The Afternoon Drive
It is my pleasure to present Scott Fields in today’s post.
I recently ‘met’ Scott through ChristianWriters.com and enjoyed his postings there so much that I wanted to share his writings with my readers. Scott graciously agreed with the following devotional thought. I hope you enjoy it.
Taking a wrong turn
by Scott Fields
When they kept questioning him, he straightened up and said to them,
“If any one of you is without sin, let him be the first to throw a stone at her.”
BASED ON A TRUE STORY
A recent afternoon found Jesus and me on the road of life, heading nowhere in particular, making small talk on various subjects. As is too often the case, I happened to be in the driver’s seat. Jesus sat next to me in the passenger seat, window rolled down and His arm hanging out, the very picture of a man enjoying the weather that His Father has provided. I did most of the talking—as is also too often the case—while He listened to what I had to say, nodding occasionally, even laughing from time to time (is there anything quite so ambiguous as a polite chuckle from the Savior?).
“Your turn’s coming up, you know,” I said. “I just want to get a bit further.”
He smiled patiently. “I’m here whenever you’re ready.”
“I’m doing all right.”
“Of course.”
“Not like I’m asleep at the wheel, or anything.”
He smiled again. “Not today.”
I pondered whether to pursue that one further. I never got the chance. In the next instant the driver in the lane to my left came to the abrupt conclusion that he needed to make a right turn, and acted on the decision before thinking the matter through. He sailed through two lanes, missing my front bumper by mere inches. No signal. Nothing. I had to hit the brakes to avoid a collision. Having reached the turn lane, the other car careened around the corner and was gone before I had the chance to pull alongside him and give him one of my “withering” stares.
A certain word leapt to my lips. Remembering my company, I choked it back. The next couple of choices weren’t much better. I fumbled for a second. I had to say something. The moment, and that other driver, demanded a response.
“Prob’ly born in a barn,” I muttered.
I felt a little better. Not much, but I had to take what I could get, and all I could get just then was a sense of moral superiority. I’d earned it, though. I would never do what that man had just done. I’m a better driver than that. Than him. His poor judgment had opened the door for me to exercise a little judgment of my own—and clear logic told me that anyone who would make such a bad decision in this case would likely make the wrong choice in other situations as well. It was common sense. Knowing I would never do such a thing gave me full assurance that I was, in fact, a better person.
Mind you, I didn’t know this person from Adam (how embarrassing it would’ve been if I had!). I knew nothing of his culture, his beliefs, his intelligence, or his upbringing. I never even thought to check and see whether Jesus was in the front seat with him as well (why is that something we almost always forget to look for?). Based on this single incident, however, I believed I had enough information to make a conclusive judgment.
It would’ve been fine if I were alone. I wasn’t.
Awkward silence followed as I tried to pass off that I had done a perfectly reasonable and acceptable thing—though if I had, it probably wouldn’t have been so quiet. I kept my eyes on the road and pretended to hum a tune I’d never heard. Jesus sat with his eyes on the road ahead as well. I couldn’t detect any change in his aspect. But that silence. . . .
It had to be broken. I waited a few seconds longer for Him to say something, anything, corrective or otherwise. I began to realize this was one of those times when He wanted me to speak first.
I hate that.
I tried to make my shrug as nonchalant as I could. “You saw what he did, Lord. He’s a menace. He could’ve hurt both of us.” Dumb thing to say. “People like that. . . .” I began, but didn’t like the direction that was taking in present company, so I decided against continuing.
He wasn’t going to let me off that easy. “People like that . . . what?”
Fine. “People like that shouldn’t have licenses to begin with.”
He shrugged. “How would I know? I was born in a barn.”
Ouch.