24 Oct Be a Bob

A few weeks ago, I set off for my sixth retreat. Early in the new year, I had decided to go on a personal retreat on the last Friday of every month—and this was to be the last one. I was so excited!

On the way there, I got distracted, and my car’s tire caught on a sharp shoulder. I corrected quickly but damaged my rim. I was actually pleased with myself because I stopped to check if everything was okay. Normally, I just keep motoring on until something dire stops me in my tracks (lesson number one for the day).

I did indeed have a flat tire.

That sucked, and I was beating myself up for glancing away from the road for a second (that may end up being another blog).

Still, I thought, I know how to change a tire. I got out, set everything up—and couldn’t get the lug nuts off.

I felt small—literally and figuratively. My husband was out of cell range, I didn’t have roadside assistance, and I don’t like spending money (lol—maybe another blog).

Eventually, with some pulling and manoeuvring, I loosened one nut. I thought, take it one at a time, don’t worry about all of them. (Lesson number four-ish: take hard things as they come—don’t stress about how you’ll do it all.) Then another came loose, by a seeming miracle. That gave me hope. One by one, I got them all off.

Many people drove by—mostly pickup trucks—and no one stopped to help.

Then the tire wouldn’t come off the body of the car. I’d had that happen before and knew you could kick it loose. No tools, so I kicked it. After a few solid kicks, it came free.

I was ticked off—it was a country road, and I didn’t have a lot of options. One guy stopped to compliment me on doing such a great job. I didn’t even know what to say about that. Another stopped to offer help, but by that time, I had the spare on and was about to lower the jack.

I put down the jack.

My spare tire was flat.

Halfway between the middle of nowhere and nowhere, I decided to take a risk and drove 30 km/h to a nearby fire station on a totally flat tire—8 km away. It was a volunteer hall—locked, with no one there.

In the lot, a man sat in a Mercedes Sprinter van (much fancier than my Hyundai). I thought, maybe by a miracle he has a compressor. I waited, but he drove off before I could ask. I actually ran after him—he stopped—but he couldn’t help.

I texted my kids. They all responded immediately, asking where I was. My oldest daughter, with her background in criminal justice and convinced there’s a serial killer waiting to scoop up middle-aged women on the side of the road, asked me to send my exact location (well done—good idea, even if you aren’t afraid of serial killers, which I must confess I am).

Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw someone walking over a hill with a small bag. It didn’t look like much—maybe tools, maybe not. He came closer.

“Good morning,” he said.
“Hi, I’m Bob.”
“I’m Leona,” I replied. “Bob, are you here to save me?”
“I hope so. We’ll see,” he said.

I told my kids that Bob was there to help, and my daughter replied, Is Bob a nice Bob or an abductor Bob?

I mentioned this to Bob, and he smiled and said, “Depends what time of day.” We had a good laugh.

From his little bag, Bob pulled out a compact compressor that plugged into a cigarette lighter. Because my car is older, I actually have one. And just like that, Bob pumped up my tire.

As I drove away, I was touched—not just by Bob’s kindness, but by what it reminded me of.

I am fiercely independent. Asking for help doesn’t come naturally. But we all need help. And sometimes it means chasing after a moving vehicle or being brave enough to say out loud, this is what I need.

Bob hadn’t even seen me on the roadside. A neighbour—the parents of the man in the Sprinter van—had told him. He went the extra mile for me.

And maybe that was the real retreat. Not the seven hours I thought I needed at a retreat centre, but the two hours on the side of a road learning these lessons:

• Don’t get distracted. Keep your eyes on the road—literally and figuratively.
• Every challenge carries a gift. Sometimes it isn’t the retreat, the course, or the destination—it’s what life places in front of us along the way.
• Asking for help is part of the work. Independence is valuable, but connection is essential. We can’t be who we’re meant to be in isolation.
• There is a gift in the redirect. The change of plans, the flat tire, the apparent setback—all of it may be pointing us to what we most need to learn—or to ask for.

There was so much joy for me in that day—so many lessons I needed to be reminded of. I was so happy when I got home safely on my wee spare tire that still held air after being driven flat for almost 10 km.

I love people like Bob.
I love that I knew how to change a tire.
I love that I can figure out what to do in hard places—living out my life’s mantra: All things are figureoutable.
I love that after years of chronic pain, changing a tire a few years ago would have caused months of pain—or I wouldn’t have been able to do it at all—and this time, just a bit more pain, but nothing debilitating.

So much goodness. So much grace.

And here’s the truth I don’t always want to admit: I needed help that day and didn’t ask until the situation was dire—then I chased after the van that eventually led me to Bob.

I was mad in the beginning because none of the trucks stopped to help. I watched them drive by—and I never waved for help. I was too independent, too stubborn. I wanted someone to volunteer, or be a mind reader if nothing else.

Right now, I need a number of Bobs. I’m working toward publishing my next book, and that means expanding my reach and my influence. It’s a big ask—bigger than running after a Sprinter van—but it’s the help I need if I want to bring my work further into the world.

I’ve come to see that we all need help to become more of who we’re supposed to be. We hold ourselves back because we want to be independent, change our own tires, and never inconvenience anyone. But the truth is, when we ask, we give others a chance to step into their gift.

So that day, Bob reminded me: Be a Bob. Go the extra mile. Offer what you can. And also, don’t be afraid to call in the Bobs you need.

Bob, this one’s for you.

Reflection Prompts — Lessons from the Road

• Keep your eyes on the road:
  What’s pulling your attention away from what truly matters right now?

• Take it one nut at a time:
  What challenge might ease up if you focused only on the next small step instead of the whole thing?

• Ask for help before it’s dire:
  Who could you reach out to before things get hard?

• Notice the gift in the redirect:
  Where might a recent setback actually be trying to reroute you toward something better?

• Be a Bob:
  Who around you could use a simple act of kindness or encouragement this week?

• Call in your Bobs:
  Who are the people you need to invite in to help you bring your next dream to life?

Celebrate the grace:
Where can you see evidence of your own growth and quiet resilience?