Recently I attended a U2 concert with my mom. She wanted to go as a gift to herself for Mother’s Day, and when she asked if I wanted to come with her, I accepted, because I like U2 too (though perhaps I am not as familiar with the band as she).

The concert was in an outdoor stadium, and it was pretty windy and cold. We also had to wait about an hour after the opening act finished for U2 to take the stage. During that time, we entertained ourselves by wondering what the heck they were doing back there: were they finishing their steak? Eating some cake? Or, were they not even there? Had they flown to some exotic place for a vacation? As the cold minutes passed it began to seem more and more that way . . .

But of course they came out, all four of them, and the concert was fantastic. Not only does Bono sound great, the band’s compassion shined through the entire night. Before the band took the stage, poems scrolled on a screen—poems about people’s struggles in America, people’s struggles with violence and death and crime and hate. A few songs into U2’s performance, videos played behind the band, of landscapes and veterans and American flags. While there were some political mentions and allusions, what Bono kept coming back to was compassion for all people—hope that humanity is not destined for failure, and that love can make a difference.

Later on, the screen showed women’s faces, as Bono dedicated one song to all the women of the world and what they have accomplished to get equal rights. I don’t identify as much of a feminist, but I thought Bono’s dedication was pretty cool because it was just another group of people he empathized with and felt compassion towards. After that song, he talked very sincerely about his non-profit organization ONE, which now has over 8 million members, and encouraged everyone to help those who are hurting. ONE is a great group in that it focuses on providing medical care, ending poverty, and empowering people all around the world so they can have healthier, freer lives. Read more about ONE and how you can help here.

As a Christian, I know Bono’s compassion and empathy comes from His faith, and I believe that was also shown through in this concert, especially with the song, “I Still Haven’t Found What I’m Looking For.” I’ve always appreciated the song, though it’s not my favorite of U2’s; however, listening to Bono sing the words live, and singing softly along with him to Christ, I felt so hopeful, so joyous and so at peace, and I had a feeling we were singing about the same thing. Of course, I can’t be sure of that—but I knew as I sung those lyrics that they were true, that Christ “broke the bonds and . . . loosed the chains / Carried the cross and all my shame” and that “I believe in the kingdom come.”

My mom and I cut out a bit early, right when Bono was singing “One” actually, because we had parked far away and wanted to try to beat the crowd. And we did; the parking lots were fairly quiet and empty, and thankfully security was everywhere so we didn’t have to worry about not having pepper spray. (I’m rather concerned about that kind of safety, even though I don’t have pepper spray myself and from stories, I have heard I don’t wish to use it. I joke that I should get a mini machete, but I don’t think those are made, nor would they be legal.)

So we started the long drive home. I had driven most of the way to the concert, so my mom was driving back. We stayed pretty alert the first half of the trip; I played with the radio, and we talked on and off. But of course being in the passenger seat and not having to focus on the road, I couldn’t resist the pull of sleep, and my eyes began to close for longer and longer periods.

Then suddenly, we weren’t accelerating. You know that feeling, how you can tell if someone is pressing the gas pedal or, in contrast, if they aren’t and are just coasting? That was what I felt; we were coasting. And we had no reason to coast; we weren’t going downhill, weren’t using cruise control. We needed the gas.

“You okay?” I asked my mom.

No, she was not okay. She was trying to accelerate, but nothing was happening. We were slowing down. And then the car started lurching—kind of like what happens when, with a manual transmission, the gears don’t catch.

But we were on the freeway—albeit with not much traffic, but still, the freeway is no place to start slowing down drastically all of a sudden. I did the only thing I could think of to do: I turned on the hazards. I also told my mom to pull over, although I realized afterwards why she wouldn’t: it isn’t safe to pull over on a freeway. (Duh!)

We finally did pull over on an off ramp, and I realized two warning lights were on. I had had the one pop up before—the light that warns you about a lack of traction, which came on once when I had driven extensively on gravel and is apparently very sensitive—but the other one I didn’t recognize. I looked through the manual and found out that that light had to do with traction too, and that there was a switch that would make the light come on, but I couldn’t find any information on that switch’s location. I thought maybe my mom had accidentally hit it, but she said she hadn’t hit anything, and I was having no luck finding the switch myself.

