Winter Rendezvous

We never reached Norman that night. Car trouble forced us to change our plans. Disappointed and worried, the four of us headed back home that cold December evening. A red warning light shone from the dashboard as my dad drove down the interstate.

Suddenly our headlights illuminated a hitch-hiker alongside the highway. As we passed the stranger, I thought what a terrible night it was for someone to be afoot. The temperature was already below freezing and a harsh north wind was blowing furiously.

My father slowed and pulled onto the shoulder of the road. I wondered just what we were in for as the hooded figure approached.

He opened the front passenger-side door and stuck his head in the car. The courtesy light flickered on and I could see the face of a young man. One hand remained in his dingy, oversized parka.

I’ll never forget what happened next.

. . . . . . .

Our journey began earlier that day. We had planned to see the OU - OSU wrestling match in Norman, Oklahoma; scheduled for that evening.

After arriving in Chickasha (our half-way point), we headed for the local McDonalds. But a flat tire stopped us before we got there. We quickly pulled over and prepared to change it.

After getting the car up on the jack and removing all the retaining nuts from the wheel, my dad attempted to remove the tire. He pulled and tugged but it would not budge. In turn, we all gave it several tries. My brother-in-law jerked the tire so hard, it shook the entire vehicle, and almost toppled the jack. But the tire remained stubbornly in place. It was growing darker now, and much colder. The north wind was howling and the wind-chill factor was well below zero. And our frustration level was growing.

Finally my dad suggested, “Fellows, maybe it’s time we prayed.”

My father, long time principal of Eisenhower Junior High School in Lawton, was a man of deep faith, and a firm believer in the power of prayer.

I was perhaps a little skeptical of his suggestion, but I thought, “What else could we do?”

So together we huddled in the station wagon, thankful to be out of the bitter cold, and we bowed our heads and prayed.

Afterwards, on my dad’s first attempt, the wheel came right off.

But a new problem arose. Wedged inside the freshly removed tire was the brake assembly. Brake fluid began spurting from the exposed brake line onto the frozen pavement.

Fortunately there was a gas station nearby, where a mechanic pried the brake assembly out of the wheel. He made a few quick repairs and mounted the brake back in place. Finally we were able to put on the spare tire.

By then it was much too late to continue to Norman, so with a mixture of disappointment and anxiety we headed for home. Worried if we could make it back, we had just turned onto the Interstate, when we passed the stranger.

. . . . . . .

I knew my dad was going to pull over as soon as he saw the hitch-hiker.

He had hitch-hiked many times himself while on basketball scholarships as a university student in the early fifties. Often it was the only way he had of getting back and forth the hundred miles or so between home and school. He was much too poor to afford his own automobile.

And so, as the young stranger peered through the open door, he looked straight at my father, and said something I’ll never forget.

With a look of surprised recognition, he exclaimed, “Mr. D!”

My father’s name is Abraham Lincoln Deutschendorf, born on the 12th of February, 1935. For 25 years “Mr. D” was what most everybody at Eisenhower Junior High School called him.

This young hitch-hiker, as it turned out, was a former student. And he had just been picked up by his old junior high school principal!

As we again started for home, he told us his story.

He too was a college student, currently enrolled at Oklahoma City University. He also came from a poor family and was able to attend college via a music scholarship. He had a car, but it wasn’t a very good one. It had broken down that morning in Oklahoma City.

Earlier that day he had received word that his mother, back in Lawton, was dangerously ill. He was told he needed to get back home to be with her as soon as possible.

He had gotten a ride as far as Chickasha, where a trucker had dropped him off. He had been walking alone in the darkness, along the highway, pushed by the wild winter wind, seeking a safe ride home.

And he had been praying; asking God to help him get home to his mom. Soon thereafter we had appeared.

We took him home to his mother that night. Turns out, she had been praying too.

And once again, as has occurred in countless ways down through the ages, the invisible, spiritual power of prayer impacted quite dramatically on this old, cold physical world of ours.

Though we never made it to our original destination, someone else did. Through delay and disappointment, we were led to an important rendezvous. One we might have missed if not for the simple power of prayer.

"May the Lord answer you when you are in distress; may the name of the God of Jacob protect you. May He send you help from the sanctuary and grant you support from His temple.

For now I know that the Lord saves his anointed; He answers him from His holy heaven, with the saving power of His right hand.

Some trust in chariots and some trust in horses, but we trust in the name of the Lord our God.

O Lord, ... answer us when we call!" (Psalms 20: 1-2; 6-7, 9)

author: Jerry Dan Deutschendorf