“I think that was somebody lying beside the road back there!” Bobby screamed. Nobody was listening.

    It was a man. Joe had been carjacked and beaten. The thieves had slowed down to 30 before they opened the door and shoved him out on the shoulder of the road. Joe had been slowly dying in the ditch for the last six hours. He looked like a wad of bloody rags as the Purcell family shot by in their Suburban at 75 miles an hour. The Purcells were on their way to a great church. It was well worth the 18 mile drive every Sunday.

    “Wasn’t that a man, Daddy? Beside the road?” Bobby asked. At eleven, Bobby liked to look out over the fields.

    Chris Rice’s Smellin’ Coffee was spinning on the CD and old Dad was singing along, having a great time. So he didn’t hear the questions. Bobby kicked his voice up a notch, leaned over the front seat and asked, “Was that a man beside the road? It looked like a man. Did you see it?”

    “What? What are you talking about?” Dad asked. They were traveling about one mile every 50 seconds and the bloody man was two miles behind them by the time dad reluctantly turned the CD down.

    “Just off the road back there. It looked like a body.” Bobby said.

    “Hey, guy. C’mon. You been watchin’ too much TV lately,” Dad gently chided. Have you been watching those programs that aren’t anything but a bunch of gratuitous violence?

    The conversation had gone from somebody in the ditch, to television. Bobby didn’t know where Dad had changed gears. “Dad, what does ‘gratuitous’ mean?”

    “Gratuitous. You know, it means, well — gratuitous, as in ‘gratuitous violence.’ Hey, there’s a new word for you. Look it up when we get in from church this afternoon.”

    Bobby slipped back in the seat and said-to himself, “I still think that was a man. We should go back.” By that time the man was five miles behind them. Chris, on the CD, was into the Power of a Moment, and dad sung every word.

    The man in the ditch continued to bleed. Death was very near.

    David Jenkins, in his Mustang, was eight minutes behind the Suburban and headed for the same church. The singles group there was attracting a lot of unattached Christian men and women. This was very fortunate for David, because he loved God and was looking for a good Christian woman to share his life with.

    David was late. But then he was always late. As David’s Mustang barreled by, the bloody man managed to raise his hand. “A man!” David thought.

    Instinctively, David whipped around and pulled his car off the road beside Joe. Then, he could see the man was badly hurt.

    David rolled down his window and shouted, “Hey, sir! Sir! I’ll call 911 and the EMT’s will be here in no time.” David slapped his right side where his cell phone should have been. In his rush he had left the phone at home. David looked at the bloody man, and then he looked at his back seat. “Nah,” he said to himself. “Okay, okay, I’ll call 911 when I get to church. Hang on! Help’s on the way.”

    “God bless you,” David hollered as he let all the ponies loose. He left for the church in a shower of blue rubber smoke and a hail of loose gravel.

Without help, Joe didn’t have that long to live.

    There was only one problem with David’s plan — without help, Joe didn’t have that long to live.

    Six minutes later, a biker cruised by. His chopper was nicely chromed, but well worn. He wore faded jeans, and his Grateful Dead tee shirt was covered by a black leather jacket with a Hell’s Angels stencil on the back. He was chomping on a cheap cigar and enjoying the ride. It was Sunday morning, hardly any traffic, and at 40 miles an hour Ed was close to the road. At that speed he had no trouble spotting Joe off to his left. He hit both brakes, immediately made a graceful U, and pulled up beside Joe.

    “Hey buddy, they treated you pretty bad didn’t they?” Ed immediately knew what had gone down. He wasn’t proud of it, but in his younger years he had roughed up a few folks himself. He leaned his bike on the kick stand, walked over to the man and said, “Hey, buddy! You alive? Talk to me. Who are you? My name’s Ed.”

    Joe didn’t respond. Quickly, Ed rummaged through his saddlebags and came up with a thin, dirty blanket. Then he pushed aside three cans of warm beer, and grabbed the neck of a bottle of Jack Daniels. The whiskey, left over from a party two nights ago, might help. At least it wouldn’t hurt, he thought. So he splashed the whiskey on the worst cuts, wrapped Joe from neck to waist in the blanket and wrestled him onto the buddy seat.

    As Ed hopped on he said, “Hey, just lean forward, against me and put your left arm over my shoulder.” Joe was conscious enough to cooperate. When they started moving, Ed grabbed Joe’s left hand, hung on tight and drove all the way to the hospital without using his clutch.

    When the ER staff took over, Ed counted out $223 in sweaty, musty bills on the desk. He told the nurse, “I know that’s not enough money. But if you’ll take care of him, my buddies and me’ll be riding back this way day after tomorrow. I think between us we can come up with a pretty good sum. Would you take care of him ‘til we come back?”

    This story could’ve ended in any number of ways, but since it’s my story it will have a happy ending.

    Ed and his buddies dropped off almost $2,000, as he said they would, before Joe had fully regained consciousness. Bobby Purcell, who never looked up “gratuitous,” will always wonder what he saw on the side of the road that Sunday. And David is looking forward to a June wedding.

    And Joe?

    Of course he had insurance. He’s on his way to a full recovery, minus a couple of teeth, and is looking for Ed to properly thank him for saving his life that Sunday. In my story, Joe never sees Ed or his buddies again. But when he’s driving in his car, he waves at every motorcyclist he meets.

...

    No, this never happened. But it happens all of the time. To read the First Century version of this story look at Luke 10:25-37.

© 2001, Dennis Crawford. Used by permission.

Title: "Grace Comes Out in the Strangest People"
Author: Dennis Crawford
Publication Date: August 28, 2001

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