Fallen

We have a multi-million dollar project at work that is relying on state and federal grants to be completed, but is being held up by another division of federal bureaucracy. The term limit on the grants will expire before the project is completed if the specific agency holding up the progress doesn’t get everything in order and file the appropriate paperwork, which has already put us behind in the schedule and definitely over budget. Yes, I work for the government. In South Carolina.

We live in a rural county with a higher than average unemployment rate. Not much happens here. We don’t get a lot of attention on the state government level. We’re the ones that usually have to kick and scream to get state officials to notice, and we don’t normally have all that much to kick and scream about. So, it was unusual when the Governor’s office called us and said he wanted to come meet us and talk about the project.

And that he did. The black sedan pulled up and parked. He and a driver got out. The two of them and my boss and I went into a construction trailer where all the woes of our project were laid out. Governor Mark Sanford seemed genuinely interested in our project and problem. He was interested in being educated about it. He asked more than once how he could help. A little over an hour later, the two of them got back in the black sedan and drove away.

Before they were even out of the drive, my boss said, “There’s one lonely man.”

I imagine Gov. Sanford has lost a lot of “friends” because of his recent behavior. He’s still getting grief over it.

We joked a little about the Gov. having to come slumming to the rural counties where nothing ever happens in order to find someone who will really needs him, or at least needs the power of his office and authority.

Our project is further along the process now and even potential future needs are on the Governor's radar. So the truth is, we do need him and the power of his office.

I’m not here to defend or defeat any of Gov. Sanford’s actions regarding his family or mistress or travel arrangements or money. All I know is that he messed up, he knows he messed up, he admitted his shortcomings, and now he’s trying to make the best of a bad situation.

We’re not all public figures or celebrities that make the news, but we’ve all messed up. We’ve all done things where the consequences knocked us down a notch or two from our comfortable perches. We’ve been taken down to a level lower than we’ve ever been before. It’s ugly and dirty. It hurts. It’s embarrassing.

But when you’re down like that, look around. There are people already down there who need you; people who can’t even see your ugly because they’re squinting so hard from their own pain; people whose need is greater than the shame of your fall. When you’re down, serve. That’s when you’ll see lives redeemed. Even your own.

Praise the Lord, O my soul, and forget not all his benefits, who forgives all your sins and heals all your diseases, who redeems your life from the pit and crowns you with love and compassion. Psalm 103-2-5

Getting Ready

I went to visit my parents this past weekend. They live a little over 3 hours south of here. It was not really a spontaneous trip, but sort of. I’ve been trying to find some time to make the trip, but little obstacles either at my house or theirs kept me from it. When I saw a small window of opportunity last week, I decided I better take it.

I had been thinking about it but had not really made any actual preparations to go, or be gone. Once I crossed the bridge from thinking about it to actually doing it, I rapidly started making that mental list of tasks I needed to complete before I got on the road.

I was going to make the trip by myself because Scott was already committed to some things here. I wasn’t going to be gone long, but it did involve packing an overnight bag. I needed something to sleep in, something to wear the next day, and as always, two extra pairs of underwear just in case.

Then there are all the bathroom products. We don’t travel that much anymore, so we don’t really keep a separate stash of that stuff in miniature sizes. At home, Scott and I share the same tube of toothpaste, bar of soap, bottle of shampoo, hair dryer, and a few other health and beauty products. Before I left, I had to make sure I had everything I would need packed in my bag while still leaving Scott with everything he would need. He’s very discerning man and is particular about his grooming needs. And trust me; you really wouldn’t want to see him without the benefits of shampoo and a blow dryer.

It required a trip to Wal-Mart.

Then there’s all the media. Was the battery on my iPod fully charged? Do I have any minutes on the pre-paid phone I use just for things like this? Don’t forget to put my Bible in my bag along with the book I’m currently reading. Oh, and the GPS.

I also couldn’t forget the little cooler for my snacks and Coke Zeros (and for bringing Scott some Sonny’s BBQ on the way home).

