There’s a line where the Apostle Paul says in the last days men will be “ever learning and never coming to the knowledge of the truth” (II Timothy 3:7).

I don’t want to be too hard on such folks, because that describes me in more than one area. Last evening, for instance….

On the way home from the office, I ran by the neighborhood grocery store. I approach that parking lot with fear and trepidation because it has to be the most dangerous spot in town. Cars enter from all directions, people are walking everywhere, baskets stand where shoppers abandoned them, kids speed through on bikes as though they were in their backyards, and foolish drivers impatient to get home rush down the lanes as though they were on the highway.

One would think I would enter that parking lot on full alert and watching for trouble. Instead, after a long day filled with multiple meetings and conferences, my brain was operating on three cells and my eyelids were having trouble staying open. I spotted a parking space close to the front and veered in that direction. As I begin turning into the space, a panel truck roars into the lane. I’m already turning, but throw on my brakes and come to a halt just as he would have crashed into me. I turned the wheel to the right, giving up on that parking space, and as I drove past him, did something I would never do when my mind was working.

I rolled down my window and spoke to him.

Not a good idea. Not ever. The rule is, “Don’t look him in the eye; do not speak to him, don’t even wish him a good day.” There are too many crazies in this world. Go on and park somewhere else and shrug this off.

I said, “Hey friend, this is not a racetrack.” That’s all I said.

He bellowed, “You were the one speeding!”

I said, “I was trying to get out of your way.” And that was the last thing I said.

That’s when he let loose with a string of profanity, calling me names no one has directed my way since perhaps 10 years ago when my drunken neighbor vented his anger over our trees shedding in his front yard. (When I pointed out that his tree was shedding in the other neighbor’s yard and that it’s the result of our small lots and everyone simply rakes his own yard, the next day he sawed down his tree. That gave him carte blanche to rail at me. Eventually, some friends from church came over and took down the trees in my yard. Today both lawns are treeless and the neighbor and I get along…well, ‘politely’ is the word, I suppose.)

I told Margaret about the driver of the panel truck putting this preacher in his place. She said, “Treated you like a normal person, huh?”

You get no sympathy around here.

A day later, I’m thinking that while the driver should not have been speeding through the parking lot and certainly needs to watch his mouth, I wish I had done several things differently.

I wish I had anticipated trouble in the parking lot and been more watchful.

I wish I had not spoken to the other driver.

I wish I had done what I usually do and found a nice safe parking space no one else wants out of the way somewhere and headed there.

And I wish I could speak to the other guy long enough to say, “Sorry, buddy.” Sorry for adding frustrations to his day, sorry for inciting his wrath.

My Birmingham friend Iva Jewel Tucker sent me a note recently to say how she deals with frustrations on the streets and highways. “It used to burn me up the way some people scoot in and out of traffic,” she said, “and tailgate and cut you off. Then, I changed the way I was thinking.”

What she did was to begin imagining good reasons for their behavior. “Maybe that fellow is heading to the hospital because his wife is having a baby.” “Maybe that driver is not feeling well.” “Maybe his boss just chewed him out or fired him and he’s scared.”

She said, “Just thinking that way makes my anger go away and I smile and drive on.”

Iva Jewel is in her late 70’s I think, and one smart lady. I’m a decade behind her in age, but one would think that after handling a car for over 50 years I would have it all figured out by now.

Nope.

The plain fact of life is that every time a foolish motorist wrecks his car and ends up a paraplegic or a customer for the funeral home, two more drivers fill his spot and begin to terrorize the highways. As long as fallible, frail, sinful humans are the dominant life-form on this planet, we’ll be having to contend with such motorists.

My job is not to teach them anything. I’m not on the highway to rebuke them, instruct them, arrest them, or get back at them for what they do. My job is to survive and arrive home safely. If in the process I happen to encourage someone else or even make another driver’s day brighter, so much the better.

“Lead me in the path of righteousness, O Lord.

And get me home safely, please.

Keep me alert to possible dangers

And make me an instrument of Thy peace.

Amen.”