I am a blessed man. Ever since that warm May evening way back in 1971 I've experienced a deep, rich, exciting, challenging, miracle-filled walk with Jesus. I've witnessed God move in ways that sadly many people never do. I have literally feasted on the goodness of God for over 37 years now (and to think, I'm only 39!!! ... NOT!). And yet ... I HAVE A PROBLEM. And it just may be that you have a similar problem. What is it you ask? I have a TRUSTING problem. Even with all the miracles. Even with all the last minute (to me, not to God) rescues. Even with the amazing and abundant provision throughout these years ... I still have a problem trusting God in my crises. Amazing huh? Well, it's even more amazing than you think. Let me explain.
AN EARLY MIRACLE:
I got out of the U.S. Navy on April 2nd that year and moved back home to Flatwoods, KY. Sharon and I had been married almost three years and our son, Danny, was a year and a half old. I was fortunate to be able to come back to my job as a clerk on the C&O Railroad. Over the next five months we bought our first home, I was saved, and life was good. I mean really good. UNTIL ...
Until early September 1971 when the coal miners up in West Virginia decided to go on strike. No big deal I thought. Let'em strike. It went okay for a week or so, then it happened. I was LAID OFF from my job. You see, when coal miners don't mine the coal, railroad cars have no coal to move and when they have no coal to move, they don't move either. So suddenly, there was no work and since I was low on the seniority pole, I was laid off.
Fortunately for us, we had been very frugal and had managed to pay ahead on our bills. No problem, the strike will be settled soon and I'll be back to work before our money runs out ... NOT!!! If you know anything about miner's strikes, they can be long and longer. Eventually, our money ran out. I had been out of the Navy too long to draw unemployment from them and had not worked at the railroad long enough to draw unemployment from them. So we literally had no money and no money coming in. We were going to Sharon's parents one evening to eat and my parents the next. But we were broke in the brokest sense of the word.
To make matters worse, we were brand new Christians and had no idea of God's promises. We didn't know much about prayer and we had never seen a miracle. We were crying ourselves to sleep each night worrying about what WE were going to do.
I found a job with my best friend opening and closing his gas station for $5 a day. I would get up and open from 6-8 am and then go back to close from 9-12 pm. For you young people that's $1.00 an hour (and I was thrilled to get it). Sharon was "taking in laundry" from the neighbors to make a couple of extra dollars to buy food and formula for Danny. So we cried a lot and did all we knew to do, but we weren't going to make it. Our bills were about to become past due and we had no hope ... OR SO WE THOUGHT!
That all changed on a Wednesday night. We went to church and then stayed for choir practice. We had revival coming up soon and we were practicing special music for it. As a matter of fact, we had been practicing on Wednesday and even on Monday evenings. But that night we didn't practice. Instead, our Song Leader, Bill Simmons, sat us down and read us a scripture I don't think I'd ever read before. It was John 15:7 "If you abide in me and my words abide in you, you shall ask whatever you will, and it shall be done unto you." Then he told us his story.
Bill didn't have a car. He worked as a salesman in the Sears store in Huntington, WV and hitchhiked the 25+ miles each way to work everyday. As you can imagine, this meant he spent a lot of time on the road each day trying to get a ride (even though it was much easier back then than now). So the previous Sunday night Bill and his family (wife and three boys) knelt in prayer and claimed this verse. Bill asked God to give him a car so he could make it for choir practice on Mondays and Wednesdays to get ready for revival. He didn't ask because he was tired of hitchhiking or because he felt deprived. He asked so he could fulfill what he believed was his calling to lead our choir.
That next night we met for choir practice and Bill was there. I was sick (or maybe they'd kicked me out of the choir because I can't sing ... I don't really remember why) and was sitting in the pews watching them practice when a man came in and sat down behind me. I turned to welcome him and he asked if this was the church where the song leader hitchhiked to work every day. I told him it was and he sat back and watched the entire choir practice.