There are some other things I always do around the house before I leave on any trip that lasts longer than 24 hours. It’s that thought of “what if something happens” that persuades me to do these things.

What if I have car trouble and end up having to stay longer than I planned?

What if a tree falls on my house (not a far-fetched notion in my neck of the woods!) while I’m gone and someone other than Scott has to go inside my house?

What if someone comes to visit Scott while I’m away? What if it’s someone that needs to spend the night?

It goes on and on.

So, in preparation and anticipation, I do things like empty all the trash cans in the house and take the bags out to the bin outside.

I made a pitcher of tea and put it in the refrigerator. Just in case. While I didn’t do it this time, I usually throw out all the leftover food in the fridge.

I tried to get all the laundry done and put away. If something happened to me, I wouldn’t want Scott to have to deal with it without a stack of clean underwear and hankies in his dresser drawer.

I cleaned the toilets.

Once I finished at home, I had to go to the office and do the same thing. Check all the emails and voice mails and respond appropriately. I had to clean off my desk, put all the pending stuff in one stack each labeled with an instructional sticky note (as a reminder to myself when I got back, if nothing else!), and then file everything else where it belongs. I mean, what if something happened to me and someone else had to some in, sit at my desk and do my job? It would be difficult enough without my efforts in trying to make it easier for them.

I had to call my parents and tell them I was coming and approximately what time I would arrive. I had to call my sisters and tell them too.

I stopped by Scott’s office to give him a hug and kiss and tell him I love him, then I drove through Sonic to get a Route 44 iced tea for the road.

I did as much as I could and finally got on the road to see my parents.

My Dad is currently undergoing chemotherapy. He’s halfway through the treatments. When he gets the second half behind him he’ll have radiation to deal with. I’ve never had chemo, but I know it’s hard, especially if you’re 86 years old. The doctors have said that the type of cancer he has is treatable and curable. They did not say the treatment would be easy. I guess it’s what they don’t say that is always the hardest to understand.

He is a survivor of a heart attack, open heart surgery, surgeries for other types of cancers, WWII, three daughters, 50+ years of marriage, and who knows what else. He has always been the kind of person that once he sets his mind on something, there is not much that can change his mind or dissuade him from pressing on. He told me that this chemo has been one of the hardest things he’s ever done.

I tried to remind him that this was only temporary. There is an end to it. I tried to help them experience less stress and more hope.

There wasn’t much else I could do, or that they would let me do for them.

On the 3-hour drive back home, it’s all I could think about. It’s only temporary.

I empty trash cans. I make pitchers of tea. I buy extra toothpaste and pre-paid phone cards. I leave instructional sticky notes on yet-to-be-done stacks. I kiss my husband. I visit my parents. Falling trees. Unexpected guests. Car trouble. Cancer. Chemo. Memories.

All temporary. There is nothing in this world that I can prepare for that is not temporary.

But that “what if” question still burns in my heart. That “what if” won’t let me get out of the state of preparation. I have to keep trying to help the people and things around me get ready, but not for anything in this world.

One day there will be no more temporary anything. Falling trees and car trouble and cancer and dirty laundry and all the things I’ve left undone – they will all be gone.

Eternity is permanent. Forever and ever to infinity and beyond.

All the more reason to prepare.

"Do not fear what they fear; do not be frightened." But in your hearts set apart Christ as Lord. Always be prepared to give an answer to everyone who asks you to give the reason for the hope that you have. 1Peter 3:14-15

Say what?

Father, forgive me for I have been silent. It has been almost a month since my last blog post.

It’s not that I haven’t had anything to say. Quite the opposite, really.

Funny thing though. It seems the more I have on my mind, the less I say.

If you’ve ever held a somewhat serious conversation with me face to face then you know what I mean and how that plays out. I have to think long and hard about something before it can ever get past my vocal chords and out of my mouth. That mind-to-mouth-relay delay is the cause of a lot of anxious silence in my conversations. It drives Scott nuts. He can look at me and tell that my mind is working, but my lips are squeezed tightly closed. “Just spit it out,” is often what he says to me when he sees my face in that “I’m-thinking” contortion.

