Flashing lights showed in our rear-view mirror and my husband pulled right, allowing the ambulance to pass.
It turned on the street leading up to our house.
“Oh, Don. What did you do now?” my husband said in an exasperated tone.
He seemed certain the ambulance was headed toward our neighbor’s house. The middle-aged man’s health was deteriorating, and those lights were appearing next door more and more often.
“It could be someone else. There’s lots of homes in that direction,” I said.
It was true, but I wasn’t confident. Silently, I prayed for our neighbor’s safety.
But the further we drove, the more fleeting my hopes became. We arrived home and the paramedics drove past our house, parking in front of our neighbor’s. As we observed them from our driveway, we could tell they were familiar with our friend’s case. Frequent caller, nuisance, guy who uses first responders as a taxi service.
There weren’t many in our area who cared about this guy. He was single with no kids, quirky and odd. But months after following the ambulance to his house, my husband took him to Bible study. Despite previous invitations that were ignored or turned down, he went several times.
After his dad passed, we invited him to dinner. To be honest, I felt uncomfortable by some of his habits. But I held my tongue and he came to our home again a few weeks later.
I was sure God was paving the way for a change in this man’s life. We sensed his heart shifting and opening. And while it was just enough to shine a tiny light through, it was something.
But then, there was another shift. Another ambulance.