In spite of the breeze blowing in through my window, small drops of perspiration had begun to form on my forehead. They grew larger and larger until gravity took it’s effect and pulled them down, together. Eventually, cascades of sweat rolled down my face into my eyes. It dripped off my nose and chin and landed on my shirt or my jeans.
“This is ridiculous. I’m in Meridian flipping Idaho. There aren’t enough people living here to back traffic up like this.”
The hunter green Honda Civic in front of me had one of those wretched “Coexist” stickers on it. It seems that people with attitudes of intolerance toward Christianity put those on their cars, in spite of the fact that it’s a contradicting notion when they do that. Thinking about this made me even angrier about sitting and going nowhere and part of me wanted to reach for the fictional “Smite” button I have on my dashboard. It’s this big, red button that when pushed, results in a mushroom cloud of vengeance on whomever I want it to. Unfortunately, it’s really close to the equally big and red “self destruct” button that I’m afraid to hit. Go figure.
My music had changed from the screaming The Devil Wears Prada on to The Manchester Orchestra (both wonderful bands, I might add) when out of nowhere, the Honda in front of me inched forward, just a little. Then a flash of red followed from the brake lights, but it moved again. Before I knew it, the car behind me honked because the space between the car in front of me and I had grown to a great enough expanse that my orange little car could fit into it three or four times.
My heart began to jump and skip behind skin, muscle and bone. I felt it beating in my sweaty forehead, at my wrists, and in my feet. Excitement pulsated through my body because I was so happy to move again. The car in front of me kept moving and so did I. Before I knew it, I had enough space to pull into the next lane and pass it. I didn’t have to stare at any ridiculous attitudes expressed in sticker form, at least for now.
Life happens to feel like a traffic jam sometimes. We can’t move. Were hot, sweaty, angry and probably have to pee. Not only that, but the wretch in front of us has a bad attitude about something ridiculous and we have to experience it on one level or another. It sucks because we were built to move faster. Our faith and expectations tell us that we could be accomplishing more than we are. . .
Eventually though, something opens up and we get to move. We get to push down on the accelerator, watch as our RPMs increase, and then see the response on our speedometer. Before we know it, we’re passing that tool that was in front of us and life is just as it should be. We’re driving the speed limit and getting somewhere fast.