I realized something, though, as the adrenaline faded. First, I really did want his car to blow up, and hopefully throw him clear and unharmed of the explosion, though if I am being honest, the latter part was not a requirement. Second, the smartest thing I could have done in that situation was to slow down and just let the guy go ahead of me. Third, as the conflict was happening, to start taking pictures of him and his car, though if this guy was armed, I don’t know what it would have done, which led to the fourth conclusion: I should have just let go of my control in the situation.
I drive a lot. I always have. I hopefully always will. My car has over 180,000 miles on it (that’s Bangor, Maine to San Diego, California and back twenty-six times). A massive pet peeve of mine is offensive driving—folks who drive like they’re the only folks on the road, the only folks on a deadline, and the only folks who matter. I don’t like it when people drive up the lane that’s closing to avoid traffic. I don’t like folks who tailgate other drivers. I especially don’t like folks who nearly clip five or six cars because they want to go fast. But at the same time, I do not have a badge. No body of authority has granted me the right to try and correct these people. While the horn usually works (especially when used as a warning of “You will hit me if you continue to drive like this”), when it doesn’t, the next step might be letting go of the investment in conflict, worry and fear because those dividends often lead to greater problems. I don’t know. Maybe I am writing this for myself, for future reference. But maybe you, too, would totally be deputy traffic police if the chance were offered.
This Sunday, we will be looking at if God lets go, and if we are called to let go; also, if we are deputized to do something or anything, and what that might be. It should be an interesting Sunday—and, for folks who will consider this good news: none of our texts are from Leviticus. I look forward to seeing you all Sunday.