Meanwhile, my mom had tried to accelerate a few more times, and the car had gone into that awful lurching and simply coasted. We were in a rural area; the off ramp was pitch black and few cars were going by on the freeway. I figured we should call AAA, but couldn’t imagine how long it might take them to get out to us—likely more than a few minutes, possibly an hour or two. It was about one in the morning.

Maybe it was partially because there wasn’t a guy around (I understand women can defend themselves, etc., etc., but I won’t go into all that here)—but being along like that, with no way to really protect myself except my fists, on a dark road on a dark highway in the wee hours of the morning—I was scared. I think we both were.

And then suddenly headlights were blinding us in the rearview mirror, and I thought I saw a glimpse of a flash. My mom said it was a police officer, but I wasn’t so sure. I wasn’t positive I had seen those blue lights. What if it was some random guy? There was no way I rolling down my window for him.

But my mom seemed pretty sure, and I didn’t have much choice, so I rolled down my window.

A CHP officer greeted us, and relief washed through me. He asked what the issue was and we told him. He suggested we shut off the car, turn it back on and see if the system would re-set itself. He kindly offered to follow us for a bit.

We did as he suggested, but when we hit about forty miles an hour the car started lurching and wouldn’t accelerate again. The gracious CHP offered to call AAA for us through his dispatch (they have some cool power and connections, I must say), and we let him.

Then, just like that, the lights—both of them—went off. I blinked. “Oh,” my mom said.

We told the officer, and he said we could try it again and he would follow us. So we accelerated. We got back on the freeway. We got up to fifty. Fifty-five. All seemed good.

A few yards later the officer shot past us—there was an accident at the next exit apparently—and we waved goodbye and cruised on our merry way, so thankful that he had been there right when we needed him. What were the odds, at one a.m., on a rural freeway, that a CHP officer would come upon one lone sedan with its hazards on? My mom wished for the CHP officer’s name, and I did too.

Then suddenly a few miles later lights flashed behind us, along with a very identifiable siren. We pulled off the freeway, and there was the officer again, making sure everything was okay and asking us if we had hit anything in the road to make those lights come on. No, we said; we had just been thrown around by a strangely strong gust of wind. We said everything seemed okay, and he turned to leave.

Both my mom and I opened our mouths, and my heart leapt into my throat; we couldn’t let him get away this time, not when he had found us again—my mom said, “What is your name, sir?”

“Sergeant Brewer,” he said.

We thanked him profusely for his help, and drove off, watching the dashboard carefully all the way home. Thankfully nothing else weird happened, and we got home safely.

But what a coincidence.

Or was it? There was no doubt in my mind that it was something God had done. Some things seem more coincidental than others; this did not seem so coincidental. Like I said, what were the odds a friendly, helpful CHP officer would come along on a rural freeway in the middle of the night?

At home with my brain calmed down back to about normal, I thanked God. I thanked Him over and over again. I prayed a few more things, because I felt I should (me and my guilt), but I knew he had been watching over us. My devotion that day had been about God providing for me, even in the most desperate of circumstances.

I didn’t see this event as too desperate, but my mom was quick to point out that we could have been killed. Indeed, I guess we could have; there weren’t a ton of cars on the freeway, but there were enough, and even with our hazards on someone could have just come upon us too fast—could have zoomed up to the off ramp and hit us. The officer himself even kindly pointed out that being stopped on an off ramp was not the safest thing. I had no idea. (I guess I’m kind of simple; in my mind, if you’re pulled off the road, onto the shoulder, why should anyone hit you?)

But no one did hit us. And what is more, Sergeant Brewer came along and helped us—and would have helped us more if we had needed it, I’m sure. But that wasn’t necessary, because the lights went off and we got home safely. Police officers get a lot of suspicion these days, and it’s true that you never know how anyone is going to treat you, especially someone in authority. But this man was a wonderful example of a peace officer.

I’m not a huge fan of those “angels in disguise” kind of films, but Scripture does say some have entertained angels without knowing it. Sergeant Brewer may be a human being like the rest of us—and I’m inclined to think he is—but God sent him along just in time. And he was willing to help.

Thank you, Sergeant Brewer, for caring enough to stop and help. Angel or man, you’re a good CHP sergeant, and a good guy.

Thank You, God, for providing. I realize now what one of my high school teachers once said: there’s no better way for me to increase my faith than experience God actively working in my life. Sometimes I wonder why I don’t see You working in my life, God—but You did that night. I have to believe it.