When practice was over, everyone left and the gentleman waited until Bill was alone. Then he asked Bill if he was the songleader who hitchhiked to work. Bill embarassingly admitted it was him. When he did the gentleman looked him in the eye and said, "I'm here because God told me to give you a car." Bill was ecstatic. He didn't know what kind of car it was and he didn't care. Any ol' clunker would be good he thought. As the man waited, he locked the church and they headed around the building and down the sidewalk. To Bill's uttter amazement, there at the end of the sidewalk was a 1969 Ford Ranchwagon stationwagon. Power windows, power doors, air conditioning ... the works. The man told Bill the car was his and asked if he had money for insurance. Bill said, "No." so the man took him to his insurance agent and purchased him a six month policy. He also filled the car up and only asked for one thing ... that we would pray for his wife who was still and unbeliever. WOW!!! Can you imagine the excitement in our choir that night as Bill shared that bonafide miracle with us. It was incredible. We were so excited we couldn't go home, so we went to Sharon's sister, Dorothy's house for a snack. When we got there, Dorothy looked at us and said, "God can do that for you too, you know!" Immediately, tears filled our eyes and we fell to our knees and began to pray. We told the Lord we were abiding (remaining) in Him as best we knew how and we wanted to honor Him in whatever way He had in mind, but we had some needs we needed His help to meet.
We went home that night and slept for the first time in weeks. It was the sleep of peace. The sleep of knowing that our God was in control and we really didn't have a need He couldn't meet.
The next morning at 7 am there was a knock on our door. A man named Rod Howell whom I worked with on the railroad was standing there. He apologized for waking us so early, but he had a problem. The night before the electricity had gone out at his house and he had a bunch of beef from his freezer that he needed to get rid of. "Would you take some?" he asked. Would we??? He had several bags of steaks, hamburger, roasts and other items. We barely had enough room in our freezer to fit everything. When Rod left, Sharon and I hugged and danced around (we're not all that Baptist I guess). We cried, we praised God, we laughed, we sang. Then Sharon remembered that the night before Bill had given her an envelope with music in it for her to practice for the revival. Since we were excited and singing already, she might as well make good use of the opportunity, so she went and got the envelope of music. Yeah, you probably already guessed it ... along with the music, the choir had taken a love offering for us and there was $120 in the envelope. I have tears in my eyes as I write this remembering that as the first time we realized God is bigger than any need, any problem, any obstacle we can have.
To make a long story shorter, all day long things like that happened. People brought us food or gave us money. As a matter of fact, that afternoon Sharon was outside watching Danny play when a neighbor down the street called for her to come down. Now you need to know this neighbor didn't like us. I had kicked a football through her awning and into her picture window (it broke the awning, but not the window ... thank God!). But when Sharon got down there the woman held out a $20 bill and told Sharon she didn't know why, but she felt she should give Sharon the money. Sharon stuck her hand out fingers up, palm facing the woman and started to refuse the money when a bee flew up and stung her in the palm of her hand. She says that was when she learned never to refuse what God wants to do for her. By the time I returned from my Navy Reserve drill that night we had a refrigerator full of food, the cabinets were full, the table was full, the chairs around the table was full and we had over $250 in cash. What an awesome God!!! Then kinda like icing for the cake, as I walked in the door, the phone rang. It was the C&O calling me back to work the next morning.
WOW!!! And that was just the first of what has been a long list of God's miraculous provision and protection in our lives. There are dozens more I could tell you about. If there is one thing I know and know for sure, it is that GOD IS FAITHFUL!!! So ...
WHAT'S MY PROBLEM?
Why do I still find it hard to trust Him? Why don't I simply trust Him with all my heart? I think there are a couple of reasons.
1. WE'RE NEAR-SIGHTED
I don't mean that in the classic optomotrist sense. I mean we can't see the forest for the trees. Instead of REMEMBERING His miraculous provision all those times when God came through and simply acknowledging He will not forsake us now, we FOCUS on the immediate problem. Let me illustrate.
