"...or a date with the judge"

“…or a date with the judge”

Theology in the Trenches

by Kathleen Kjolhaug

 

Traveling twelve hours one way in one day was a knee jerker to say the least.  Breaking it down into increments was doable. Once done, I realized that the final two hours had been just a bit too much to stay focused at peak performance. However, the desire to see our daughter and spend as much time with her as possible was the motivating factor and so on I drove.

 

Upon returning, I decided to keep it to ten hours of driving to play it safe. Still landing at yet another daughter’s house was just as motivating, and so it went. When I did finally turn my heart towards home, it was merely two hours away. Dawdling a bit on my way out of town, I stopped in to say a final good bye at her place of employment, and once finished, I turned on my GPS to guide me home. Directionally challenged is an understatement when describing my internal compass, and so I make no apologies when admitting my need for the verbal companion upon the dash.

 

That was the easy part. Although the route seemed a bit unfamiliar, I decided to trust it and as it led me out of town, I noted the traffic seemed to be coming to a halt. As I glanced up, I soon realized that what appeared to be a detour was anything but. There before me, near a bridge crossing, was a toll booth. Now keep in mind, I’d just traveled across three states and nothing of the kind had stopped me from moving forward. Puzzled, I looked up.

 

“That’ll be seventy-five cents ma-am.”

 

As I began looking frantically for coins, I came up with two dimes. “All I have is twenty cents.”

Panic began to set in as I noted that the traffic behind me was nudging bumper to bumper and there was little space if any to turn around. The thought gripped me that perhaps I could jump out and begin soliciting car to car for a little change, but his final words solidified my fate.

 

“That’d be fifty-five cents short. You can either go back, or have a date with the judge.”

 

I sighed, said not a word, and maneuvered my car back around. The only fighting words within ear range were from my GPS which kept insisting I needed to box my way back from whence I’d come. By this point in time of my travels, I was simply too exhausted to give any feedback to the coin collector. Feeling quite sorry for myself and a bit beat up from the not so friendly threats at the border of my home state, I was miffed. I was miffed that there seemed to be little compassion for those who came upon a toll booth while not having a clue it existed, much less any change to pass through it. Secondly, I was miffed that there seemed to be little compassion for those who came upon a toll booth while not a clue it existed, much less any change to pass through it. And finally, I was miffed that there seemed to be little compassion for those who came upon a toll booth while not having a clue it existed, much less any change to pass through it.

 

A simple warning a few blocks from the post would have been friendly enough. It could have said, “Toll booth ahead.” By posting the warning, one could have chosen to turn around in advance rather than become a traffic hazard while trying to make the u-turn. Being forced to turn around horse shoe style only feet from the toll booth wasn’t exactly the safest option in the world. I would have settled for some words that expressed genuine concern for my genuine ignorance of the situation.

 

And so I turned to Colossians 3:12-13 for comfort. “Put on then, as God’s chosen ones, holy and beloved,  compassionate hearts, kindness, humility, meekness, and patience, bearing with one another and,  if one has a complaint against another,  forgiving each other;  as the Lord has forgiven you, so you also must forgive.” And so I must. I can’t…You can. Amen.