February is the off-season in Cape May, New Jersey.
Sailing, fishing, restaurants—so much of what people loved about this seaside town was shut down until the tourist season picked up. But carving in my woodworking shop at my bungalow I didn’t feel like Cape May was missing a thing. Well, maybe one thing: money.
I’d bounced around for the past few years doing lots of different jobs: newspaper reporter, blues musician, cab driver. I never felt quite settled, like I was home for good. Ideally, I was looking for a life where I could explore my various interests. Make a permanent home. Then one day my singer/songwriter sister called about a gig.
“I need a lighting and sound person for my summer show in Cape May,” she said. “You interested?”
Of course! It was something new, and I’d be near family. Plus, my sister said she thought I’d like Cape May.
Well, I loved Cape May. The people were friendly, and I enjoyed the ocean. I’d done carpentry in the past, and with all the seasonal rental properties, upkeep and renovation work were easy to come by. I decided to stay on after summer ended.
It seemed like I’d found a new home—until my carpentry work dried up. Things were always slow in the off-season, but I couldn’t even afford to put gas in my car.
I stood over the workbench in my shop, cutting a crab’s claw from a piece of plywood. Once I was done cutting out the crab, I’d sand him down, paint him an iridescent red and spray him with a protective coat. I’d done lots of similar carvings. Dolphins, whales, sea horses. Some local shops had agreed to sell my “Cape Creatures,” but not until summer. Would I be here that long?
At one time I had no doubt God had led me to this place. When I decided to make Cape May my home, I took the matter to him for direction. A newspaper ad for this bungalow/workshop in the boatyard jumped out at me. Just like my creatures are a good fit for Cape May, I felt I belonged here. I even started going to church regularly—something I’d never done before. Everything seems right here, God, I thought. You led me here, didn’t you?
Yet it wasn’t working financially. I kept telling myself I needed to give it more time. Then again, maybe I was confusing God’s will with mine. I hoped I’d find more answers at church tomorrow. Then I remembered: No gas meant no church.
“Enough is enough!” I said. Was that empty gas tank proof I wasn’t meant to make a life in Cape May? “God, you have to take care of this!”
I set the crab aside and headed outside the workshop to my connecting bungalow. It was an unusually mild winter evening in the boatyard. The place was deserted. It would be months before folks showed up to work on their boats.
I was inside getting something to drink when I heard a voice. That’s odd, I thought. I didn’t notice a soul out there. Who could it be?
I went to the screen door. A stranger stood there, peering in.
“Do you have jumper cables?” he asked. The battery in his car had died. I walked him to my car to get cables. Then I remembered: no gas!
“I’m sorry,” I said, “but I forgot. My car’s out of gas.”
“I’ve got two full five-gallon containers in my car,” he said. “You’re welcome to them.” He took two big red plastic containers from the backseat of his car. He poured the gas into my tank. It was full, and so was the hope meter in my heart. I got my cables out and gave the guy a jump start. He waved as he drove off.
I had more than enough fuel to make it to church on Sunday, but I already had my answers. God came through. I was right where he wanted me. I would stick it out here.
It’s been four years since that stranger and I traded favors. Today my Cape Creatures sell in Cape May-area shops, and I have enough carpentry work to make ends meet most of the time.
But there’s no off-season for me in Cape May. This is my home. God sent an angel with two full five-gallon containers of gas to let me know for sure.
