Way back in the day I owned one hot 68 Ford Fairlane two door.  It was a very special car and it had a lot of work done.  I had all the chrome and emblems removed and painted it with six coats of #44 black lacquer and it was buffed mirror shine. It was fast. It had a 428 cu in (7.0 L) Cobra Jet, developing 335 bhp. The largest tires that would fit under the wheel wells on the rear,  gave it a rake that looked mean.

I was employed in a small grocery store as a meat cutter and after work, I was always in a hurry to get home. The little town of Cottonwood was not a large anything and very seldom was there any traffic down the main street; the freeway had passed the sleepy town by.

Not being very cautious and wanting to get home, I pulled out from a blind stop sign in front of another black car.  I had cut that car off a little close and I stepped on the gas in response and left just a little bit of black mark on the road.  It was out of embarrassment that I had done this dastardly thing.  I had wanted to create some additional space between myself and the other black car just for safety sake.

I was well exceeding the posted 35 miles per hour and that other black car flipped on its siren and his Blue light, I had not noticed that trailing black car was a California Highway Patrol car. My turn to home was just a half a block away and wanting to be safe I turn quickly down the street and pulled over with just enough room to allow the officer to park behind.

The rapid turn took the CHP officer by surprise and he tried with all his might to follow but as he turned he realized he was too close and literally slid all four of his tires into the small space behind me with only one foot to spare in a great cloud of dust.

After, what seemed to be an eternity, the CHP officer who had been quietly sitting in his car trying to assume a posture of calm, opened his door and walked very slowly to my window.

Rolling down the window I stated with a large smile on my face, “Can I help you, officer?”

He replied, “I almost rear-ended you twice; the first time when you pulled into the street in front of me.  I could have let that slip, but when you sped up I had to turn on my lights.”  He continued to say with a small rivulet of nervous sweat coming from under his official brown hat, “Then you turned left abruptly and when I tried to follow, and the excessive speed I was making, my engine died.  I lost my power steering and my power breaks.  I almost lost control and came close to hitting you again.”

I came to the realization he was almost apologizing for coming so close to my car.

“I could well write you up for a number of things, but I came very near to hitting you the second time, that I just don’t have it within me.”  Please slow down and watch your turns.”  He walked back to his car and sat down.

I pulled out slowly with the appropriate turn signal as I watched the CHP just sit in his car. My actions as I pulled away were in response to grace.  My reaction to grace was not that I got away with something, it was that I had been stupid and I would be more careful, more attentive, and more obedient.

It is the same calling we receive by grace to act accordingly.  “The things I believe I do, all else is just religious talk.

GRACE….