Have you ever taken a rock or small pebble and held it up in front of your face? By moving the rock closer and closer to your eye, you can literally block out objects many times bigger than the rock. You can even block out the sun with the rock. Now does that mean the rock is bigger than the sun? Of course not. Scientists tell us the sun is so enormous you could fit 1,000,000 earth's inside it. So how does a small, little rock obscure something so huge? It's a matter of perspective. It cannot possibly obscure the sun, but when placed so close to our eye it can appear to do so.
That's like our problems. We get so close to them we allow them to obscure the awesomeness of the God we serve.
2. WE LISTEN TO THE WRONG VOICES
When Sharon and I were going through that first crisis in our lives we were ignorant to what the Bible said. We were new Christians and didn't know God's Word well. Therefore, we were easy targets for the negative, gloom and doom voice of the enemy. We thought it was up to us. We thought we had to do it. We thought we had to come up with a solution to our problems. Then we encountered the power of God's Word. In the midst of the negative words of the enemy we heard the powerful, positive, certain Word of our God. Proverbs 3:5-6 have become a couple of my favorite verses over the years. "Trust in the Lord with all your heart, lean not to your own understanding, in all your ways acknowledge Him and He will direct your paths."
3. WE HAVE SHORT MEMORIES
When did God ever fail you? When did He ever forsake you? When was the last time He came through with the miracle you had to have or you'd have been sunk? REMEMBER!!!
One of the things God made sure the Children of Israel did was REMEMBER. God told them to remember, rehearse, retell the great stories of His deliverance and provision. Write them down, share them with your kids, tell them to your friends. Why? Because when we remember what God HAS done, we are reminded of what He WILL do. It's funny how quickly and easily we forget.
I'm reminded of Moses and the Children of Israel. If ever there was a group of people who should have trusted God ... THEY WERE THEM!!! (I know that's horrible grammar, but you get the point). Deliverance from Egypt, crossing the Red Sea, water in the wilderness, quail, manna, provision, protection, guidance ... they had it all. They never had a problem that God couldn't and didn't solve. Yet, everytime something happened. Everytime the enemy surfaced, they would act like God had never ever acted in their behalf.
So what do we do? It's simple really.
1. FOCUS ON GOD, NOT OUR PROBLEM.
2. LISTEN TO GOD'S WORD, NOT THE NEGATIVE VOICES WITHOUT AND WITHIN.
3. REMEMBER WHAT GOD HAS DONE, NOT WHAT YOU CANNOT DO.
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
Saturday, February 7, 2009
Bro. Dan's Skidmarks
I'm not smart enough to have a blog. I can't speak the venacular of today like Aaron Linne or mine the depths of theological truth like soon-to-be Dr. Chuck Fuller or communicate with the grace of my friend Ray Hollenbach. In my 35+ years of pastoring, no one has ever said to me, "BD, you're too deep for me." So why am I creating a blog? Good question. Because I do have one thing ... COMMON SENSE. Now granted, I don't always use it like I should, but I've got it. So in my blogs, I will simply try to communicate some common sense in practical, often experiential ways.
I've titled my blog bd-skidmarks because that's the first thing I want to talk about ... SKIDMARKS IN LIFE. Let me begin.
To say I was a shy kid would be an understatement of apocalyptic proportions. I was so shy that when I returned to my high school for my ten year reunion they had to look my picture up in the annual to make sure I was part of the class. I rarely talked to anyone except my three best friends and didn’t have my first date until my senior year in high school. She was a freshman baritone player in the band (I played baritone too) and after spending the entire school year trying to work up the nerve to ask her out and when I finally did, to my utter amazement, she said, “Yes!”
