I walked out into my front yard, hoping that some fresh air would lift my mood. Ever since moving from the city to the country a decade ago, taking a stroll around the five acres I called home always gave me a feeling of peace and serenity.
But not today. The economy was bad and my business was slow. With Christmas weeks away, I had barely saved enough money to buy a little tree and some treats for my cats. I only had a small safety net left for emergencies.
Please don’t let anything go wrong, I told God.
Just then, a pickup truck turned off the main road and came zooming down my long, winding driveway.
What’s all this about? Too nervous to walk closer, I squinted to see who was inside. The truck stopped and the driver rolled down his window.
“Hi, neighbor!” the man called out.
Neighbor? I didn’t recognize him. “Hi, there. Can I help you?” I asked.
“I’m sorry to bother you, ma’am, but the other day I was jogging through the neighborhood and heard a hissing sound coming from your well. I think you ought to get it checked.”
A problem with my well? That could cost thousands of dollars to fix! Not now, I thought. I muttered a quick thank you and ran down to the well.
I stood over it and listened carefully. No hissing. Nothing out of the ordinary. I glanced back down the driveway. The man in the pickup had left. But he had sounded so honest, so sure, that I called someone to check things out.
The repairman came out the next day. “The pump is corroded. Has been for some time. And there’s a steady drip,” he said.
“Oh no,” I groaned. “Will that cost a lot to fix?”
“A new motor won’t cost much,” the repairman said. “But if you let this go any longer, even another day or two, the motor could’ve overheated and the entire system would’ve blown. That could’ve cost you thousands. You’re lucky you caught it in time.”
Lucky? Some might call it that. As much as I’d love to thank that kind “neighbor,” I never did see him or his pickup truck again.
