God works in mysterious ways, His
wonders to perform! God had his hand on
George and allowed a very strange set of
circumstances to point him in the right
direction. George was a tough, drinking
man. A trucker with a Schaefer's Beer
license plate sign. He was drunk all the
time and proud to proclaim that Schaefer
was his co-pilot.


     One stormy day, in the early1970's
when George was coming back from
Missouri in the pouring rain, in the wee
hours of the morning. He stopped to call
Renee, his wife, to tell her that he would be
home that night.
     She said, "Oh George, don't try to come
home tonight. The weather is so bad."


     But George was stubborn and
determined that he could make it home
despite the weather. As he was barreling
along the highway in the blinding rain, he
happened upon two grubby-looking hippies
hitchhiking along the road. George was
never too fond of the hippie types so he
went flying right past them. For no
apparent reason, or at least none that he
could think of, he brought the truck to a
screeching halt and found himself backing
down the road to pick these guys up.


     As they jumped in the rig with him, he
heard them say the most offensive thing.
"Praise the Lord, brother." Big grins
appeared on their faces.


He thought to himself, "I'll put a stop to
this immediately!"
    "You can get out or stay here and keep
your mouths shut about the religious stuff,"
he told them. With Bibles in hand, there
they sat mumbling along to themselves,
praying!


     All of a sudden, all of the truck lights
went out. George quickly pulled over to the
side of the road. He carefully checked all of
the fuses, the headlights, all the
connections, nothing worked; all was in
darkness. 


     George climbed back into the truck and
told the hippies, "This is it guys, we ain't
goin' no further, I can't get the lights working."


     Undaunted by his words and his
attitude, they simply looked at each other
and then at him and said, "Praise the Lord,
brother, can we pray for you?"


     "You can do what you want--outside my
truck," he growled. "I have no headlights,
and I can't go any farther. This is the end of
the line."


     They smiled, and they prayed. All of a
sudden the headlights came back on.
George was totally confused. The hippies
just grinned at him and said, "Praise the
Lord Brother!"


     Off they went, barreling down the road
in the rain. Miles later, George began to
get nervous. His fuel gauge was sitting on
empty. Back in the 70's there was a major
fuel shortage, which meant that without the
right number on the license plate, no gas
station would pump fuel into his truck. But
George was determined to get home. He
pulled into one truck stop, but the attendant
refused him gas because it was the wrong
day for his license plate number. He
climbed back into his truck and slammed
the door. He angrily headed back out onto
the highway. The gas tank was getting
emptier and emptier. George knew it was
only a matter of time before he'd be stuck
on the side of the road.


    The hippies offered to help. "We'll pray
for you brother," they said.


    George still wasn't impressed. "I don't
want to hear about it," he snarled at them.


    Just over the Pennsylvania border, on
Route 81, George saw the lights of a truck
stop. He pulled in and asked the attendant
to fill his tank. The attendant looked at his
plate, looked at George and his two hippie
friends.


    "Wrong plate, buddy," he told him. "Yup,
wrong plate. If you can pump it in without
me seeing, I guess I won't say anything."


     George started pumping. 110gallons,
exactly what his truck held. He knew he
had gotten there on fumes. He glanced at
the hippie guys sitting there mumbling,
praying. Then it dawned on him, he had left
his attaché case containing a couple of
thousand dollars in the truck with those
grubby hippies. He immediately checked
the case expecting to find the money gone.
To his amazement, there was nothing
missing. They didn't take anything. He
almost couldn't believe it. He shook his
head and eased the truck back onto the
highway.


     The hippies were headed toward
Connecticut and George was headed
toward New York. He was almost sorry to
see them go. To his amazement, he
realized those hippies had become his
friends. They shook George's hand and
with one last wave said, "We'll pray for you
brother, hope you make it home tonight!"


When George let the hippies out to go
on their way, He looked back in his mirrors,
they were both gone.
He just couldn't believe his eyes.


     Driving along Route 81, George was
headed home to Binghamton. The truck
seemed quiet and empty without the
hippies mumbling their prayers. But God
still had plans for George. In the distance,
but gaining rapidly, he heard the
unmistakable sound of a GMC Jimmy. He
could tell that hum miles away. The Jimmy
pulled up behind him, then beside him.  For
three or four miles the big Jimmy rumbled
along beside him, keeping in perfect step.
Then it pulled out ahead and pulled in the
driving lane right in front of George.
Although the big truck started slowing
down, George stayed behind him for a few
more miles. Then tiring of the slow pace he
swung out into the left-hand passing lane.
The Jimmy also pulled left making it
impossible for him to pass. George's quick
temper flared. The Jimmy speeded up,
then slowed, as if bating George.


     By then the anger was a living thing. He
was determined to pass. Swinging back
into the left lane he stomped the gas and
sailed past, hoping to lose this joker. But
the game was only beginning. The long
empty miles of Route 81 were spent in the
back and forth game with the Jimmy
sometimes in front, sometimes beside, but
always irritatingly there.


    By the time his favorite truck stop came
into view, George was in a rage. He
wanted to kill the guy in that Jimmy. When
the big truck pulled off the exit, George
was in hot pursuit. Suddenly, the Jimmy
disappeared. George couldn't understand
it. He was sure the other truck had pulled
into the truck stop. George was in a wild fit
of temper and wanted only to kill the driver
of the Jimmy. He looked everywhere but
couldn't find the truck, which made him
even more furious. 


     He stomped back to his truck for a beer.
After he gassed up, he went inside to pay
for the gas and a license plate sign with the
inscription "Jesus Saves" caught his eye.
For reasons he couldn't understand, he
bought the sign.


     He called his wife to tell her he was
close to home and told her bought sign. In
his half drunken state, he silently debated
whether to put it over his ever-faithful
"Schaefer" sign.


     When he pulled into his own yard, as
usual my wife wasn't home. Renee was in
church praying for George. And God had
been working, answering those prayers. As
he entered the church something
happened inside him. "Everyone turned
around and looked at me, and the church
didn't fall down," he said. That night
George went to the altar and spoke to
pastor, and gave his heart to the Lord.







Gospel School Lot