“Thank you,” I said to the car in front of me, my sigh of relief sending my dirty bangs flying.
The relentless rain and fog made the December drive through the blue-green West Virginia, and then Virginia mountains, a treacherous journey. Signs depicting tipping trucks, and cars already aside the road, cautioned prudence.
Still, there were those.
You know who I mean and, if it’s you, I don’t want to hear any smart remarks. Maybe you’ve had training for the Indy 500, but I haven’t; maybe your car is one of those fancy shmancy all-terrain, all-weather vehicles with top-of-the-line tires, but the rest of us are normal, “trying to get home after the holidays” people.
I’m a decent driver. To be fair, my recent run-in with the flu, late nights with the family, and way too much sugar over the holidays did contribute to my extra weary state.
I fought to see the lines on the road—especially when a truck came by whipping and whirling the cold swirling mist.
Finally, I found it, a car whose tail lights I could follow at a reasonable speed.
My spoken gratitude helped to relax my tense shoulders. Mile after mile we traveled together, unperturbed by the cars and trucks who whisked by on the left. Then, my eyes caught sight of something in my rear view mirror that made me chuckle and feel a little proud.
Behind me, I could see a line of other cars following us.
“Well, I’ll be,” my inner Andy Griffith quipped.
There are times, it takes courage to set your own speed; wisdom to acknowledge that you can’t do what everybody else seems to be doing.
You’d be be surprised how many others might also be looking for a light to follow, grateful for the pace and direction you set.
In the end, you might be a reflection of the One who came to lead us all out of the darkness.
“And I will bring the blind by a way that they knew not; I will lead them in paths that they have not known: I will make darkness light before them, and crooked things straight. These things will I do unto them, and not forsake them.” Isaiah 42:16
So, thank you, little gray (or maybe grimy blue) car in front of me, yesterday. Thank you. Here’s to you—and to all of us entering 2023—may we be the ones who help others find their way home.
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