My family and I live on St. John, the smallest of the U.S. Virgin Islands. Our little house sits at the tip of a rugged, secluded cove a few yards from the blue Caribbean.
I spent my days happily building my boat. One day, I broke the blade on my saber saw and had to make the trip into town to fetch a replacement. That’s when I discovered my old Volkswagen bus had a flat.
I rummaged in the back for the tire iron, an old-fashioned lug wrench with a special socket that was an exact fit for the lug nuts holding on the VW’s wheels. No sign of it. I checked the garage and asked my wife and kids if they had seen it. Still no leads. And there was nothing in my toolbox that could do the job. Frustrated, I walked down to the calm, blue water and wondered, What now?
Suddenly, I heard a familiar voice calling. “Hey, Peter!”
I looked around and saw my friend Bob’s boat. He waved from the deck. “Come diving with me!”
“I can’t, Bob,” I said. I explained.
“If you haven’t found it by now,” he replied, “you’re not going to. Let’s catch lobsters. You’ll feel better.”
That sounded like good advice to me, so I grabbed my flippers, mask, snorkel and lobster snare, and climbed aboard Bob’s boat. When we were about a mile out, we anchored and dove in. I was enveloped in the cool depths, the seafloor a rainbow of vivid colors. Sunlight danced off the coral reefs. This really is paradise. I thanked God for that reminder.
Then I came across an unusual object. Long and encrusted with coral, it looked strangely unnatural. I picked it up. Heavy. I brought it back to the boat. I started scraping off the coral with my diving knife until I finally got down to its metallic surface. No way, I thought. It can’t be. I scraped some more.
Bob and I forgot about lobsters and sped back to my house. By the time we got there, I had the tire iron completely clean. I called my wife and our boys over, and holding my breath, I tried it on a lug nut. It was a perfect fit.
