After a week of fun in the sun, a friend and I were driving home from the beautiful, emerald gulf coast of Florida. We wanted a bold adventure and thought traveling through the Louisiana bayou would add excitement to our travels. It was July 1983. We drove endlessly along Highway 10 towards our destination, New Orleans.
It was nightfall before we reached the borders of Mississippi and Louisiana and the temperature was well above 100 degrees. The star-studded sky was without cloud and a full yellow moon hung low in the east. Soon, we were driving at break-neck speed along a long stretch of highway over the swamps of the Louisiana bayou. I remember wondering if there were large numbers of crocodiles living in the waters below. It was sort of spooky along this highway.
I was driving my not-quite-a-year-old Pontiac T-1000. So far my little car had been driving well, but on this lonely stretch of highway, I noticed that the air conditioner wasn't spitting cold air anymore. It was an ominous sign for worse to come.
At some point I passed a white sedan. Soon their headlights could no longer be seen as I raced at least 15 miles over the speed limit. Perhaps 30 minutes later my car began to sputter and lose speed. My heart began to race as my little T-1000 slowly ground to a stop. None of the outside nor dashboard lights were working. Despite a full tank of gas, my car had surely died along this stretch of gator-country! Now I was scared.
Panic rising in my heart, I thought of all sorts of dangers that could befall my friend and I ... out here ... on a deserted stretch of Louisiana highway ... with the crocodile-infested swamp waters lurking below. We sat in stunned silence for a minute or two, then briefly discussed how best to deal with this current situation. We sat there for about 15 minutes ... alone ... in the dark ... without air conditioning ....
I glanced in the rear view mirror as two headlights appeared from behind us. "This could be good, or this could be very bad," I thought to myself. (Remember, this was before people had cell phones, and I'm not sure anyone would've had cell phone coverage in this sparsely populated region, anyway.) The car pulled up behind us and a tall, male stranger got out of the driver's side. It was the white sedan I'd passed earlier.
Windows up. Car doors locked. I turned my head to peer at the stranger as he slowly walked up to my side of the car. He flashed his flashlight beam into the interior of our car, sweeping first the back seats, then the front seats. The man held up what appeared to be a badge. I scrutinized the badge closely before deciding, yep, this was a legitimate policeman with a baton, side-arm and honest to goodness police badge. The white sedan was an unmarked police car! Oh my gosh, I was so relieved to see a policeman instead of someone else.
After assessing the situation, this kind policeman towed my car with chains for 20 or more miles to the closest gas station. I was told that it would cost about $200, which was a lot of money at that time, to fix my car. I had no choice but to wait for the repair, then continue towards home.
The very week, I bought a new car.
One thing I knew without a doubt was that the policeman was at the right place at just the right time and I could then, and now, clearly see the hand of God at work as He orchestrated our rescue. Not one to believe in coincidences, I believe that God placed the policeman on the same highway that night so that we could be pulled to safety.
