“You can pick your friends, but you can’t pick your family.” There are times when this is an appropriate statement … and then there are times when family is just what you need.

Giving me a hug as he walked out the door, my oldest son was headed for a whirlwind day of events. First, he would pick up some FFA officers and head to an FFA chapter visit within the region. As I was eating breakfast with the rest of the kids, I could hear his truck and it sounded like it was in distress.

I cringed at the thought of heading back out into the subzero temps to help him with whatever he needed so he wouldn’t be late. I looked out and saw that it was simple; he was stuck in a snowdrift. Looking to the next oldest teenager, I told him we’d better get out there and help out his brother.

We donned our winter coats, hats and gloves and stepped out into the blowing, winter, pre-dawn tundra. We got behind the truck and gave it a little push, and he was off and on his way. I thanked my son as we headed back and commented that the way the oldest’s day was starting off, he really needed lots prayer.

As we walked back into the house, my other son asked if we’d gotten the job done and I said, “Yes, thank God for family!”
Later that morning, I got a call on my cell phone; yes, it was him. “Mom, we’re lost – how do you get to Springport?”

After giving him directions, he assured me he would find his way, no problem. Once again, I said to myself, “Thank God for family.”
Having a few transportation troubles of my own, I too found out the value of family. I was due to be at a conference the next day and had no clue how I was going to get there. With one vehicle in the shop and the other one needed at home, I was out of vehicle options.

My clever neighbor gave me an idea. I called the motor pool – otherwise known as my parents. They seem to have a plethora of vehicles at any given time, thanks to government auctions and the Internet. “Do you have a vehicle available for me to borrow?”  I asked.

“I’m sure we can come up with something.”

When I called later to arrange the picking up of the van, my dad answered. You have to know my dad: When it comes to operating anything he owns, you don’t ever have to read the manual. He is the manual. He will tell you everything that is wrong, that might go wrong or that has gone wrong in the past and how to fix whatever might come up.

When he began his commentary on how to operate the vehicle, I got a warm feeling inside. It felt familiar and all of a sudden, I was 16 again:

“Well, I checked the oil and some other fluid levels and they are just fine. Now when it comes to the gas gauge, it doesn’t work too well, it goes from full to empty, so you have to keep track of the mileage. And the left door doesn’t open, so don’t even try it – if someone does happen to try it, just the back will open up and the front won’t unlatch, I’m not sure why, but just don’t use that side.
“Other than that, you’re good to go.”

I thanked him and hung up. And once again, I whispered to myself, “Thank God for family!”

Readers with questions or comments for Melissa Hart may write to her in care of this publication.