The scene of the encounter—I had only come for lawnmower parts, but I ended up getting much more than I had bargained for that morning. Here’s proof positive that we actually do still have a Western Auto in Louisville.

I ran into Nostradamus a few days ago in, of all places, the Western Auto. Yes, I know that is both amazing and hard to believe, and I’m often still awestruck by the fact as well, but the truth is that we really do still have a Western Auto in Louisville. It’s one of the things that I love about the place, a small town that still has a few of the iconic stores that I remember as a child growing up in rural North Mississippi (Gibson’s Discount Center comes to mind).

We struck up a conversation while waiting at the parts counter and, in no time, he was unfolding the bleak picture of the future that lay ahead. It was slightly more than I had bargained for that early in the morning, as I had only come to pick up a deck belt for my zero-turn mower. After winding up his breakdown of the forthcoming apocalypse, he surprised me a bit when he stopped to ask why I was there.

Clearly, he had the gift of prophetic vision, he had dreamed about his cousin running off with the traveling preacher long before it had happened and he also knew how the next presidential election was going to turn out, if I wanted to know. Needless to say, I was taken aback by the fact that he didn’t know that I was there for the belt or, furthermore, hadn’t foreseen the fact that his chainsaw was going to need a new sparkplug and chain before he started cutting the oak tree that had recently fallen on his house.

Come to think of it, why hadn’t he cut the tree before it fell? Alas, who am I to question the ways of the prophets, especially those who are willing to risk persecution at the parts counter with their open proclamations amongst the throngs of pilgrims gathered there for their lawn and farm care needs.

In all fairness, I shouldn’t call him Nostradamus and I wouldn’t were it not for the fact that when he revealed his gifts as a “seer,” he explained that said gifts placed him in the company of the “prophets of old like Ezekiel and Daniel” and, in later times, “prophets like Nostradamus.”

At this point I want to go on record that I both believe the Bible and respect the words of the prophets, both major and minor; however, I am a bit leery of Nostradamus (or any other more recent prognosticators) that claim to know the final day and hour, especially when those claims come amidst lawnmower blades, leaf blowers, and gallon jugs of chainsaw bar and chain oil. Again, I just can’t get past the fact that he didn’t foresee the tree falling.

Conversations of this ilk seem pointless to me, not because I don’t believe, but, more importantly, because I do. You see, I had a wonderful revelation many years ago myself, much like that of Father John Cavanaugh in the movie “Rudy.” If you recall, in the movie Father John shares with young Ruettiger that, “…in years of religious studies, I’ve come up with only two hard, incontrovertible facts: There is a God and I’m not Him.”

Furthermore, when it all goes down for me, however it is meant to go down, I’m secure with where I’m headed. Outside of that, aren’t we better served loving our neighbors, helping those in need, and, well, living our lives?

Ultimately, I declined Nostradamus’ offer for more details about the outcome of the next presidential election and the timing of the return of Jesus. Something about intermingling the words “Trump” and the “coming Messiah” gave me great pause.

Finally, as if receiving a revelation myself, the words of Jesus from Matthew 24:36 filled my mind and spewed forth from my lips: “But about the day and hour no one knows, neither the angels of heaven, nor the Son, but only the Father.” Those words have always given me great comfort in life and the sense of peace needed to grab my fly rod and head to the nearest bream bed or trout stream rather than pining away the hours worrying about how it’s all going to end.

“Nosty,” however, seemed unfamiliar with the passage, but it did help provide some much-needed closure to our stimulating discourse, that and the fact that Mike the parts manager had tracked down my belt. Finally, I bid my new friend adieu with a firm handshake and a smile and went out into the world with a smile on my face and the words of Bob Marley’s “Three Little Birds” humming in my mind.

Until next time, I’ll leave you with those words–“Don’t worry about a thing, ‘Cause every little thing, gonna be alright.”

Email outdoors columnist Brad Dye at braddye@comcast.net.