I know I’ve mentioned it’s very gray and cold here in New York. The sky is ashen daily and it’s dimming on the spirit.

Two weeks ago my husband informed me he had bought another half cord of wood for the fireplace and it was being delivered that afternoon. Somehow the delivery men misunderstood his message and instead of delivering it to the backyard, stacked it up against my driveway. My laundry room overlooks the woodpile and every time I did laundry I was thinking how I hated all that wood on the driveway. It was a little difficult to manipulate the cars in and out. Busy, we just weren’t getting around to moving it.

Fast forward to last week. My eldest daughter has a good friend whose Mom died from a sudden aneurism. We were saddened to hear this sudden news and my husband assured my daughter he’d go to work late so she could attend the funeral. Walking onto the driveway in the morning to catch the newspaper, he noticed our van on the driveway had a flat tire.

Our van is about 15 years old. It is huge and has taken us on many happy vacations. My son is now the primary driver and it is covered with surfing stickers. I swear it still smells of last summer. Looking around in the back, my husband found the tire jack. Realizing he had to get my daughter to the funeral on time to console her friend, he started to change the tire. He realized the jack was so old it didn’t have a pump arm but rather was twisted by hand. He stuck it under the back of the van and started twisting. It wasn’t working. Discouraged, he stood up trying to think of what to do next. He had to get to this funeral. He realized he’d have to get a bit more under the van to make the jack rise. He leaned under the van and out of the corner of his eye noticed the log pile.

He doesn’t know what made him do it. But he said somehow he thought, just before he stuck his head under the van one more time, let me take one of those logs and use it to bolster the wheel well.

Back under the van to twist the jack, when suddenly, BAM! The jack broke in half and the van, tons of weight and massive in size, fell --but was still bolstered by the log. Truly, my husband’s head would have been cracked open!

I have been replaying and replaying this in my mind. What made him grab that log at the last second? You know what I mean? Good karma? You just wonder…

When I found out what happened, I walked right over to that wood pile, hugged it, and then kissed the log that saved my husband’s head. And you know what? I’ve got a great view of a gorgeous woodpile from my laundry room!