I learned several years ago why the bathroom scale always spewed out numbers that were much higher than I anticipated – I have a much heavier-than-normal right foot. It’s no big deal. The only time it’s an issue is when I weigh myself. Oh yeah, and sometimes when I drive.
I don’t really drive fast. I just drive at my own pace. Which is usually faster than many other drivers. Actually, I dispute the belief that a fellow retiree and Jacksonville Jumbo Shrimp fan calls me Speedy because of the times I’ve passed him on I-95 heading to the ballpark. I’m sure he’s really calling me Speidi – after the grilled chicken marinade made famous near my hometown of Syracuse.
But my speed, no matter how fast I’m going, is always “reasonable.” If not, I’d have a couple more speeding tickets than I do – just three in more than 50 years of driving. That in itself qualifies me to declare any driver who passes me a “jerk” – or any other four, six, or eight-letter epithet that might cross my mind.
One reason for my perceived road immunity is that I’m in Florida, where the official vehicle of interstate driving is the 1998 McLaren F1. Posted speed limits are actually treated as minimum speeds. Driving below the speed limit poses a real danger for being run off the road. I-4, the interstate that runs from Daytona Beach to Tampa, is the unofficial Autobahn of Florida. Anyone driving the stretch of I-75 between Ocala and Tampa had best be in the state of grace.
Recently, while driving north on I-95 in Jacksonville, I heard what I assumed was a Saturn V rocket misdirected from down the road at the Kennedy Space Center. Before I could engage my lightning-fast driving reflexes, a silver sports car flew by me so fast I couldn’t tell the make or the model. I immediately began a rapid-fire Act of Contrition but not even halfway through, I heard a second roar, followed by the flash of a white Chevy Camaro – not mine – trying to catch the first speeder.
Why is there never a cop car around to catch idiots like that, I asked myself. Those drivers deserved to be punished, I thought, as I cruised past all the other northbound cars on I-95. That’s when I once again realized my definition of a dangerous driver was any driver who passes me.
Please tell me I’m not the only one who thinks that way. I mean, people who do things worse than us deserve to be punished. You and I don’t. For me, I always have very good reasons for my transgressions. A) I’ve always done it this way. B) I’ve never gotten in trouble for it before. C) I’m really a good person!
Somehow, when I envision making those arguments to St. Peter at the gates of Heaven, he’s always shaking his head ‘no.’ And I’m not talking about my driving habits.
Luckily, Jesus doesn’t wear a state trooper’s uniform. Unlike a cop, though, He does see everything. Still, unlike the officer with a radar gun, Jesus is much more likely to let us off with a warning – penance after Reconciliation. And, unlike a judge, Jesus doesn’t suspend our sentence; instead, He expunges our record. All we have to do is ask.
we’d all like to bypass.
Just because Jesus has given us the opportunity to secure a free Get-Out-of-Hell card (Thanks, Fr. Ruchinsky!) that doesn’t mean we should abuse His graces. Just like a speeding ticket can cost us a fine and higher insurance rates, our earthly transgressions could mean a detour to Purgatory, delaying our ETA in Heaven – the one destination we want to get to as soon as spiritually possible.
If you liked this story, I hope you will choose to subscribe. Just scroll down, enter your email address and click “Subscribe.” I try to upload a new entry every couple of weeks or so.
Now What? 