Hearing a thump of a flat tire, I groaned inwardly. I was taking two young nieces home after their summer visit and this would make the trip seem longer. As I pulled off the highway, I prayed silently for help. It had been many years since I’d changed a tire, and never on this car, which had a kind of jack I had never used.
Even before the trunk was unlocked, I realized the girls’ determination to see everything wouldn’t make it easy for me to keep them away from the highway traffic while I worked on the left side of the car. Before I could unload the trunk to get at the jack and spare tire, I had a more urgent concern.
Two huge motorcycles stopped behind us and their burly, bearded riders in leather jackets dismounted. Everything I’d ever heard about the depravity of motorcycle gangs raced through my mind as they approached us. Don’t show fear, I told myself.
“Need help, lady?” The disarming approach — “Oh, no thanks. I can do it.” “Uh, well, you really should put your blinkers on.
The Highway Patrol is right fussy about that.”
When I turned attention to that, with a wary eye on the girls, the biker added a reminder to set the hand brake. I hadn’t thought of that either. Embarrassed and appalled by the possible consequences of forgetting vital safety measures, I attended to them in silence.
By that time, one biker had the jack in place and the other was lifting out the spare tire. Clearly they intended to change that tire whether I admitted needing help or not.
I decided to concentrate on keeping the girls away from the highway and the bikers — while they worked.
That wheel, which hadn’t been removed since we owned the car, proved very difficult to take off. Long before they succeeded in breaking it loose with sheer brawn, I knew all too clearly that I couldn’t have done it alone.
Suddenly I was ashamed of my first ungracious response to their offer of help. With some embarrassment I realized my fear came from my long-standing suspicions about bikers.
When the tools and damaged tire were stowed away, I shook hands with the men, thanked them and offered to pay for their help. They waved aside the offer with boyish grins, climbed on their machines and roared away.
Samaritans in disguise, I thought. Then I remembered that the original “Good Samaritan” of Christ’s parable was from a group despised and mistrusted — probably even by the person he helped. Suddenly I knew this beloved parable wasn’t only about caring, it was also about prejudice.
I had just received a private lesson about pre-judging others, plus a reminder that even today the Lord may surprise us with the people He sends to meet a need. Those bikers were Samaritans — neighbours in disguise.
A True Story By Florence Ferrier, from “A Double Dose of God’s Vitamin C for Spirit”
* So many Bikies take the time to show they care in very practical ways. They don’t ask or look for reward. We need to respect and Love them even though there are some who may cause harm, just as other people do, and most of these are not even into Bikes.
We need to be there for people who are hurting, although we don’t have to like or agree with their wrong actions, and sometimes they will need to be warned, but we still Love and pray for their well being…..
Remember Hurt people Hurt people or Hurt themselves, sometimes both.