The evening started off very casual and uneventful. My 3-year old son and I took a little trip down the road to a Starbucks to drink a tall iced latte, a tall iced milk and split a raspberry cheesecake (or maybe I ate the whole thing after he gagged from the first bite). He played some puzzle games on my iPhone as I worked on that yummy slice of cheesecake. As the night grew dark I decided it was about time we head back to the guesthouse where we were staying.

I’m sure now would be a good time to brief you on a little back story. At this point, I’m 36-weeks pregnant, very pregnant, staying at a guest house in a city where I plan to deliver the baby (due to better health care and facilities). It’s just me and my toddler at this point until my husband can get off work and meet us for the remainder of our stay until baby is born. Alright, end of back story.

I drive back to the house, waddle up the driveway, and fumble with all the keys I’ve been given to this house that has a bajillion locks. There’s one particular key and lock combo that I despise because it almost seems like they don’t belong together. Normally, I don’t lock that part because I don’t want to stand there jamming and jiggling and shaking to get a simple lock to unlock. Unfortunately, the house guard had locked this particular lock while I was gone. As I stood there with the remainder of my iced latte and a toddler getting really antsy to run around, I could feel sweat collecting on my whole body. Tropical weather and 36-weeks pregnant is not a match made in heaven.

Gah, what is wrong with this key?!

I passed my caffeinated beverage to my toddler to hold while I sorted through all the keys. Of course, he started drinking it. Which is exactly what his little hyperactive body needed. I double-checked to make sure I was using the right key and tried again. The key wouldn’t turn a bit. I was losing my patience. I was sticky hot. My toddler was sipping down my iced latte by the gulp-ful. I started to shake the door back and forth as I tried to jiggle the key into some magical position to get it to turn.

Deep breath. Wipe fallen hair and sweat off brow. Retrieve iced latte which is now much less than halfway full now.

The man that was in charge of taking care of this guest house and staying on guard had to be around here somewhere. So, I decided to knock on the door like a normal person instead of shake it like a frantic person. I started with a calm knock. No answer. I then tried out a sturdier knock that might carry through the house more. Nothing. Thus, I returned to my frantic-person-state and began beating on the door once more. NOTHING. Are you kidding me right now??

I let the screen door shut behind me and stood there, clueless as to what my next plan was. Then, I glanced over and saw that a guy on a motorcycle had driven up to the gate.

Who on earth is this coming to the gate in the evening? And I wonder how much of my crazy door-opening antics he witnessed?

I saw that he was carrying something. Weapon? No…phew. Oh, pizza! Yum! Too bad it’s not mine…

I went to the gate to welcome him in and informed him that I was not the one who ordered the pizza but hopefully whoever did would come out to retrieve it shortly.

Then began our brief, yet still very awkward, moment of silence, standing in the driveway, while waiting on someone to come to the door. We exchanged a couple sentences, but ultimately, stood there silent. He briefly walked to his motorcycle and I assumed it was because he was calling the pizza recipient to inform them that their pizza had arrived. He returned back and there we stood in silence some more.

I decided to break the silence. “So, are they coming out?”

He responded, “Oh, I don’t know. I left my phone at work, so…”

At this point, I was ready to pay for the pizza myself so that this guy could head on his merry way and leave me and my toddler to eat the pizza in the driveway while I contemplated a new plan to get in the house. But I knew somebody had to be in the house. Someone ordered this pizza. Am I the only one who stays close to the front door when I know pizza is on the way??

“Do you have their number,” I asked Mr. Pizza Delivery Guy

“Yeah, here it is.”

Victory! So, I dialed the number and decided to let him do the talking, thereby dodging an awkward explanation as to why I, a super preggo, sweaty mom, was calling to inform them that their pizza had arrived.

Within a minute, the door was opened by one of the housekeepers. How she didn’t hear my knocking was beyond me. I chose not to let my frustrations out on her and decided, instead, to inform her of my malfunctioning key. She then informed the house guard who then fiddled with the keys himself. He found the key to another lock and showed me how it worked perfectly fine. I then informed him that it was the key to the other lock (a deadbolt lock) that I couldn’t get to work. He then responded, “You don’t need a key to lock it, you just twist it.” As calmly as I could, I responded, still glistening with sweat, “I was outside.

As I finally walked into our little section of the guest house, letting my toddler run crazy due to a caffeine high, I thought to myself, I’m really glad that pizza guy showed up and helped out in his own little way. Granted, I was a little creeped out when he first pulled up, but you can’t blame me. I was a pregnant mom with my toddler, standing outside at night, locked out of the house, in a city I’m not familiar with, and my husband is in another country.

But praise the Lord, help came to me just when I needed it. Special delivery-style.


How about you? When’s the last time a complete stranger helped you out? Isn’t it nice when you get help from some of the most unexpected people and places?



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