Alas, that has been my dilemma for the last month or so.

I’ve been thinking about my father-in-law and his most recent 10-day visit to our house.

I’ve been thinking about my boss’ upcoming retirement and everything that means for our office.

I’ve been thinking about my dad and his cancer treatment.

I’ve been thinking about my mom along with the joy as well as the difficulties that her upcoming 80th birthday brings.

I’ve been thinking about my sisters who are both completely different from each other and even more so from me, yet still sharing some of the same characteristics and how all that affects the two previous things on this list.

I’ve been thinking about my husband’s continued frustration with his work and purpose.

I’ve been thinking about how I’m still trying to figure out how to manage the loss and the change that resulted from my lifelong love of church being abused by its leadership.

See there. I’ve already said too much. How can I let those things slip out without explaining the depth, detail and meaning of each and every one of them?

So, I remain silent.

The curious thing about all this is that I am a WORD person. Ugh, how I hate the NUMBERS. I prefer word games like crossword puzzles and Jumble and Boggle and Scrabble and Pathwords. Not so much the Yahtzee and…. I can’t ever think of any other numbers games because they are just not fun for me. They are more of a chore.

Oh, and add to the previous list above: I’ve been thinking about reconciling my checkbook but not ever actually doing it.

The hesitation in getting my words out is usually because I’m trying to consider just how the person listening will actually hear what it is that I’m about say. Will they fully understand? Will they hear it like I intend it? Will they really know what I mean? Will they think I am absolutely nuts? Will they think I’m being critical of them personally? Will they hear it in love? How can I say this so they will know exactly where I’m coming from? How can I say everything that I’m thinking in a short, concise, clear manner? How can I be absolutely clear?

It’s the hearer of my words that hangs me up.

Sometimes, no matter how long I hesitate or how much I carefully consider my choice of words, they still get misunderstood.

I guess I can understand a tiny, little bit of what Moses must have felt. He classified himself as slow of speech. Yeah, me too.

Once his bush began to burn, though, that fire led the way for him for the rest of his life.

Even when his audience wasn’t really listening.

God gave Moses his mouth, helped him speak, and taught him what to say.

God gave me my mouth and is teaching me what to say. He will help me.

So, if I ever get to the point where I can immediately respond and speak what’s on my mind in a serious conversation, you can bet that I will have already thought long and hard about the topic before I ever even got involved in the current conversation. I’ll have taken what He’s taught me to heart.

Which is to say, once I finally start talking I probably will say everything single thing that’s on my mind. Without hesitation. Look out. The woods might be on fire.

Moses said to the Lord, "O Lord, I have never been eloquent, neither in the past nor since you have spoken to your servant. I am slow of speech and tongue." The Lord said to him, "Who gave man his mouth? Who makes him deaf or mute? Who gives him sight or makes him blind? Is it not I, the Lord? Now go; I will help you speak and will teach you what to say." Exodus 4:10-12

Advertising my flying cheerleader days

I tried out for the cheerleading squad when I was in the fifth grade.

By that time in my life, my oldest sister was away at college. The middle sister was taking the school bus to the junior high school in the next community. Both Mom and Dad left early every morning to get to their jobs. I was pretty much left with getting myself to and from the elementary school I attended. It was about a one mile walk through the neighborhood from our house to the school.

(Really, this is NOT my I-had-to-walk-5-miles-in-the-snow-uphill-both-ways-to-get-to-school story. It was a different time then. There are different threats these days. Taking it slowly on long walks to and from school was one thing us latchkey kids did to pass the time so we wouldn’t be at home alone so much.)

I remember watching the bedroom clock every morning waiting for exactly the right minute before setting out on my hike to school. I had the walking distance perfectly timed so I wouldn’t get there too early. The mornings weren’t so bad because of the anticipation of the walk and of the school day. It was the afternoons when I got home that were hard. Boring. Lonely. A little scary sometimes.

