Grandma Got Pulled Over
I was cruising down the road—or at least I thought I was. I’d set the car on cruise at a speed to match the blustery conditions—or at least I thought I had. As the flashing red lights made headway from behind, I saw the colorful array in my rearview mirror and pulled over.
The officer approached and we exchanged smiles as I rolled down the window. The cold Minnesota air billowed like puffs of smoke as we spoke. Politely, she asked me for my insurance card and lo-and-behold it was in the glove compartment right where it was supposed to be. So far so good!
As she took the card back to her vehicle, I waited—and waited. Then, I waited some more. Many a thought can go through one’s mind on a subzero winter’s day while waiting for the return of an officer who pulled you over.
Did someone steal my identity and the officer found a record out there that wasn’t mine? Did I have a ticket on file that I’d forgotten about? How much of a fine is it for speeding? When I arrive late now to see the grands, what will grandma say? Will they issue me a ticket or just give me a warning? Do I have to tell my husband?
When she did finally returned, she slipped my insurance card back into my hands and apologized that her computer had taken so long to do what it needed to do. No ticket was written, no shame based admonition was given—rather—a smile and a wave of the hand was extended as she explained that the various county roads have different speed limits and I need to be aware of it for my own safety.
Her accent was familiar, and we began chatting in her native language. As she told me from whence she’d come, I was proud of her for not only traveling the distance it takes to become a contributing member of the United States of America— but proud that our country offered a way for her to do so. The uniform flagged in the red, white and blue was indicative of those who’d gone before her along life’s roads and the hands extended to her along the way was what she now extended to me. No fine was paid, and all was forgiven.
Sort of reminds me of another man who bore red stripes on our behalf. Who was this? His name was Jesus. Why would He do something on our behalf? He did it because “He first loved us” (1 John 4:19). He did it “so we might have life and have it to the full” (John 101:10). No fine need be paid—all is forgiven. How does this happen and when? “When we confess our transgressions—our wrong doings— He is faithful and just to forgive them” (John 1:9).
Isaiah 53:5 speaks to the heart of the matter. May you not only know this, but believe what has been given. “But He was pierced for our transgressions, He was bruised for our iniquities; punishment that brought us peace was upon Him, and by His stripes we are healed.” Amen.
