Body Shop

"Look! A body shop!" Sister Jacinta Ngân said excitedly.
The huge yellow and orange billboard loomed in the distance.

We just had a blowout and were barely crawling at 30mph on the 75mph interstate.
"It's not for cars," Sr. Gwen Huyền pointed out.
Tattoos. Body piercings. Body art.

It was definitely a body shop.
Laughter broke the tension in the air.
Although I reminded everyone that we were in possession of three debit cards, over two hundred dollars in cash, and three cell phones, the sisters were still worried.

We finally made it to an exit.
The tollbooth operator (thank God for tollbooths on I-44's turnpike) directed us to the nearest gas station. Three hours later (with the help of two men who took pity on us at the gas station and put a spare on our van so we can drive to the nearest Walmart to buy a brand-new tire), we were back on the road.

One of the men had a cross tattooed on his right forearm.
He didn't speak much but didn't leave until our tire was pumped to the correct pressure and all our belongings were stowed back on our van.

Another piece of body art caught my eye.
It was a small flaming sword on the cashier's hand.
We had stopped at McDonald's for a quick evening meal.

"Come back if anything is wrong. I'll make the corrections," he said.
"Oh, he's just new at his job," one of the sisters commented later.

Something inside told me different.
I've never heard a McDonald's employee be so accommodating.
I knew he would microwave water for one of our sisters who was having a stomachache.

"Was it hot enough?" he called as we left the restaurant.
I looked at him searchingly. A look of real concern was on his face. I had not heard his question.
"Was the water hot enough?" he said slowly.

"Oh yes," I replied with a grateful smile.
"New at his job," the same sister commented again.

Maybe so.
Or maybe God sends enough angels to take care of his children.
Photo credit http://tattoos.lovetoknow.com/Cross_Tattoos