We set our date for that Friday night. I cleaned out my mom’s 1962 Chevy Impala (not exactly a chick magnet), did extra chores to earn some “date” money (I’d never had to do that before), put on my best clothes, shaved (though I had absolutely no facial hair), and set out on my date. I picked her up at 7, took her to a movie, bought her a hamburger and had her home by 9:30. I remember the strange look she gave me when I walked her to the door (It was barely dark), but I simply didn’t know what to do with her. Remember, I told you I was shy.
Well, when word got out to my three friends about my “date.” The ridicule and kidding were intense. They made up nicknames for me. They told everyone they could about my misadventure. They wrote embarrassing things in my yearbook. To put it mildly, the last part of my senior year was a fiasco. Then came summer break.
Everything was going as usual until one evening one of my friends named Ron called me with an exciting proposition. A BLIND DATE!
It seemed that his girlfriend at the time had a cousin visiting her and the only way she could go out was to get a date for the cousin too. That’s where I came in. Ron asked if I would like to “double date” with him and his girlfriend and they would even provide my date. Well, since I wasn’t having the best luck in the romance area, I agreed. Then came the kicker!!! Ron had lost his license because he had too many points against them and couldn’t drive (remember this, it is important later). So he asked if I could “borrow” my mom’s car and drive.
Now you need to understand my mom was “funny” about her car. One night she was napping when I asked to borrow the car and when she grunted I took that for a “yes.” An hour later I was stopped by the State Police for “stealing” my mom’s car. Apparently, what I had taken for a yes had been merely what I thought it was … a grunt. So under those circumstances, I wasn’t terribly confident about being able to borrow the car, but when I told mom it was for a date, she immediately gave me the keys (even though the date was three nights away). I guess she had been having nightmares about having me live with them when I was forty.
So the big night finally came. I had my money. I had on “Hai Karate” aftershave (another story). I brushed my teeth (I had found out you actually get to kiss the girl if the date goes well). I was ready. Ready that is except for one small detail … I was driving my mom’s 1962 Chevy Impala four door sedan with an automatic transmission. Back in that day, that was about as “un-cool” as you could get. But, nonetheless, I picked up Ron and we headed out to pick up our dates.
I lived in the little town of Flatwoods, Kentucky and at the time Flatwoods was so small there was only one red light in the entire town … the corner of Powell Lane and Argillite Road. On the way to the girls’ house, Ron and I were discussing what a disaster my mom’s car was. Impala! Four doors! Automatic transmission! Most of the guys at that time had their own cars. They weren’t bought by their parents and they weren’t fancy, but they were cool. One thing that made them cool was when they had a Hertz four-speed transmission. Now obviously, most cars didn’t come with a Hertz four-speed transmission, but the guys who had their own car would buy a Hertz four-speed transmission kit, cut a hole in their floorboard, and install their “cool” transmission. The truth is this was pretty dumb because when it was raining or when you hit a mud hole, water would fly up through that hole and drench everyone in the front seat. But they were COOL! And I wished I had one.
Now I knew my mom would never ever consent (even if I told her I was getting married and moving out that weekend) to allowing me to cut a hole in her floorboard and put in a Hertz four-speed transmission, BUT … I could pretend!!!
All I had to do was drape my left wrist over the steering wheel and lay my right arm down in the seat. Then when I took off I would smash down the gas pedal for a couple of seconds (like I was in first gear), then let off the gas. I would then move my right arm forward to simulate shifting into second gear and smash my foot on the accelerator again. This process would continue until I was flying in fourth gear. It was a great idea and it worked. No one really thought I’d torn out the floorboard of my mom’s nice car, but it looked real enough and besides, I’m not the sharpest knife in the drawer.
So when Ron and I came to the red light on Powell Lane, I draped my left wrist over the steering wheel, laid my right arm down on the seat between us and waited for the light to change. I was about to demonstrate what “cool” really was. The light changed and after turning right on Argillite Road I jammed down my foot, prepped my right arm for the impending shift, and lifted my foot off the gas for that crucial shift into second gear. Just as I slammed my make-believe shift rod into second gear and punched my foot down on the gas pedal as hard as possible, I noticed him.
