I was moving from California to Texas when I totaled my car. Unhurt but stuck in a tiny New Mexico town with all my valuables, I checked into a motel to figure out what to do.
A knock came at my door. I opened it to find a lean man in a Stetson and cowboy boots. He handed me a card.
“Heard about your hard luck, ma’am,” he said. “Get a good night’s sleep. We’ll work it out tomorrow.” With that, he walked away. His card read, “With God all things are possible.”
Next morning the cowboy was waiting for me in the lobby. “I’ve borrowed a van so we can take all your belongings,” he said. He drove me 150 miles to the Texas border, where friends could meet me. When I tried to pay him, he refused. “Just do the same when you have the chance.”
I’ve seen illustrations of the Good Samaritan in a robe and sandals. But now I know he occasionally wears a Stetson instead.
