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Just a Reminder It was July 8, 2003, the Tuesday after Independence Day in the United States. After a long weekend of celebrating at Fair St. Louis, I was begrudgingly making my way to work. The weight from missed hours of sleep clung to my swollen eyelids as I guided my car down the freeway. I could have called in sick, but, “This is the real world,” I told myself. “You gotta get out and pay those bills.” On my 18-minute trip to work, I was about at minute 14 when I arrived at my exit. Being the only person exiting, I pondered upon which of the two lanes I should deposit my car. On a normal day, I would have simply pulled into the left lane, but I was already in line for the right lane, so I figured—why waste the energy of moving? I decided I would move to the left lane after the light turned green. As I sat at the green light, a small maroon passenger car drove up next to me and waited. Soon after, the light signaled for us to go, and as we moved to the next signal, I started arguing with myself again. I felt like Hamlet—to change lanes or not to change lanes was the question. For some reason, just as I was getting ready to change lanes, my thoughts went elsewhere, and my car stayed put. Having just turned red, this light was not about to change anytime soon. I slowly pulled up behind the white car in front of me, praying that it would pick up more speed than the maroon car beside it. As I sat there, I looked across the road at the gas station to see if the gas prices had changed since yesterday. They had dropped, of course. All the happy tourists had paid the steep price. They and the holiday weekend were long gone. A black sporty-looking car drove up beside me. I allowed my eyes to drop to my left side mirror. I looked, and then blinked and looked again as I saw a gold luxury car barreling down the middle lane. Wait! This particular street didn’t have a middle lane. He was coming down the left lane! Why wasn’t he stopping? I swiveled my head in time to see and hear the crunch as the black car became the meat of a vehicle sandwich. No one seemed seriously hurt, but all three cars were wrecked. It wasn’t until I made it past that stoplight that the fuzz from my brain began to clear. I would have been either one of those cars—the black or the maroon—on a normal day! I say on a normal day. Really, I don’t mean normal day because it really was just a regular going-to-work day. But it was on one of those regular days that God looked down to say, “My child, do you not realize that I watch out for you each day? I keep you from harm each and every day. Just wanted to send you a reminder.”
ninetyandnine.com © 2003, Tobi Bockman --------- Tobi Bockman lives with her husband Aaron in St. Louis. She graduated in April 2003 with a Bachelor of Arts in English from Missouri Baptist University and plans to return in the fall for a Bachelor of Science in Accounting. |
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