I think that’s why I tried out for cheerleading even though I wasn’t the cheerleader type. I needed some afternoon entertainment; something to fill up the empty hours. (We didn’t have all the homework kids have now).

I didn’t make the squad first time I tried out, but I did the second time. That was about the time things started changing in the cheerleading world. Things were moving from saddle oxfords, Keds, and sweaters to jumpsuits, mini shorts, and boots. Our squad was the first to wear the blue mini shorts jumpsuits that zipped up the front and black knee high boots. I was 10. (There are no pictures, thank goodness).

I told my parents about staying after school for the practices the week or so before the try-outs, but I don’t think they took me seriously. Like I said, I just wasn’t the cheerleader type. The day the actual try-outs came and my name was called, I was so excited that I think I ran that entire mile home because I couldn’t wait to call my mom at work and tell her. She didn’t believe me. I can still hear the skepticism in her voice as she asked, “Are you SURE?”

That cheerleading squad turned out to be a little pathetic. We weren’t very good. At all. And the newness of the knee high boots and mini shorts style was not as widely accepted as appropriate as the trend-setting sponsors had hoped. It was a second rate kind of group. Don’t get me wrong, I enjoyed every single minute of every single practice and every single game. But we were pitiful. I just didn’t know it at the time.

I thought I was a good cheerleader. What I didn’t admit was that there were so many others that were better than me. Since I wasn’t really the cheerleader type, I realize now that maybe part of the reason we weren’t very S-U-C-C-E-S-S-ful (do they still do that cheer?) was partly because of me.

That scenario follows me.

After college, I worked as a flight attendant. It was exciting and fun and I put my heart and soul into it. I thought I was a pretty good flight attendant. People who knew me back when I got hired for that job most likely thought to themselves, “She’s just not the flight attendant type, is she?”. The airline I worked for was one that none of my friends had ever heard of. One reason I no longer am a flight attendant is because that airline is no longer in business. Again, maybe since I wasn’t really the flight attendant type in the first place, perhaps I’m a tiny bit responsible for their downfall.

Fast forward a few years. I got a job in advertising for a department store. The store isn’t on the level of Macy’s or Nordstrom or Saks Fifth Avenue. It’s a department store that a lot of people wrinkle their noses at. My job was copywriting and graphic design. I learned a lot at that job as I put my heart and soul into it. Still, I wasn’t quite the best at it because though the stores are still around, all the advertising has moved to the corporate conglomerate instead of continuing to do it regionally. Maybe my contributions were partly the reason for that transition.

I have gotten sucked into a lot of things that were exciting and fun and even a little educational. For whatever reason, I have thrown myself into them and tried very hard to make it work for me. I try so hard. I try to do everything right. I try follow are the rules correctly. I try to meet all the expectations and exceed. I bet I get on other people’s nerves trying to be the little miss perfect.

Those things that have drawn me in never seem to last very long.

That often leads to the conclusion that there’s not much I am good at (maybe not rightly so, but still, my mind goes there for a bit…).

This is often, thankfully, followed by another opportunity to do something else.

Which is followed by my cry to God, “But I’m just not good at that.”

To which He responds, “Well, I’m glad we finally agree on something. Now let it go and let Me handle it for you and show you just how good it CAN be! Go ahead, let go. Try it. It will be exciting. And you might learn something.”

"If you want to give it all you've got," Jesus replied, "go sell your possessions; give everything to the poor. All your wealth will then be in heaven. Then come follow me." That was the last thing the young man expected to hear. And so, crest-fallen, he walked away. He was holding on tight to a lot of things, and he couldn't bear to let go. As he watched him go, Jesus told his disciples, "Do you have any idea how difficult it is for the rich to enter God's kingdom? Let me tell you, it's easier to gallop a camel through a needle's eye than for the rich to enter God's kingdom." Matthew 19:21-23

Have you ever seen an alien with arthritis?

