Being at the young end of my grade, I started driving a little later than most. I also started dating a little later than most. These two fine american past times came together my senior year of high school, making life a little more interesting for me, and also for my parents. Like most kids I had a curfew in high school. For me it was midnight, and I suppose like many of you, I really didn’t break curfew all that much.
Unfortunately that changed when the days of dating and driving began. Fort Wayne, Indiana, is a pretty good sized city to begin with, and when you attend a Lutheran high school that draws from more than just your neighborhood, you end up hanging out with people from all over town. And that’s how it came to be that I was spending lots of time with a girl who lived almost 30 minutes away in a completely different part of the city. There we would be, back at her house after a movie, the game, or dinner, and “suddenly” it was close enough to midnight that I knew I’d never be home on time. Being the responsible individual I was, I’d get on the phone and call home: “Hi, Dad. I know it’s late. I’m still at her house. I’m leaving now and I’ll be home soon. No problem? Thanks Dad.” All was well and I’d be on my way.
I guess I never really thought about how often I found myself in this situation until I received a little warning one evening as I was leaving home. My Dad was a gentle, loving man who also happened to be rather large and stern - great when you were on his good side, but not someone you’d choose to challenge. That night, in a deep, firm voice that said I love you but don’t mess with me, my father spoke these words: “I don’t want to hear that phone ringing at midnight, I want to hear the door opening” Enough said, I knew that night, more than any other, I needed to leave her place early and be home on time.
So there I was at her kitchen table about quarter till 12… I didn’t want to ring the phone no matter what time it was. I figured my best option was to scoot quick, be as close to on time as possible, and enter the house repentantly. With the right right route, the right traffic, and the right people not watching, you could cut 5 - 10 minutes off the trip. It wouldn’t be that bad.
The quickest path left the newer suburb of her house, cut across some country roads, and came back into town near my older neighborhood. I’d driven this many (many) times and knew it well, but I learned a couple things that night. First, if you’re early enough, the traffic light at a school entrance and little used side street is NOT flashing yellow, it’s still a fully functioning, three color signal. Second, if your going fast enough as you come over the hill and realize the light is functional, insufficient space has been provided for you to actually stop your car safely. I processed all of this very quickly. I slowed enough to be sure there was no one in the parking lot or on the street. I considered the car that had been behind me for a few miles and determined the safest option was to coast through the light and not risk being rear ended. I thought I’d done well until that car behind me no longer had just headlights, but flashing red lights too.
“Just trying to get home on time, sir” did not bring the sympathetic response I’d hoped for. The ticket was written for 55 in a 35, through a red light. He claimed he was being nice not adding in the stop sign I’d rolled through before I started speeding. I chose not question why, if I was speeding that whole time, he hadn’t pulled me over before the red light. It was not the time for legal debate, I still had to face things at home and the traffic stop had me later than I’d probably ever been.
Believing honesty is the best policy, and knowing the stairs in my house creaked, I walked straight to my parents room. My report that I was home and had been pulled over brought a simple response: “go to bed, we’ll talk about it in the morning.” Clearly the first part of the punishment was to give me a sleepless night to think about what I’d done. I truly don’t remember the conversation from the next morning, or the consequences doled out by my parents. Those things are eclipsed by what happened days later.
Because of the severity of the ticket and my age, I could not simply pay the fine. I was required to appear in court. Dad took off work to pick me up from school and take me to the courthouse. He stood with me as I stood before the judge with a guilty plea. Together we heard the judge state the (sizeable) fine amount and direct me to 4 Saturday’s of Traffic School. We walked down the hall to the clerk's office to pay and I watched Dad write the check. There had still been no discussion of a payment plan or working it off or not getting Christmas presents until I finished college. The suspense was getting to me and maybe it showed on my face, because as we walked to the car he finally said, “I’ll take care of it this time, just don’t let it happen again.”
Full disclosure...It happened again. I’ve had more tickets and I’m sure I let Dad down from time to time in other ways too . But he kept right on loving me and taking care of things and treating me as if I’d never done anything wrong. Reminds me of another Father we all have in common. Our heavenly Father has made the rules clear, and we clearly break them. But the good news of the Gospel is that he’s paid our ticket, once and for all, not with silver or gold or a checkbook, but with the death and resurrection of Christ. He asks us not to do it again, and we try our best, and we fail. But he sees us, through Christ, as if we’ve never done anything wrong.
For you know that it was not with perishable things such as silver or gold that you were redeemed... but with the precious blood of Christ,... 1 Peter 1:18-19 NIV https://bible.com/bible/111/1pe.1.18-19.NIV