There in the on-coming line of traffic waiting at the red light sat a Kentucky State Trooper. It was one of those life changing instants that seem to last forever. Just as I saw him, he saw me. Our eyes locked in that crucial split-second and I had a decision to make.
I needed to do something and do it quick. I was straining my make believe second gear to the max. I had to do something. About that time I looked over at my friend Ron. Remember Ron, the guy whose license had been suspended because of poor decisions and too many tickets! The guy my dad had warned me would get me in trouble someday. I looked at Ron. Ron looked at me. I looked at the Trooper. The Trooper looked at me. I hear my dad’s voice in my head saying, “It’s never right to do wrong.” I looked at Ron. Ron looked at me. I looked back at Ron.
Now I want you to know I knew exactly what I should do. I should take my foot off the gas and if the trooper turned around I should pull over to the side of the road and take my ticket like a man. I knew that and knew it well. BUT …
In that moment, with my mind swirling, my heart pumping, my dad’s voice screaming in my ear, I looked at Ron. And Ron said the strangest thing. He said, “Kick it!” SO I DID!!! Told you my lettuce done slipped off my hamburger! In that instant I made quite possibly the dumbest decision of my life. Seventeen years old, driving my mom’s car, going to pick up my blind date, I shoved it into third gear and crunched my foot down on the gas. I saw Mr. State Police Man do his best Starsky and Hutch routine by spinning his car around and following in hot pursuit.
I learned quite a few lessons that evening and one of them was you get where you’re going a lot faster at 75 than you to at 35 (which was the speed limit on Argillite Road). So before I knew it, flying along Argillite Road at 75-80 miles an hour, State Police in hot pursuit, my friend Ron yelling “Harder, kick it harder!” I was suddenly where I was going. The driveway to the girl’s house was a gravel one and there was a telephone pole on the right hand side of it. Now I think you need to know I wasn’t a really great driver back then. As a matter of fact, I failed my driver’s test four times before a new trooper finally had mercy on me and passed me on my final try. But, I had another decision to make … and I made it.
Without worrying about what gear I was in (actually, I had never shifted out of third) I slammed on my brakes, turned the wheel sharply to the left and dove down into the driveway. How I missed that pole will forever remain a mystery to me. I fish-tailed down the driveway, spun the car around and unbelievably the garage door was open with no cars inside, so I drove in. Talk about a great first impression on a date!!! I drove into the driveway, jumped out of my car, raced to the corner of the house just as the Trooper’s car flew past. Momentarily I wiped my forehead and said, “Praise the Lord” only I really said something else. BUT …
I noticed on the sidewalk just past the driveway where I’d turned in there was a little old lady sweeping her sidewalk (I’ve never really understood why old people do that!). As I watched, she looked down my way, took her broom, raised it in the air and started waving it while she shouted, “He’s down there! He’s down there!” Then I heard the screech of tires as the trooper stomped his brakes. Just a couple of seconds later his lights flashing and his siren blaring, he turned down into the driveway and pulled up to the garage door.
When he got out of the car I promise you his first words were, “In a hurry, son?”(Do they teach them that at the police academy???) Truthfully, I don’t remember the details of the next few minutes. I don’t think I ever got to see my blind date. I don’t remember whether a crowd gathered or what. All I remember was having my head shoved down and being placed in the backseat of the cruiser. I honestly don’t think the officer handcuffed me (I weighed 145 pounds soaking wet with all my clothes on and I was scared to death). I also remember thinking to myself I hoped they gave me a life sentence because if they didn’t my dad was going to give me a death sentence.
