My twin dangers are a very narrow garage door, and the small strait between the two facing garage buildings. I have scraped past Scylla, but not unscathed. Despite Bill's driving lesson, I fused the white garage paint to the grey body of the car while it squealed.
It's a good metaphor for the spring-summer-fall-winter of our distress. Circumstances squeezed us. We got beat up some. There was squealing. But we could have been altogether wrecked.
We didn't count on improbable theatrics (the ex machina part) to save us, but on God and our support groups. To those who doubt prayer's efficacy, I argue it's got to be more reliable than a belching vortex.
If you've been in a tight spot, I'd like to hear your story. Share your dents, missing paint, and the rescue. You don't have to be Homer to encourage us.