“What time do you stop serving breakfast?” I asked the manager of the fast food restaurant.
“Ten thirty,” he said. I looked at my watch. Although it was already that time and the restaurant was a 15-minute drive away, I still clung to the hope of savoring my favorite sandwich. “Could you make two sausage and egg biscuit sandwiches and hold them for me?” I asked in my most pleading voice. “Sure,” was the manager’s response.
It was Saturday morning and I really wanted one of those steaming, flaky biscuit sandwiches. The light and tender gems had been calling out to me all week long and nobody makes ‘em better than this place! So, in anticipation of the perfect breakfast, we drove off. My husband and I had a busy day planned. We’d just swing by the restaurant, pick up our order, and get on with the numerous weekend tasks at hand.
We weren’t expecting to be delayed by a hit and run accident. The driver entered the intersection on a red light. The on-coming car swerved to avoid a crash and was forced up onto the median where it leveled a street sign. We watched in disbelief as the guilty driver sped away.
How could she do this! I mentally pushed our waiting fluffy hot sandwiches to the back of the griddle; we had no choice but to follow her. “You have to go back, lady!” we kept saying as though she could hear us. We thought the sound of our car horn would compel her to turn back and take responsibility for her actions, but we were wrong. She never did stop. Finally, recognizing the futility of continuing to tailgate the vehicle we took down her license number and returned to the accident site.
The car’s front end was damaged but its distraught owner, Matt, was relieved and grateful when we produced a license number because the police would now be able to trace the vehicle’s owner. “Are you guys in a hurry?” Matt asked. “Can you talk to the police when they arrive?”
I was beginning to wonder how much longer our treasured flaky treats would stay nice and hot. My hope was vaporizing as quickly and surely as the steam was rising from our waiting biscuit sandwiches.
While my husband and Matt talked with the police I raced off to pick up the much-desired order. But as I drove to the restaurant I felt the Lord prompt me to offer my biscuit sandwich to Matt. Ridiculous, I thought! He probably already ate breakfast.
But well fed or not, this young man who was not having a good day would probably appreciate a small gesture of kindness. I’ll buy an extra biscuit sandwich for him, I thought. No, I reminded myself. The breakfast hour was over. Besides, I didn’t have enough money to purchase a third item.
I resolved to offer my longed-for sandwich to Matt. I could do without.
I pulled up to the drive-through window, paid for two sausage and egg biscuit sandwiches, and drove back to the scene of the accident. To my great surprise (and a little dismay), Matt eagerly accepted the mouth-watering gift!
With the police report finalized and Matt enthusiastically enjoying my sandwich, we got into our car to leave. I reached into the brown paper sack and pulled out the remaining biscuit sandwich. As I handed it to my husband I remained silently hopeful that this generous soul would insist on sharing it with me.
But there was something else in the bag, something warm and round, soft and wrapped. How could this be? I had only purchased two. Was this what I thought it was?
In disbelief, and with tears in my eyes, I stared at what the Lord had placed in my hand: a sausage egg biscuit sandwich!