Here's just one example: The gauge clearly pointed downward this morning as I climbed into my vehicle. Actually, it rested just above "E." I usually don't try to squeeze more than 310 miles from my tank. My odometer read 301. Fifteen miles of wide-open space separated me from the office. I'll let you do the math to calculate my stupidity.
Yes. Like a redneck pumped up on liquid courage, I fooled myself into believing I could make it. (No, I wasn't drinking.) I pulled onto the highway, thinking: All is well. The warning light hasn't even flipped on yet.
Three miles later, a worm of doubt began wiggling its way through my head. What if the light is malfunctioning? What if it blinked on and off 10 miles ago and I didn't see it?
Then the low-gas light flipped on. Instead of blinking on and off like it had in the past, it taunted me by blazing solid red for several miles.
At this point, I started praying: "Lord, I know I'm a fool, wanting to push my luck as far as I can. I probably deserve to run out of gas. But if I need to stop and fill up at the one station between me and town, please send me a sign. Thanks in advance, Kat."
Now, some might call it coincidence. Some might call it luck. Some might even call it synchronicity. I call it divine communication because less than a minute later the local radio station began playing Jackson Browne's "Runnin' on Empty."
You can't ask for a better sign than that, unless of course it's planted in the ground and posted at the side of the road.