muddah(Gaga)