One afternoon last week, driving down Little Farms Avenue in my New Orleans suburb, I spotted the small SUV approaching the intersection from the right. The driver had a stop sign and I had the right of way, so all was well. Then I noticed something disturbing.

The woman behind the wheel was not looking to her left, that is, from the direction of the traffic in front of her. As she eased closer to the street, clearly planning to turn right, she was looking to the right, not to the left. I could hardly believe my eyes. “She’s going to hit me,” I thought. She never once looked in my direction.

But I was ready.

Over the years, I have learned a little trick that has saved me from at least half dozen accidents in the 18 years we’ve lived in metro New Orleans: in busy traffic, my right hand is at three o’clock on the wheel, which puts my thumb on the horn. When a crisis happens suddenly, I tense, my hand squeezes, and the horn blows. The driver of the other car gets the wake-up message and whips back into the lane.

That’s what saved that careless woman and me from colliding that afternoon. At the next traffic light, she had recovered and was now behind me. She signaled with her hands, implying, I suppose, that she was sorry. I gave no indication I had seen her. I wanted her to think seriously about the foolishness of pulling into traffic without stopping or checking to make sure it was safe.

Defensive driving means more than just taking care of oneself and making certain you are driving carefully. It means watching the other guy, anticipating what he or she might do, and being prepared for anything.

My oldest grandchildren are beginning to drive. It scares me, because I know for a fact that defensive driving is not a skill that can be taught in Drivers Ed but must be learned by experience. And there is not the slightest doubt in my mind that the typical teenage driver would have been clobbered by the thoughtless woman in that SUV. The young motorist would have expected that a driver about to pull into a busy street would be responsible enough to pause at the stop sign and wait for the traffic to clear.

As young seminarians in New Orleans, Margaret and I would occasionally meet her Greyhound bus driver father (J. W. Henderson of Birmingham) after his run and take him to supper. On one occasion, when his bus was late, I picked up a small book the company had printed for its drivers on the subject of defensive driving. What I read over the next 10 minutes changed forever the way I drive. I’m confident I’ve been spared a number of accidents over these 40 years by practicing defensive driving.

Pastor Thom was a careful minister. He watched the doctrines taught in his church, checked guest preachers out thoroughly before inviting them, and vetted new Sunday School teachers well. He held regular staff meetings and rigorously made sure the church’s financial procedures were faithful and observed. He visited well, studied hard, and preached effectively. But he was blindsided by the enemy.

In a hotel room in a distant city, he watched a little pornography on television. The next day, he bought a risqu