She Came to Get Me

Because sometimes the most powerful thing you can do for someone is simply come get them.

I remember the rain first. It wasn’t just a drizzle. It was the kind of storm that rattled windows and turned parking lots into floods. The creek in front of the restaurant had already turned into a raging river, barely being contained in its banks. Lightning flashed across the sky, and thunder rolled so loud it felt like it was shaking the walls. I would watch the lightning flash, and then count to see how close it was. It was very close. And there I sat inside a Shoney’s, staring down at a plate of food I had no appetite for.

I was about twelve years old, riding along with a friend and her family to something in Nashville. I don’t even remember what the event was supposed to be. At the time, it sounded like an adventure. But somewhere between leaving home and pulling into that restaurant, the excitement wore off. I was out of my element, surrounded by people I barely knew. The noise, the unfamiliar conversation, and the storm outside all started to close in at once.

I didn’t want to be there anymore. I didn’t want to explain myself or make a scene. I just wanted to go home.

So I slipped away to a payphone. There were no cell phones back then, no easy way out. Just a receiver, a number, and a little bit of hope. I dialed home first, but no one answered. Then I called my grandma Pauline.

I don’t remember exactly what I said. It was probably rushed and awkward, the kind of thing a nervous twelve-year-old blurts out when he doesn’t know how to explain himself. But I remember what she said clearly. She didn’t hesitate. She didn’t ask questions. She simply said, “I’ll come get you.”

I hung up and went back to my seat, still nervous and unsure, but something had shifted. I wasn’t alone anymore. Help was on the way, and that changed everything about how that moment felt.

A little while later, through the rain-streaked windows, I saw that familiar Buick with headlights on pull into the parking lot. She had come. In the middle of a thunderstorm, she got in her car and drove to get me.

I remember stepping out into the rain and climbing into her car. The door shut, and just like that, the storm didn’t feel quite as loud. Everything felt steady again. She looked over at me with a small smile and said, “You needed Grandma, didn’t you?” I shrugged and said, “Yeah,” but the truth was, I really did.

Years later, she told that story again in a letter she wrote to me when I turned eighteen. She mentioned that someone at the restaurant had asked her, “You came out in this rain to get him?” Her answer was simple.

“Of course. He needed me.”

That moment stayed with me, not just because I got out of an uncomfortable situation, but because of what it showed me. I mattered. I didn’t have to earn that ride home. I didn’t have to explain myself perfectly or justify why I wanted out. I just had to call, and she came. No questions asked.

As I’ve gotten older, I’ve realized that’s exactly how God meets us. We find ourselves in places we thought we wanted to be, situations we chose, moments that slowly become overwhelming. And when we finally admit we don’t want to be there anymore, we start to wonder if we’ve gone too far or waited too long to ask for help.

But God doesn’t respond with a lecture or questions. He responds with presence. Scripture reminds us that He is near to the brokenhearted and that He hears us when we call—not because we have it all together, but because we belong to Him. (Psalms 34:18)

That afternoon in the storm, I learned something I didn’t fully understand at the time. Being “somebody” isn’t about what you accomplish or how well you handle life. It’s about knowing that when you call, someone will come.

My grandma showed me that. And ever since, I’ve tried to live that same way—to be the kind of person who shows up, the kind of person others can call, the kind of presence that reflects the love God has shown me.

Because sometimes the most powerful thing you can do for someone is simply come get them.

No questions asked.