A few days ago my friend Steve’s facebook status was something about how being at Lowe’s was somewhat of a religious experience for him. Several people, including me, posted comments to his status. Some of the comments were analogically clever (not mine) about tools and possibilities. Some comments were just snarky (yes, mine). Steve responded with his own comment saying something like Lowe’s is the only place Noah could get enough gopher wood to build that ark.

That got me to thinking about old Noah.

Genesis 9 says that after the flood Noah lived 350 years and that he was 950 when he died. According to my math, that means he was 600 years old when he finished building the ark. Without any help, mind you.

Can you imagine building an ark all by yourself right now in your life? At your age and in your current physical condition?

Me either. And I’m not even 100 yet.

How did a 600 year old man do it?

That got me to thinking about all the other people in the Bible that lived multiple centuries. Adam lived 930 years. Adam’s son Seth lived 912 years. Enoch lived 365 years. Moses was 120 when he died. Methuselah lived 969 years, for heaven’s sake.

Why don’t people live that long anymore? Google has all kinds of different answers for that question. Scientific climatic changes caused by the flood. Measuring years by fruitfulness rather than by the actual number of sunsets and sunrises. God time vs. human time. Inaccuracies in oral histories from the tendency to over exaggerate for emphasis. On and on.

The truth is, I don’t think anyone really knows for sure.

Here’s my unsubstantiated analysis for why we don’t live hundreds of years any more: It’s just too hard now.

I think God’s original plan for man did not include death. I think the original plan was that we would all live longer than Methuselah and in God’s company, forever and ever, amen. I think every day we lived that way would have gotten better and better. Sweeter than the day before, if you will. It’s not hard to imagine living hundreds or even thousands of years like that.

But we messed that up with that original sin issue and all.

Praise God for the sacrifice of Jesus to bring us back to the living forever in God’s company plan. In the meantime until I can see Jesus face to face, I’m here living on this earth.

Living on this earth is not like riding a bicycle. It does not get easier every day that you do it. No wonder He told us to become like little children. It was a lot easier then. He knew it would get harder with every birthday.

Yeah, I can learn to tolerate some things easier with a little practice. I can do a little preparation to make some things more manageable. I can find some laughter and some joy along the way and some funny people to share it with.

Overall, though, it’s tough. I face more and more challenges with every single day that I live. I get especially bothered by the challenges that I face that are beyond my ability to do anything about. Throw a few other people and relationships in there with all their separate issues, and voila, you’ve got a recipe for shortening anyone’s years.

A few of the people that are blessed with being a part of my situations and circumstances really add to my personal challenge. It happens often. Someone will say or do something that makes me think they have absolutely lost their mind. I think to myself, “What in the world were they thinking!?” That thought progression always leads me to go a little further towards another conclusion: perhaps they are not the looney tune; maybe it’s me. Every single time that brings me back to the fact that I am truly a stranger and an alien on this earth. This world is not my home.

I am reminded of that almost every single day.

Which makes me oh so thankful I don’t have to live to be 969.

Which makes my 40’s not look quite so bad.

And he said: "I tell you the truth, unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven. Therefore, whoever humbles himself like this child is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven. Matthew 18:3-4

Unto the yeast of these

I bought a pair of flip flops at Publix for $6. Green, of course. The reason that’s noteworthy is because I’m not really a flip flop sort of girl. One, because I have cold feet most of the time. If my feet are cold, everything is cold. I usually wear socks and closed-toe shoes. Two, I have really ugly toes. Most people’s toes are somewhat rectangular with a circular tip. Mine are round. Just plain round. One or two of my toes have a little twist. They actually look kinda like yeast rolls. Or maybe doughnut holes. And my toenails are wavy, not nicely curved or even flat. Just not a pretty sight, so I usually keep them covered to save others who get squeamish at such sights.

