Testimonies

God Shows Up

by Tammy Dovichak
02/22/26
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Tiny raindrops had begun to lightly fall, covering my arm and adding a sparkle to the soft curls that draped over my little girl’s shoulders. The sudden precipitation seemed to illuminate the fact that this was, indeed, rock bottom, in case I had somehow missed it.  

The sound of splashing vomit had ceased, and my sweet, sick five-year-old turned her face toward me, revealing puffy, tear-filled eyes.  “Mommy,” she muttered, “can we go home now? I don’t feel good.”

“Of course, baby.”  I replied.  Had the moment been a lighter one, I would have laughed at the obvious understatement. 

I pulled myself back into the moving truck rental office we had been visiting, still holding my daughter’s hand outside of the door.  “Thank you for your time!”  I said with a wave.  Then I crossed the threshold and let the door close behind us. 

It was a quiet walk back to our car. Once I had my daughter safely buckled, I began searching the trunk for a last-minute vessel for vomit, in case there was an encore while we drove home.  A single, bright moment produced an empty, plastic container that had once held a sandwich.  I set it in her hands and took my place behind the wheel.  I grabbed my purse and fished out my phone.  It was time to sink just a bit lower.  

The sound of ringing was quickly replaced with a friendly “Hello?”

“Yes, Hi,” I answered back. “I just wanted to thank you again for offering to help me move on such short notice, but I wasn’t able to get the truck.  I will just have to find another way.  I really appreciate you and your husband offering to pitch in, though.”

I was met with the sound of a muffled conversation, as the woman on the other end seemed to cover the phone and speak to, whom I assumed, was her husband. “We’d like to come anyway,” came her reply, as the woman’s hand abruptly moved away from the phone.  

“You don’t understand,” I answered, a bit bewildered, “my card was declined.  I don’t have a truck.  All I have is a small station wagon. There is no way we can do this today.”

“We will head over anyway,” the woman insisted. “We have a pickup and two of our neighbors have offered to drive over with us to help.”

I was speechless.  My crippling defeat had been met with optimism.  I actually felt a slight morbid curiosity, wondering how this would all play out. “Okay,” I replied with a shrug. I guess I will see you there. Do you have my address?”

“It’ll be okay,” the woman chimed in.

“What?” I asked, surprised at the shift in conversation.

“It’ll be okay,” she said again.

“Thank you again,” I croaked through threatening tears. After pushing END on my phone I let the sobs take over as I sat slumped behind the wheel.  

“Mommy?” whined my little girl from the backseat.

“Sorry, baby,” I replied as I wiped my eyes and gathered my composure.  “We’re going.”

Once the car was safely parked in our driveway, I scooped up my queasy girl and found her a cozy spot in a corner, where she wouldn’t be disturbed by all of the commotion.  A couch cushion and a pillow made a comfortable sick bed, of sorts, and I was able to scrounge up a thermometer, crackers and a water cup.   I kicked myself for not having electrolyte drinks on hand, but this would just have to do.  

The sound of vehicles grabbed my attention, and I ran to the door, mentally preparing myself for the task ahead.  I was surprised to see three vehicles heading my way; a pickup truck, a minivan and another stationwagon.  

“Oh no,” I sighed to myself.  I really appreciated their willingness to help, but we had a full two-bedroom apartment with multiple beds, a sofa, a full-sized table, and everything else that one would expect to find in a home. There were going to have to be multiple trips, at best.  This was going to be a LONG day.

I was greeted with smiling faces and cheery “hellos.” Four friendly people rushed in and went straight to work.  Beds were taken apart and boxes were stacked by the door.  One of the women stepped out to her car and came back holding a large bottle of children’s electrolyte drink.  

“I have this in my car for some reason,” she explained as she set it in my hand.  “He must have known it would be needed.”  She smiled as she motioned to the sick bundle in the corner of the living room.  

Tears began to build again.  I stood still, holding that bottle in a complete stupor.  Had that really just happened?  Not only had He provided the very capable help I needed during this awful day, but it appeared He had also provided for my daughter’s electrolyte needs; before she had even felt sick.  

The sound of rattling bed parts shook me from my stupor and I looked up just in time to see my bed being carried toward the truck.  What I saw there shocked me even more.  They had meticulously packed the pick up truck with just about everything I owned.  It was stacked as if done by a professional.  The only things that would need to be loaded into the other vehicles were the boxes that had been stacked beside the door.  In less than 45 minutes, they had completely packed up our entire apartment.  

All I wanted to do was throw my arms around each one of them and let them know how much their kindness meant to me and that I appreciated that they were using their time to help me; but time wasn’t stopping and within seconds, they were all standing in front of me wanting to know where all of this was going.

“Um,” I began to explain, “all of the furniture in your truck will be going to a friend’s garage until I can get back on my feet.”  I breathed deeply and finished with, “the boxes will all be going to the garage of the house I will be staying in.”  

Before another 10 minutes had passed, my little girl and I were back in the car and leading a small convoy to our friend’s house across town.  I refused to let myself think about what life was about to be like.  I just wanted to bask in the miracle I had just witnessed.  God, it seemed, had shown up.