A Prayer of Thanks for the Taxi Driver Who Drove Us Home From Our Hospital Appointment (But Not for the Taxi Driver Who Took Us There)

Father, thank you for the patience of the taxi driver who didn’t drop a bead of sweat when he couldn’t find me at the hospital address I provided. Lord, I know you know the technological intricacies of Fonacab better than I do, but their location tracker really does not work. “As useful as a chocolate teapot”, the dear taxi man said. 

For his decision to call me straight away instead of letting the meter run on as long as possible, while I floundered in gale-force winds with my small child, thank you. And for his next decision not to charge me for the time he spent looking for me, thank you x100. That payment most certainly would have been declined from my January-bluesy bank account. 

You know, my new friend really didn’t mind that my vague directions included, “I have a blonde toddler. Look for a blonde toddler,” or that my stress levels exuded that of someone who doesn’t take a taxi very often. Rely on someone else? No, thank you.

He was such an unexpected gem, Lord. 

Thank you for the daughter who lives with him, who shares both my name and my number of years on this very earth you clutch in your palm. Thank you that I didn’t even get to tell him this coincidental fact because he was too busy jabbering on about how she always loses her keys, like my husband on this particular day, and how my taxi driver cuts and keeps spare keys for his daughter in his top drawer.

Lord, the smile of pride hanging off his lips and the gleam of delight in his eyes. Gah, I wish you’d seen it. I mean, I know you saw. But thank you for letting me see. For giving me this human body so I can brush shoulders with such fatherly enchantment. 

For his genuine concern about why I had a hospital appointment; for his genuine joy when I shared that it was a happy appointment; for his genuine interest in my life and why I was taking a taxi when I am quite clearly a clueless taxi virgin; for all of these things, will you bless him abundantly? 

It is a special kind of taxi man who is not tired of chit-chat. I gleaned such wisdom on our first journey of the day with a very different driver. I guess I should add, while I am not particularly thankful for the previous guy who answered my cheerful questions with monosyllabic grunts and took the long route to the hospital and somehow managed to ignore the adorable squeaks of a gleeful 21-month-old boy and therefore must be utterly dead inside, I guess I should add that this driver is still worth blessing. Not as much as the second guy, but still–bless him as he drives around at 9.30 am on a Wednesday morning, because he certainly does not love driving around at 9.30 am on a Wednesday morning. Especially when he gets melters like me in his backseat, it seems. 

And just one last thing before I go, God. Will you help me not to sass my husband quite as strongly the next time he loses his car keys and takes my car to work and makes my planned-to-the-very-last-second Wednesday that little bit more awkward? Thanks. Because you just never know. On the other side of awkward, there might be a surprising gift of kindness in the form of a delightful taxi driver. 

Oh! And for my mum’s friend who prayed to St. Anthony, the Saint of Lost Things, seconds before we found the key—I don’t know what to do with that information, but thanks again I guess. Amen.

Prayer inspired by and written in the style of the equally delightful Brian Doyle in A Book of Uncommon Prayer.