It started because I couldn't open the boot. It was slightly ajar, but not much, just enough so you could wiggle it up and down. But it wouldn't click shut, and it wouldn't open either.
Then I tried the key-fob again. Nothing. No little clicky-click, no light-flash. The car was silent. The battery, I knew, was flat.
I unlocked the driver side door with a key and flung my rucksack in the back, realising that I would probably not be going essentials-shopping today. I tried the ignition out of a forlorn hope. The dashboard was blank, and all I could hear was birdsong.
What had happened was that last time I used the car (Saturday, I think) I'd just forgotten to shut the boot properly and the alarm lamp that comes on when you do that had drained the battery, the car being parked outside my house for three days. And in a lockdown, I wasn't exactly sure what you're supposed to do.
So I adopted my classic coping mechanism by going back inside and making a cup of tea. Assam it was, taken with a dash of milk in one of my Scrabble mugs. I had a macaroon with it. I'm nothing if not proactive, me,
An hour or so later, my friend persuaded me (by text) to call the AA. So I did that, and within an hour, James - a very different kind of mechanic to last time - was outside my house, with the bonnet open, telling me about all the flat batteries he's had to deal with this week.
James didn't know that he was an answer to prayer. Neither did I at first, but as those chilly thirty minutes elapsed, I started to realise that I was really enjoying the conversation, even though James and I stayed the regulation two metres apart throughout. He was young, kind of funny and cheerful - the kind of young man who has a very likeable, affable manner - and I did find myself liking his straightforward style.
My prayer has been that I would see a real person every other day during the lockdown - not just a supermarket worker or a jogger in the street; I mean a friendly person to talk to. Last week, God sent two different friends - one waving at me from the park across my neighbour's garden, the other beautifully dropping supplies off at my front door while I leaned out of the window. Those tiny, awesome moments have become the highlights of my days, and this week, I suddenly was in a friendly chat with James, testing the capacitance of my battery on a cold, March afternoon. The miracles continue.
I don't think it's wrong to celebrate small miracles by the way, even when bigger ones are needed. Atheists raise an eyebrow at it - after all, why wouldn't God sweep in and eradicate the virus? Well, that's a much bigger question than I can handle. I don't know, but I do know that one of the things I asked for was to see friendly faces every other day. Why he's answering that is as much a mystery to me as the fact that today he used my flat battery to do it. I'm thankful though.
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