I jerked my head toward the light trailing in our wake. A shower of sparks lit up Highway 72 like the 4th of July. "Uh oh!"

    My husband threw me a dark glance. “What’s that?”

    Knots tightened in my stomach as I peered through the dusty back window of the pickup. “Looks like the launcher.” What else could go wrong today? A bead of sweat slithered down my brow.

    The truck bumped along the rutted two-lane road a little farther before Bob maneuvered onto a wide spot and slammed on the brakes. He tossed me another glare before opening his door and climbing out. He was right, of course. This was all my fault. My "short cut" had taken us miles from civilization into rural Mississippi.            
    I eased out the passenger door. Summer air hovered thick and heavy without hint of a breeze. Insects of unnatural size buzzed past my ears. An odor of burning metal punctuated the atmosphere. I expected to find the trailer carrying our remote-control plane launcher had merely jiggled off its hitch. Instead, broken pieces dragged the pavement with only a chain connecting it to the truck. Hence the sparks.

    With a sigh, I pushed bangs off my damp forehead. Hard to gauge Bob’s level of fatigue from his expression. I inched to the side opposite him so I wouldn’t be too close in case he exploded.

    The launcher tipped up like a stinkbug. First glance assured me no band-aid could fix it. We needed a welder. But where could we find one around here? Bob stretched. Back must be hurting again. And no wonder. We had driven all afternoon from Alabama on the way home to California. Memphis must be hours away. At seven o’clock on a Friday night, our hope of finding an open welding shop nearby evaporated with the stifling air.

    Just ahead, a dilapidated shack crouched beside the road, isolated from electric lines. In fact, the usual line of poles that should have paralleled this highway seemed to be missing altogether. Probably no phone, either.

    I pointed. Bob shrugged.

    Since cell phones hadn’t been invented yet, we were out of choices. I painted on a faint smile. "Worth a try." I started toward the house, hope leaking away with each step.

    As I approached, a stooped gray woman emerged. She wasn't smiling. Shadows on her cheeks looked like scoops of flesh had been removed. She must be lacking teeth to hold the cheeks outward. Maybe that’s why she didn’t smile.

    I gulped, trying to muster a drop of hope. Shoulders back, friendly smile in place, I marched toward her. The woman tilted her head to one side while I explained our woeful predicament. Her expression never changed. I paused, waiting for her answer. A river of sweat trickled down my back. I swiped my forehead, gathering moisture, then glanced at Bob for support. With his back turned, arms akimbo, he studied the launcher. No support there.

     Just when I’d decided the woman didn’t intend to answer, she let out a heavy sigh. “Might be a welder in Ashland,” she muttered in a drawl thicker than the air. “Ain‘t never had no need of one. Don’t know fo shore.”

    “How far is it to Ashland?”

    She flung a point in the direction we’d been headed. “Ain’t far. Follow the road.”

    Bob unhitched the launcher and we jumped in the truck.

    I watched the launcher disappear from view as we drove away. “Think it’s safe to leave it there?”

    Bob’s eyes never left the road. Expression grim, he gripped the steering wheel with clenched hands. I braced myself for the coming tirade. "Oh, Lord," I prayed out loud. "Please help us. We need a welder. And fast."

    As I continued to pray, I studied the map from every angle, but didn’t find Ashland anywhere. As far as I could tell, we were thirty or forty miles from a town in any direction, maybe more. Soon twilight would be on us.

    Bob’s whistling startled me. What happened to the clenched fists? His hands rested easily on the steering wheel and a look of peace had settled over his countenance.

    I settled back to enjoy green fields and lush trees as they whizzed by the window. After fifteen minutes of passing fertile farms and meandering creeks, Bob’s frown returned. “There’s no town here. Must’ve gotten the direction wrong.”

    “Maybe it’s a little farther.”

    Instead of a town, however, we came upon a run-down convenience store. We stopped to confirm directions and were assured that Ashland was “just down the road.” No one in the huddle of teens congregated outside the store recognized the word “welder” as Bob pronounced it or knew if Ashland possessed such a person. When we climbed back in the truck, neither of us spoke or even looked at each other.

    At long last, we rounded a curve and the tiny town of Ashland Mississippi spread out ahead. I scooted to the edge of my seat so I could be first to spot the welding shop. Bob drove the entire four-block perimeter. Ashland was completely deserted—not so much as a single parked car. It took less than five minutes to return to our starting point.

    We stared at the empty streets. Then we faced each other. Bob’s eyes were wide. “Did you see anyone? Anywhere?”

    “There’s not even a dog on the street!”

    “Guess they’ve already rolled up the sidewalks.” Bob tilted his head back and big guffaws rolled out of him. Belly laughs.

    I joined.

    Amid the laughter, he shook his head. “This could only happen to us.”

    That set me off giggling again. “What are we going to do?”

    “Guess we’ll drive to Memphis, find a welder, and persuade him to come back with us.”

    The sobering impossibility squelched my glee. “It’ll be hours until we get to Memphis. Even if we find a welder, he won’t come back tonight.”

    “So we’ll come back tomorrow.”

    Incredulous, I studied his face. Sir, what have you done with my husband? What made him so uncharacteristically optimistic? “And if we can’t find someone who’ll come with us?”

    He shrugged. “Then—we’ll rent another trailer and transfer the launcher onto it.”

    Given its weight, the two of us could never accomplish that. “But we’ll be stuck here overnight and maybe for the entire week-end. What about the delivery schedule?”

    While I ticked off problems, Bob returned to driving. Without warning, he slammed on his breaks. “There’s a welder right there!”

    I followed his line of vision, but saw only a dusty pickup moving slowly from one of the farms.

    In a cloud of dust, Bob braked alongside the pickup and rolled down his window. “We have a broken rig back on Highway 72. Are you a welder?”

    The farmer pulled on his chin. “I have a small welder to fix my own equipment, but my son has a full-size one. I’ll see if I can get him to help. If not, I’ll just come on down there myself. Where’re you folks broke down at?”

    Bob gave directions and backed out to the road. From his expression, he didn’t look like a man who’d just witnessed a miracle.

    I, on the other hand, could hardly keep from shouting. “Did you see that? God answered my prayer. How did you know that was a welder?”

    He glanced over his sunglasses. “Don’t get excited yet. We don’t know whether he can help us. We don’t even know if he’ll come.”

    But half an hour later, a fully operational mobile welding rig pulled in beside the launcher. Out stepped God’s angels. The thin young man and his father, both of whom had already worked a full day and needed their well-earned rest, set welding instead.

    The humid July twilight gave way to darkness with no let up on the day’s heat. Soon the men were sweating profusely but neither complained. I sat on the truck runner and watched them work. Thank you, God, for Southern hospitality and for these angels in overalls you sent to help us.

    About an hour and a half later, they had finished welding the pieces together with extra reinforcement on the weak areas, better than new. Bob offered them all the cash we had, which they initially refused.

    On the shack’s porch, the old woman rocked in her willow chair and watched. Jagged zigzags flashed from enormous thunderheads— God flexing his muscles—but it didn’t rain. Counting Bob's uncharacteristic peace of mind, more than one miracle unfolded in the midst of that ordinary day.

    Why does it surprise me when God answers prayer? His miracles are everywhere—like the water cycle. I don’t need to worry about how problems will be resolved. God hears and answers.

    “ . . . for your Father knoweth what things ye have need of, before ye ask Him.” Matthew 6:8 (KJ). I can trust His plans because God is good.