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Chad

David Duerksen

In March, I was returning from Kitimat, B.C. with a load of aluminum bars bound for Calgary Alberta. It was Friday afternoon, and I would not be able to unload until Tuesday morning, as Monday was an Alberta holiday. The sun was shining brightly, and I was getting weary, finding it difficult to keep my eyes open. I drove past a logging road that disappeared into the bush, and a few miles further I noticed a pullout. I pulled out, checked my logbook and lay down on the bed to rest for a few minutes. I must have fallen asleep almost immediately.

Soon after, I was awakened by a banging on the truck door. I looked out the window to see a man standing there. He said his truck had stopped several miles from here and he needed a ride to the next town, which was quite a distance away. He had long hair and a beard, and looked pretty wild. He was so out of breath that he could hardly talk.

I had some pop in the cooler and offered him a drink. He drank two Cokes down immediately, opened a third one and said, “Ahh, that feels better.” He said his name was Chad, and he was a log hauler. His truck was several miles in on the logging road a few miles back. Three other trucks had loaded and left before him. It was Friday, he was the last one out, and his engine had stopped. After checking, he had found that the fuel line had worn through because it had been rubbing on the frame, causing the fuel system to fill up with air. He had repaired the line but could not get the pump to draw fuel. After trying to start the engine many times, he had finally killed the batteries. He had started walking and was very close to the main road when I drove by. When he got onto the road, he saw my truck parked at the pullout a few miles away and had run most of the distance for fear that the truck would leave. He was exhausted but happy that he had caught up with me.

I asked him if he thought that I could pull start his truck.

His answer was, “You don’t have to do that.”

I said, “I don’t have to be in Calgary until Tuesday morning. Let’s give it a try.”

His face lit up. We unhitched my trailer, and away we went. While we were driving, I had a tape in the cassette player called Southern Country Gospel Songs, and I could tell that Chad was listening. When the song “Just a little talk with Jesus” came on, he said, “I remember that song.” As a young lad, he spent his summers with his grandparents in northern Alberta, and they had always gone to church on Sundays. I made sure to reverse the tape and play the songs he knew several times. Then I asked him if he ever went to church anymore.

He said no, no time for that; there was always too much to do. He said he had a wife and two boys ages 9 and 12.

I told him he needed to take time to find out what life is really about – “Take your family to church, learn to worship your Creator, have fellowship with other folks. There is much more to life than brush logging, trucks and work. When life is nearly over, it will be very sad if you find that you missed it all.” He answered, “Yeah.” I hoped that I might have started him thinking.

When we arrived at his truck, he unhitched his trailer, we chained his tractor to mine, and started down the logging road. He tried to start his engine many times, but we could travel only slowly on the logging road, and the engine was cranking too slowly to start. We decided to pull him out to the highway. Once there, we got some speed up, and his engine started immediately.

After we had unhitched the trucks, Chad asked, “How much?”

I answered, “It could have been me who was stalled. There is no charge. I’m happy to be able to help you. I offered to pull you out. You didn’t ask me to.”

He said, “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.”

He then offered to help me hitch up my trailer.

I said, “You’ve still got to go back in there and get your load, and it will be dark soon. Just remember that we talked about there being more to life than logging.”

As I climbed into my truck, I saw the tape in the cassette player. I pulled it out, climbed back out and ran over to his truck. As he opened his door, I handed the tape to him and said, “I want you to have this.”

He got out of the truck, and his eyes filled with tears as we shook hands. I said, “God bless you, Chad,” and we parted.

I drove back to my trailer, hitched it up, drove on down the road, and said a little prayer: “Lord, if this is a seed that’s been planted, please let it sprout and grow.”

David Duerksen is a member of Northview Community Church in Abbotsford, B.C.

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Last modified May 3, 2001.

© 2001 Mennonite Brethren Herald.
Published by the Canadian Conference of MB Churches.
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