The old beat-up car was barreling up the street toward me. It came to a screeching stop along the sidewalk where I was walking. The passenger door immediately flew open, allowing me a glimpse of the driver, the vehicle’s lone occupant. He was a middle-aged man with disheveled hair and stern, angry eyes.

Though this happened years ago, the words he bellowed will be forever embedded in my memory. “Get your ass in this car!”

Instantly my adrenaline kicked into high gear. My heart rate doubled, and all color promptly drained from my body. I didn’t speak—I couldn’t speak—but I’m sure he didn’t miss the look of sheer terror in my bulging eyes.

My mind raced to assess the situation. What should I do?

At the time, I was in my mid-thirties and pregnant with my second child. I had established a routine of going for walks before work each morning. Although our neighborhood felt safe, a few blocks from our home things could get dicey.

I always tried to be careful. I didn’t walk at night, and I tried to remain aware of my surroundings. Most mornings I walked when it was barely light, a time when few people were out and about. There were hardly any cars on the streets—just an occasional city bus or garbage truck.

The thing is, I had seen this car earlier as I was just beginning my walk. I’d spotted it driving slowly down another street. Because it had seemed suspicious, I’d altered my course to avoid an encounter.

A short while later, I’d forgotten my concern with the car. As I continued walking my route, I’d become lost in my thoughts and was headed toward home when the car suddenly reappeared.

Hearing the driver’s command, I knew I had to make a split-second decision.

Should I scream for help? That was impossible. I was too scared to squeak out even a tiny sound of alarm. Besides, who would be alert enough at that early hour to immediately rush to my aid? 

Should I try to run away? Who was I kidding? In addition to my pregnant condition, I realized my legs had suddenly turned to Jell-O.

Should I comply with his demand? As terrified as I was, would it be better to get in the car than risk immediate, possibly more serious harm? I had no way of knowing if he had a weapon, but the man certainly sounded like he meant business.

In the end, I just tried to put one trembling foot in front of the other and keep walking. Although the dramatic event seemed to last much longer, in reality it was over in a matter of seconds. 

It ended when a tiny dog emerged from directly behind me. It trotted past me and hopped into the front seat of the car. Before I could even exhale my overwhelming relief, the door closed, and the car drove off.

As it turned out, the man was just someone who was cruising the neighborhood searching for his dog. His “scary” look was, at second glance, a combination of bedhead and concern and frustration over his missing pet.

Whew! I was totally drained. I wasn’t sure my quivering legs could carry me home. By the time I made it back safely, I could almost chuckle over the incident—almost. At least I felt the deepest gratitude for that little pooch and his swift response.

Had he been slower to obey, I may have had to explain what I was doing in that stranger’s front seat. 

Later on, I came to appreciate the experience as a vivid reminder that things are often not what they appear to be. I’ve had variations of this lesson countless times throughout my life. Maybe someday I’ll finally learn to slow down and stop jumping to conclusions so quickly. Maybe. Until that happens, though, I know I can count on it to continue showing up to help guide me.