Finally, the trooper got into the front seat and started to backup and head out of the driveway. As he did, I saw the little old lady with the broom standing by the telephone pole smiling like this hardened criminal had been captured and she had helped insure my doom. I looked at her through my window and thought about how much I’d like to take her broom and … when I blurted out to the trooper, “You wouldn’t have caught me if it hadn’t been for that lady.” I will never forget his next words. He was looking me straight in the eye as we backed up the driveway and when he got to the top, he smiled a quirky little smile and said, “Son, I didn’t see the woman. What gave you away and how I knew where you went were the SKIDMARKS you left on the road. They gave you away.”
You know what? We’ve all got skid marks on the roads of our lives. Or should I say we have “sin-marks.” They give us away. They tell the tale of bad decisions, of willful disobedience, of disastrous choices we’ve made along the road of our lives. They’re there as a testimony to our fallibility, our failure, our inability to live clean, pure lives. And to paraphrase a well known passage of Scripture, “the wages of sin-marks is death!”
I was extremely lucky with my skid marks. The trooper took me to the Flatwoods Police station where they called my dad. He came and picked me up, paid my fine and they set me free. I was infinitely more fortunate when the gracious God of the universe looked down at my sin-marks and decided to send His only begotten Son to erase those sin-marks by dying for me on that cross in Jerusalem. I eventually repaid my dad for the fine he paid for me, but I could never repay Jesus for paying my sin debt. The awesome thing is … I don’t have to! That same verse I paraphrased earlier closes by saying, “but, the gift of God is eternal life through Jesus Christ, His Son.”
Skid marks? Time and traffic have a way of erasing them off the highways.
Sin marks? They can only be erased by the precious blood of Jesus Christ. And guess what … He’s willing when you are.
I've titled my blog bd-skidmarks because that's the first thing I want to talk about ... SKIDMARKS IN LIFE. Let me begin.
To say I was a shy kid would be an understatement of apocalyptic proportions. I was so shy that when I returned to my high school for my ten year reunion they had to look my picture up in the annual to make sure I was part of the class. I rarely talked to anyone except my three best friends and didn’t have my first date until my senior year in high school. She was a freshman baritone player in the band (I played baritone too) and after spending the entire school year trying to work up the nerve to ask her out and when I finally did, to my utter amazement, she said, “Yes!”
We set our date for that Friday night. I cleaned out my mom’s 1962 Chevy Impala (not exactly a chick magnet), did extra chores to earn some “date” money (I’d never had to do that before), put on my best clothes, shaved (though I had absolutely no facial hair), and set out on my date. I picked her up at 7, took her to a movie, bought her a hamburger and had her home by 9:30. I remember the strange look she gave me when I walked her to the door (It was barely dark), but I simply didn’t know what to do with her. Remember, I told you I was shy.
Well, when word got out to my three friends about my “date.” The ridicule and kidding were intense. They made up nicknames for me. They told everyone they could about my misadventure. They wrote embarrassing things in my yearbook. To put it mildly, the last part of my senior year was a fiasco. Then came summer break.
Everything was going as usual until one evening one of my friends named Ron called me with an exciting proposition. A BLIND DATE!
It seemed that his girlfriend at the time had a cousin visiting her and the only way she could go out was to get a date for the cousin too. That’s where I came in. Ron asked if I would like to “double date” with him and his girlfriend and they would even provide my date. Well, since I wasn’t having the best luck in the romance area, I agreed. Then came the kicker!!! Ron had lost his license because he had too many points against them and couldn’t drive (remember this, it is important later). So he asked if I could “borrow” my mom’s car and drive.
Now you need to understand my mom was “funny” about her car. One night she was napping when I asked to borrow the car and when she grunted I took that for a “yes.” An hour later I was stopped by the State Police for “stealing” my mom’s car. Apparently, what I had taken for a yes had been merely what I thought it was … a grunt. So under those circumstances, I wasn’t terribly confident about being able to borrow the car, but when I told mom it was for a date, she immediately gave me the keys (even though the date was three nights away). I guess she had been having nightmares about having me live with them when I was forty.
