I Prayed and Drove On

While working as a police officer near Córdoba, Argentina, I received a telephone call one morning from a nurse at the community health center, asking for assistance. We often got such calls because we operated one of the few ambulances in the area.

The nurse told me that in the health center there was a five-month-old baby with a case of extreme dehydration. She required an urgent transfer to the children’s hospital in Córdoba, where the equipment necessary to treat her would be available. The ambulance driver and I were quickly on our way, and we soon had the baby and her mother in the ambulance. The baby was scared and crying; she had a fever and was hyperventilating. Her eyes were wide open, and her little face showed that she was in great pain.

The hospital in Córdoba was forty kilometers away. We had gone about fifteen kilometers when steam and boiling water began shooting out from under the hood of our vehicle. A red light came on inside the cab, and the temperature gauge showed overheating. This couldn’t be happening—we had just had the ambulance checked over! But we had no choice other than to stop at the side of the road and carefully open the hood.

The radiator hose was leaking in several places and was about to burst. “We can’t go any farther,” said Oscar, my companion, feeling helpless. “If we had gone even a few more meters, the ambulance would have broken down completely.”

My mind raced as I tried to think of a solution. We didn’t have a radio, and there were no other cars on the road that we could signal for help. All around us were abandoned fields. Meanwhile, the baby was getting worse.

I knew we needed our Father in Heaven’s help. I closed my eyes and silently prayed. Then I told Oscar that we had to continue as far as we could and see if we could get to a place where we could get help. “We should trust in God and have faith that we will arrive,” I said.

Oscar hesitated. If we went any farther, the hose might explode, and we would never get to the hospital. If we waited a little longer, the engine might have time to cool down. But the baby was getting worse. Again, I told him, “Oscar, we should trust in our Heavenly Father. He will help us get to the hospital.”

I turned to the mother, and as I spoke to her I had a strong feeling come to me that if we did not lose hope we would arrive in time to save her baby. With determination and confidence, I said, “We can make it.”

We started the motor and moved on. The gauge didn’t show such a high temperature now, and we continued our journey. Steam was no longer coming out from under the hood. Cautiously we drove on. After what seemed like an eternity, we made it to the hospital.

The doctor who attended the baby later told us, “If you had taken any longer, she may not have arrived here alive. She was in worse shape than we thought.”

How grateful I was that our Father in Heaven had helped us arrive in time! I knew that he had opened the way for us to get there so that the baby’s life would be saved, which it was.

On our return trip we discussed what had happened. Oscar said, “That was incredible. I didn’t think we would make it.”

I told him we had witnessed a miracle. “I was praying the whole way there that God would help us,” I told him.

He looked me in the eyes, smiled, and nodded his head in agreement. “So was I,” he confessed. “It was the first time I had ever prayed so much. God helped us to arrive. Only he could have done it.”