But back to the Publix flip-flops. It was an impulse purchase. We went in there to buy bananas. Scott prefers Chiquita bananas over Dole or any other brand, and they are hard to find locally. We can always count on Publix though. We don’t have a Publix close by. The nearest one is about an hour away, so it is truly an adventure to get to go there. It always makes me a little giddy. Just as we entered the door, there was a flip-flop display along with all their other summer goodies. I got caught up in the moment and just couldn’t resist.

I finally had something to wear that said “summer,” even it was something that’s not really “me.”

I’ve had a bit of a difficult time with the summer apparel.

Last year in preparation for a trip to Florida with my sisters, I ordered a swimsuit online. You may ask, “Who is crazy enough to order a swimsuit online?” Well, I’ll tell you who. I am. I simply refuse to take a swimsuit into a department store dressing room with all those lights and mirrors. I scare easily. It’s bad enough at home in the dimness of my own room.

Anyway, when the package came in the mail, I ripped open the plastic wrapping and pulled out the bottoms. They were cute and really fit well. Along with that I received a notice stating that the top had been back ordered. They provided a promised ship date. It was OK, I still had time before the trip. When the anticipated ship date came, instead of the back-ordered top, I received another delay notice. Then another. Then another. Finally a notice arrived informing me they had cancelled my order because they could not deliver the goods after all and would be refunding my money. I would rather have had the top.

So, I went on my trip to Florida topless (only in my suitcase, actually. Never out in public). I took the bottoms with me to Florida thinking maybe I could find a match in a store there. No such luck. I eventually sent the bottoms back for a refund too.

This year our planned trip was to Kentucky, not Florida, but still I wanted a swimsuit for the hotel pool. I started earlier this time. Ordered online. Yay and hooray, I received both pieces this time. However. I don’t know if I ordered the wrong size or what. The top was great but the bottoms just wouldn’t do. Not at all. Talk about looking like a yeast roll. I would rather have gone topless like last year than to wear these bottoms in public. I sent them back and ordered an exchange of a different style and size, hoping it would still match the new top. Just a few days later I received the replacement. Ick. Still not good. Sent it back too, ordered another replacement. It arrived. Yuk. Not only a yeast roll this time, but an old, stale one. I lost track of how many times I sent bottoms back ordered a replacement. The last one is still in the backseat of my car. I threw it in there thinking I’d take it back to the post office, but then realized I probably could have just bought another whole suit with all the return shipping charges I had paid. Just didn’t have the heart to bring it back in the house.

So. This summer’s almost over now, which means two summers have gone by without a new swimsuit. I think maybe it’s some conspiracy to keep me out of a swimsuit altogether, which I am NOT inclined to argue with.

Which brings me to another issue.

I went for my annual GYN exam a couple of weeks ago. The first thing the nurse asked me to do was step on the scale. I told her no. Really. I said, “Not today.” She was very sweet and sympathetic. She looked at me a little sadly, like maybe she felt sorry for me, but mission accomplished. We moved on to the exam room, bypassing that cold, cruel scale. While I didn’t say it out loud, I was thinking to myself that everything else they make me do during this appointment is humiliating enough. I don’t need the added embarrassment that little lead weight would throw in my face as the nurse pushes it further and further over.

Do they really need to know how much I weigh or do they just want ME to know how much I actually, really and truly weigh and not just what I imagine myself weighing!?

Hmmm. Maybe the doctor’s office is in on the conspiracy to keep me out of a swimsuit.

Or maybe it’s the yeast rolls they’re trying to keep out of.

Your flip and callous arrogance in these things bothers me. You pass it off as a small thing, but it's anything but that. Yeast, too, is a "small thing," but it works its way through a whole batch of bread dough pretty fast. So get rid of this "yeast." Our true identity is flat and plain, not puffed up with the wrong kind of ingredient. The Messiah, our Passover Lamb, has already been sacrificed for the Passover meal, and we are the Unraised Bread part of the Feast. So let's live out our part in the Feast, not as raised bread swollen with the yeast of evil, but as flat bread—simple, genuine, unpretentious. 1 Corinthians 5:6-8

This is driving me crazy

Have you ever noticed that many bank parking lots are tricky? Most of them have one-way drives. I’m guessing maybe that’s because of the drive-thru teller windows. It might also have a little something to do with security, although I’m not entirely sure about that. I mean, I don’t really think a robber is going to pay attention to a one-way sign in an attempted fast getaway. However, trying to travel speedily the wrong way down a one-way drive crowded with cars all headed in the opposite direction might prove detrimental to an escape.