So the big night finally came. I had my money. I had on “Hai Karate” aftershave (another story). I brushed my teeth (I had found out you actually get to kiss the girl if the date goes well). I was ready. Ready that is except for one small detail … I was driving my mom’s 1962 Chevy Impala four door sedan with an automatic transmission. Back in that day, that was about as “un-cool” as you could get. But, nonetheless, I picked up Ron and we headed out to pick up our dates.
I lived in the little town of Flatwoods, Kentucky and at the time Flatwoods was so small there was only one red light in the entire town … the corner of Powell Lane and Argillite Road. On the way to the girls’ house, Ron and I were discussing what a disaster my mom’s car was. Impala! Four doors! Automatic transmission! Most of the guys at that time had their own cars. They weren’t bought by their parents and they weren’t fancy, but they were cool. One thing that made them cool was when they had a Hertz four-speed transmission. Now obviously, most cars didn’t come with a Hertz four-speed transmission, but the guys who had their own car would buy a Hertz four-speed transmission kit, cut a hole in their floorboard, and install their “cool” transmission. The truth is this was pretty dumb because when it was raining or when you hit a mud hole, water would fly up through that hole and drench everyone in the front seat. But they were COOL! And I wished I had one.
Now I knew my mom would never ever consent (even if I told her I was getting married and moving out that weekend) to allowing me to cut a hole in her floorboard and put in a Hertz four-speed transmission, BUT … I could pretend!!!
All I had to do was drape my left wrist over the steering wheel and lay my right arm down in the seat. Then when I took off I would smash down the gas pedal for a couple of seconds (like I was in first gear), then let off the gas. I would then move my right arm forward to simulate shifting into second gear and smash my foot on the accelerator again. This process would continue until I was flying in fourth gear. It was a great idea and it worked. No one really thought I’d torn out the floorboard of my mom’s nice car, but it looked real enough and besides, I’m not the sharpest knife in the drawer.
So when Ron and I came to the red light on Powell Lane, I draped my left wrist over the steering wheel, laid my right arm down on the seat between us and waited for the light to change. I was about to demonstrate what “cool” really was. The light changed and after turning right on Argillite Road I jammed down my foot, prepped my right arm for the impending shift, and lifted my foot off the gas for that crucial shift into second gear. Just as I slammed my make-believe shift rod into second gear and punched my foot down on the gas pedal as hard as possible, I noticed him.
There in the on-coming line of traffic waiting at the red light sat a Kentucky State Trooper. It was one of those life changing instants that seem to last forever. Just as I saw him, he saw me. Our eyes locked in that crucial split-second and I had a decision to make.
I needed to do something and do it quick. I was straining my make believe second gear to the max. I had to do something. About that time I looked over at my friend Ron. Remember Ron, the guy whose license had been suspended because of poor decisions and too many tickets! The guy my dad had warned me would get me in trouble someday. I looked at Ron. Ron looked at me. I looked at the Trooper. The Trooper looked at me. I hear my dad’s voice in my head saying, “It’s never right to do wrong.” I looked at Ron. Ron looked at me. I looked back at Ron.
Now I want you to know I knew exactly what I should do. I should take my foot off the gas and if the trooper turned around I should pull over to the side of the road and take my ticket like a man. I knew that and knew it well. BUT …
In that moment, with my mind swirling, my heart pumping, my dad’s voice screaming in my ear, I looked at Ron. And Ron said the strangest thing. He said, “Kick it!” SO I DID!!! Told you my lettuce done slipped off my hamburger! In that instant I made quite possibly the dumbest decision of my life. Seventeen years old, driving my mom’s car, going to pick up my blind date, I shoved it into third gear and crunched my foot down on the gas. I saw Mr. State Police Man do his best Starsky and Hutch routine by spinning his car around and following in hot pursuit.
