And David inquired of the LORD, saying, “Shall I pursue after this troop? Shall I overtake them?” And He answered him, “Pursue, for thou shalt surely overtake them and without fail recover all.”1 Samuel 30 v 8
Before I traveled to Poland 1n June 1997, the Lord gave me a promise which I recorded in my Journal. This is what He said: “Behold I send an Angel before thee to keep thee in the way and to bring thee to a place which I have prepared for thee.”
A thousand miles later as I was being driven into Lublin City in a breakdown lorry that I remembered this promise. This was the place! Lublin was awash with flood water, feet deep in some places. Lorries and buses could cope but small Fiat cars, the Polish people love so much were littered everywhere having been swamped by waves caused by passing trucks. Remarkably, a week later, these same cars were breaking down again in a mini heat-wave with temperatures soaring to over 30 degrees Celsius.
On previous journeys to Poland the old Bedford van was minimally insured as required by law. No “Green Card” or breakdown service, just trusting the Lord!
I saw an advertisement telling of a free “Green Card” and R.A.C. Breakdown and Recovery Service which applied to Eastern Europe, including Poland. Further inquiries revealed that Comfort Insurance provided this cover with Norwich Union, the company I already used for car insurance, for only an extra £7.00. Thinking this was good value and common sense I applied for this new policy and was accepted. Subsequently, I was to thank God for His guidance.
Having driven a 1,000 miles to Biastok I joined up with Pastor Stephan and his church for a week of preaching, teaching and evangelism before going on to Lublin City.
Fifteen kilometres outside Lublim the van engine decided enough was enough and promptly blew up in a cloud of smoke and steam. I pulled over into a driveway and cried out to the Lord… After the initial shock, I remembered the R.A.C. and searched for the documents. There was a small store nearby, I asked the shop assistant if she would let me use the ‘phone. She was nervous, suspicious and hostile and at first refused. My Pidgin Polish did not help but I persisted, she relented. Try as I might, I couldn’t get through. The shop assistant tried, looking blank, she shrugged her shoulders.
What should I do? A thousand miles from home and not knowing the language. I silently prayed, ‘Lord help,’ it was a plea from my heart.
Inspiration came. I gave the woman Pastor Marek’s telephone number in Lublin. Her attitude changed completely when she had spoken to him. She set a table for Harabata tea and brought in rolls and butter with cheese and tomato. I sat, like a king, watching folk come into the shop, buy their goodies and leave. Pastor Marek was trying to get through to the numbers I had given him. It was a long wait. When he returned my call he had bad news.
‘Brother Tony, I’ve tried all these numbers, they do not work! Have you any others?’
‘Could you try England, the R.A.C., and Nowich Union?.
After an hour he phoned back, ‘Brother Tony, it does not work!
This was dreadful. ‘Lord, what shall I do?’
Pastor broke into my silent prayer, ‘I could send out a local rescue lorry but you would have to pay. Brother, have you any money?’
‘How much will it be?’ ‘300 szloties.’ ‘Yes please, send the lorry,’ I pleaded. I couldn’t help praising the Lord that Poland had recently readjusted its monetary system otherwise it would have cost 3000,000 szloties. I thanked the lady in the store and reimbursed her for the telephone calls.
Back in the van while I was praying it started to rain, torrents of rain, which became a deluge. An hour passed. Eventually, through the mist and teeming rain the rescue lorry came into view.
The driver reversed it up to the van and then stopped because it was raining so heavily. As soon as the rained eased off a little the van was hoisted onto the lorry and secured with chains.
We set off in the gloom with the radio transmitter warning us of traffic chaos in the city. We struggled slowly through the lanes, sometimes with rows of four or five cars having all succumbed to to the wash of trucks and lorries hitting the water. We somehow arrived at the Fiat main dealer. I jumped down and went into the reception. The garage seemed to be well equipped with rows of telephones and plenty of computer screens. A queue of impatient people were waiting to settle their bills.
Fortunately their were some English speaking staff who tried the R.A.C. emergency numbers and found “they did not work!” A small group of mechanics studied the van and tried to start it. Another cloud of smoke and steam convinced them the van had blown a gasket.
Pastor Marek arrived and we greeted one another. We had never met before and I felt embarrassed by my arrival in a breakdown lorry. He quickly discussed the situation alternating between Polish and English. He told me the garage couldn’t do the work for a month. The Lorry driver suggested we should take the van to another Fiat dealer who was a specialist in Ducato vans. I joined Pastor Marek in his van.
We trundled through the traffic and deep water once again. Every now and again I glimpsed the disabled van passing us and ruefully looked at its Christian Fish. Sometimes in got stuck in another lane and we overtook it. Pastor also had a “small problem” with his van. It had been converted to gas, the mechanism was faulty. Each time we approached a junction he would have to pump the accelerator to keep it going. It also needed new shock absorbers. I had to cling on for my life as we rocked and swayed from side to side. It would have been comical had I not been a thousand miles from home.
We finally arrived at the ?second Fiat dealer, the situation was explained to them. Nothing could be done until the following Wednesday. We had little choice but to load the van from the lorry and wait until the work could begin.
The Lorry driver laboriously made out a bill for 500 szloties. I was about to pay him when Pastor Marek interrupted, ‘No, it’s too much.’
