We awoke tired and sore in desperate need of a rest day. All night long we’d heard strange thundering and announcements over a PA system; in the morning we discovered that it was the annual steam tractor show and competiton. It sounded interesting (literally), but our tired legs and poor first impression of the town compelled us to move on in search of a hospitable town for a rest day. Butler, whose claim to fame was “birthplace of the Jeep”, was the first town of mentionable size along our road. Skies were gray and heavy, and soon the rains began.

Butler lies in a bowl of mountains along Connoquenessing Creek, and we were able to coast all the way into downtown. The town had the most New England-ish feel of any town we’d yet encountered: brick streets, a Lincoln-era log cabin turned law office, towering stone churches with pealing bell towers, and a courthouse clocktower looming above the civic square. Riding around the veterans park, we heard organs and voices wafting out the open windows of the Lutheran church, whose limestone structure had been darkened by the decades.

We had a certificate for a free night at a Mariott hotel, but to our dismay we discovered that it, along with the grocery store, lay north of town and outside the bowl of Butler. The climb up North Main Street in Butler was among the longest and steepest we’d yet encountered. We succombed to the convenience of fast food and ate nearly the entire dollar menu at Wendy’s.

At the nearby grocery store, we called Mariott to make a reservation, only to find that the rewards line was closed weekends. We called the actual hotel, only to be told that the reservation could not be made any other way. The rain picked up. We set off, unsure of what to do. We had a flat tire. Aired it back up, rode on, only to have the chain derail right in front of the Mariott. We took it as a sign, and went inside, inquiring about a “drowned rat discount”.

“Oh, I saw yous out riding in the rain,” the front desk clerk said. She’d just begun her shift, replacing the woman who’d assured me that our certificate wouldnt’ work. We explained the situation again, and the new clerk said, “Well, let’s see what we can do.” In a few moments, she informed us that a deluxe room with king-sized bed and couch awaited us down the hall, free of charge. Our hearts melted with relief and gratefulness at her willingness to help.

The rest of the day was seemingly unremarkable: we showered, lazed about in a dry, climate-controlled room, watched TV, and talked on the phone with friends and family. Yet to these road-weary travelers, each experience was imbued with a joy beyond what these humble acts seemed capable of containing. As we snuggled on the luxuriously comfortable bed, I wondered whether the clerk had truly made the certificate number work, or if she had simply had pity on us and used her authority to give us the room outright. Either way, we fell asleep giddy and awestruck with gratefulness, keenly aware that our Father fully understands our needs and delights in providing perfect and timely gifts.