I learned quite a few lessons that evening and one of them was you get where you’re going a lot faster at 75 than you to at 35 (which was the speed limit on Argillite Road). So before I knew it, flying along Argillite Road at 75-80 miles an hour, State Police in hot pursuit, my friend Ron yelling “Harder, kick it harder!” I was suddenly where I was going. The driveway to the girl’s house was a gravel one and there was a telephone pole on the right hand side of it. Now I think you need to know I wasn’t a really great driver back then. As a matter of fact, I failed my driver’s test four times before a new trooper finally had mercy on me and passed me on my final try. But, I had another decision to make … and I made it.
Without worrying about what gear I was in (actually, I had never shifted out of third) I slammed on my brakes, turned the wheel sharply to the left and dove down into the driveway. How I missed that pole will forever remain a mystery to me. I fish-tailed down the driveway, spun the car around and unbelievably the garage door was open with no cars inside, so I drove in. Talk about a great first impression on a date!!! I drove into the driveway, jumped out of my car, raced to the corner of the house just as the Trooper’s car flew past. Momentarily I wiped my forehead and said, “Praise the Lord” only I really said something else. BUT …
I noticed on the sidewalk just past the driveway where I’d turned in there was a little old lady sweeping her sidewalk (I’ve never really understood why old people do that!). As I watched, she looked down my way, took her broom, raised it in the air and started waving it while she shouted, “He’s down there! He’s down there!” Then I heard the screech of tires as the trooper stomped his brakes. Just a couple of seconds later his lights flashing and his siren blaring, he turned down into the driveway and pulled up to the garage door.
When he got out of the car I promise you his first words were, “In a hurry, son?”(Do they teach them that at the police academy???) Truthfully, I don’t remember the details of the next few minutes. I don’t think I ever got to see my blind date. I don’t remember whether a crowd gathered or what. All I remember was having my head shoved down and being placed in the backseat of the cruiser. I honestly don’t think the officer handcuffed me (I weighed 145 pounds soaking wet with all my clothes on and I was scared to death). I also remember thinking to myself I hoped they gave me a life sentence because if they didn’t my dad was going to give me a death sentence.
Finally, the trooper got into the front seat and started to backup and head out of the driveway. As he did, I saw the little old lady with the broom standing by the telephone pole smiling like this hardened criminal had been captured and she had helped insure my doom. I looked at her through my window and thought about how much I’d like to take her broom and … when I blurted out to the trooper, “You wouldn’t have caught me if it hadn’t been for that lady.” I will never forget his next words. He was looking me straight in the eye as we backed up the driveway and when he got to the top, he smiled a quirky little smile and said, “Son, I didn’t see the woman. What gave you away and how I knew where you went were the SKIDMARKS you left on the road. They gave you away.”
You know what? We’ve all got skid marks on the roads of our lives. Or should I say we have “sin-marks.” They give us away. They tell the tale of bad decisions, of willful disobedience, of disastrous choices we’ve made along the road of our lives. They’re there as a testimony to our fallibility, our failure, our inability to live clean, pure lives. And to paraphrase a well known passage of Scripture, “the wages of sin-marks is death!”
I was extremely lucky with my skid marks. The trooper took me to the Flatwoods Police station where they called my dad. He came and picked me up, paid my fine and they set me free. I was infinitely more fortunate when the gracious God of the universe looked down at my sin-marks and decided to send His only begotten Son to erase those sin-marks by dying for me on that cross in Jerusalem. I eventually repaid my dad for the fine he paid for me, but I could never repay Jesus for paying my sin debt. The awesome thing is … I don’t have to! That same verse I paraphrased earlier closes by saying, “but, the gift of God is eternal life through Jesus Christ, His Son.”
Skid marks? Time and traffic have a way of erasing them off the highways.
Sin marks? They can only be erased by the precious blood of Jesus Christ. And guess what … He’s willing when you are.
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