We talked and argued in English and Polish. Oh dear, when would it end?
The lorry driver said he would phone his boss, he fished out his mobile and did just that. The radio crackled , the background hiss filled the garae. The equipment seemed to have come from the ark. Some minutes later, the lorry driver said there had been a misunderstanding, he thought the van was a commercial vehicle. He made out another bill, this time for 300 szloties.
Wednesday came. Praise God, we had made contact with the R.A.C. Control Centre in Lille, France. They were very helpful, telling me they would contact the Polish Representative who would help me. At least something was being done. I looked through my policy documents. The R.A.C. would arrange a rescue, would supply a car,would pay my hotel bills and provide money each day. The list was wonderful. I was called to the phone.
Mr Tom, the representative was speaking. ‘You have broken down, we have taken your vehicle to a garage. Your vehicle will be ready for you tomorrow morning.’ Mr Tom rang off. I was perturbed. I needed clean clthing, books and toiletries from the van, I couldn’t wait until tomorrow.
Pastor walked with me to the garage – a few minutes away. The staff were unhelpful. ‘We have looked at the van, it’s a problem. We do not have a suitable gasket. It may be that we have to make a gasket.’ The possibility of big money from this prosperous Britisher was too good to be true.
During the next ten days confusion and misinformation held sway. The messages, telephone calls, visits to the garage, the ignorance and lies continued. The garage had re-assemble the engine, on Friday morning all was to be ready.
We went to pick it up but we were told, ‘It does not work, there is a deeper problem in the engine. We may have to take the cylinder head off and have it skimmed.’
The R.A.C. Control Centre in Lille said Mr Tom would arrange a car. Visiting the car hire office and having filled in all the forms in triplicate, I discovered they wanted me to pay a deposit of £200 and pay a daily mileage. I refused. I knew I had to keep what money I had for the garage bill and my journey home. The engine block had been removed from the engine.
‘How long will it be?’ I asked. They shrugged their shoulders.
‘Could you work on Saturday, as it’s an emergency?’ ‘It may be possible, it may not be possible.’ Wearily we left the garage and drove to pastor’s home.
Pastor phoned several times and each time the answer was the same,
‘It does not work!’
After tea, Pastor suggested I write a letter to Norwich Union, ‘I will send it by fax,’ he offered. I did as he suggested and write the letter which he sent off.
My arrival in Lublin had been eventful. I didn’t know at that time that the drama had only just started and there was more trauma to come.
The next ten days were a time of astonishing miracles and blessings. I preached in the church, in the city, in homes, in prison and in the small town of Whensha.
It was amazing and wonderful. It was only possible because I was able to release the problem of the van and its solution to the Lord. I said,
‘Lord, You have given this van to me. I thank you but Lord, I cannot continue like this. I give it back to You. If You want me to have it, OK, if not, OK. Lord Your will be done.’ Had I not prayed that prayer the following days would have been a nightmare. I realised I was being exploited. What should I do?
The subsequent events took place after I returned from the church or the city, engaged in the Lord’s work.
After ten days the chief controller at the R.A.C. Lille telephoned
‘I’ve stopped all work on your van, it’s a disaster we will have to repatriate it back to England. I’m going to make arrangements for you to be flown home.’
After borrowing two old cases, Pastor Marek and I walked to the van at the garage to unload my personal belongings and anything else that was valuable.
It was awful, the food had deteriorated in the heat and was inedible, the toilet was dreadful. We collected all the tinned food and gave them to Ursula, Pastor’s wife and threw away the bad food.
We had just got back to Pastor’s home when the ‘phone rang, ‘Could you get to Warsaw Airport tomorrow by one o’clock?’ It was the controller speaking from Lille. Yes I replied. We have booked a flight to London, Heathrow. The tickets are prepaid.’ ‘Thank you,’ I replied before ringing off.
When I arrived at the enquiry desk in Warsaw airport lounge I asked the receptionist for a ticket booked for my Daly. “yes it was here No it had not been paid for”. My heart sank. I searched among the bundle of szloties and found almost 700,000 of them. How I praised God for His bountiful provisions.
A month later I was told that the van had arrived back in Hailsham and was parked in the forecourt of my local garage. I walked over to see it I was shocked to find the engine had been dismantled the cylinder head taken off and that on the journey the engine had swayed and hit the radiator. Underneath I saw the drive shaft hanging down it had somehow snapped perhaps as the van was being off loaded from the lorry. It was a disaster and the van was to all intents and purposes a wreck
With a heavy heart I walked away and later as I shared the news of the Lord’s vehicle being returned in such an awful state Christians started to pray. A dear friend and faithful sister told me that as she prayed the Lord led her to 1 Samuel 30 v where she read the story of David at Ziglag. Everything had gone wrong David’s wives and family had been captured and taken away. His men were going to stone him and he had cried unto the Lord.
Lord what shall I do ? Shall I pursue them The Lord had answered Yes Pursue them and without fail thou shalt recover all “ I believed God’s word and rejoiced The situation in the hands of the insurance companies was not looking good. They were passing the buck the Insurance company blaming the rescue service and the rescue service blaming the Co who were contracted to return the van on a lorry.