Either way, and whatever it is, I’m sure there is a reason for it. If they go to all the trouble to paint arrows on the asphalt and put up directional signs, then there definitely must be a good reason even if I don’t really know what it is.

My office is in a bank building. I don’t work for the bank; we just lease space on the second floor of the building. I’m in and out of our office, and therefore in the parking lot, at least a couple of times a day. We also have a bird’s eye view of the parking lot from our second floor window. And we watch.

The parking lot here has one main entrance from the road. The main entrance is NOT also an exit. It’s a one-way deal. There are other outlets from the other side of the parking lot, but the main entrance from the roadway is a one-way drive. The parking spaces are diagonally aligned in the direction of the one-way traffic flow.

I’ve seen it happen time and time again. A car enters the parking lot from the opposite direction and travels the wrong way up that one-way drive. They are usually customers who want to go inside the bank instead of using the drive-thru teller lanes. For some reason they just don’t want to drive the extra 9/10 of a mile further down the road to get to the appropriate entrance to be in the correct direction for the parking spaces. I’m sure they see the Do Not Enter sign but deliberately choose to disobey. Then, because they are travelling in the opposite direction of the lot plan, they have to do a 3-point turn in order to get their car somewhat in between the white lines of a parking space. And even with the 3-point turn, they never quite make it, which creates problems for other people trying to park adjacently.

Crazy thing is, when they come in that opposite direction, they pass by a section of the parking lot where the spaces are perpendicular to the drive, not diagonal, so no 3-pointer would be required. Which, by the way, is probably exactly why those straight parking spaces are there - - to provide a place to park so you won’t have to go the wrong way up the one-way drive. Of course parking in those spaces would mean you would actually have to walk a few extra steps more to get to the door of the bank.

Yesterday I was standing out on the walkway by those one-way, diagonal parking spaces waiting for my lunch date to pick me up. Sure enough, a woman drives her Buick up the wrong way, does the 3-pointer, and puts it in park even though one tire is still over the white line. She got out and as she walked by me she said with a humpmf, “I know I’m not supposed to come in that way. But I did.” I hadn’t said a word to her. I was just standing there. I had my sunglasses on so she couldn’t even really see my eyes to know if I was looking at her or not. I guess she didn’t see me when she first drove up, then when she realized I was standing there, felt the need to comment.

I’m curious. What are these people thinking before they pass by the Do Not Enter sign?

Maybe, “It’s just little ol’ me. It won’t matter.”

Or, “I’m just one little car in the midst of all these others. No one will notice.”

Or, “Just this once won’t make a difference.”

Or, “If I hurry, no one will notice.”

Or, “Just this once won’t make a difference.”

I am struck and convicted by the fact that I don’t think anyone really seems to be thinking about anyone else but themselves. It’s just me and my way.

We don’t consider beforehand the opposition we might meet from others actually going the right way. We don’t really think about becoming the cause that stops progress. We don’t consider how placing ourselves just over the line becomes an obstacle to the one next to us. No one thinks about what an example they might be setting for some younger person watching. No one wants to think about the guilt they might feel if they get caught. We won’t let ourselves think about any actual consequences for going the wrong way.

No. The thinking is more along the lines of: Even though I know it is wrong, this way is more convenient for me. This way, I won’t have to travel as far. This way, I won’t have to walk as many steps. I’m in a hurry and this way is faster.

But does that kind of thinking really get me anywhere but further down the wrong road?

Oh, that I could always, in every situation, see the right Way.

Jesus answered, "I am the way and the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me.” John 14:6