I DON'T ALWAYS OBEY ALL TRAFFIC LAWS . . .
[Reader response: a false, horrifying gasp!] Sometimes when I fail to obey traffic laws, I get caught. [Reader response: a knowing smile.] Sometimes when I get caught, I don't pay my fine. [Reader response: a furrowed brow, showing concern.]

The morning had been hectic. I found myself hurrying from the middle school, where I had dropped Bart off, to the elementary school which had called earlier to see if I would be a substitute kindergarten teacher. I had two Master's degrees and had taught adults, teens and children regularly for over 15 years. But kindergartners? By the time I got to the school driveway, my brain was already aching from trying to imagine what in the world I would do with them. That's when I saw the blue light in my rear view mirror. I sincerely thought, "I wonder what's happened at the school so that they've had to call the police?" So I slowed and pulled to the side. But as the patrol car approached . . . it didn't go around me. "No. It can't be." I pulled into the parking lot and the blue lights grew brighter and brighter until they stopped . . . right behind me.

"God, help me." It wasn't a flippant phrase. It was a heart-felt prayer.

It may have been a tactical error, but I didn't greet the officer with a smile and a handshake. I got out, opened the back car door, and began getting the things I would need for school. But in spite of my obvious busy-ness, this guy insisted on having a conversation — right there in the parking lot, with the whole community driving in and out, staring, as the blue lights called their attention to us.

"Did you know you were doing 41 as you turned on to Main Street Extension?"

"No sir. I really couldn't tell you how fast I was going. I just know that I wasn't driving recklessly and there weren't any children around." I was keenly aware that there were people around now. I imagined teachers staring out their windows.

"The school zone goes all the way past Hagan Bridge Road."

"Oh." I turned and saw groups of children pointing in our direction.

"Would you like to see the radar?"

"No sir. That's not necessary. I don't dispute what you're saying. It's just that, well, I don't have any permanent employment right now and I've been called in as a substitute teacher here at the elementary school today and before that I had taken my older boy to the middle school and I knew I was on the verge of being late here at the elementary school and I'm just doing the best I can to take care of my family and trying to help some of the kids here at the elementary school in the process . . ."

"We know that sometime folks fall on hard times and that needs to be taken into consideration . . ."

"Here it is," I thought. "He's going to let me off with a warning."

"That's why we give people the opportunity to show up for court and tell their story to the judge. Your court date will be the second Saturday morning of next month." He handed me a ticket.

"Tell it to the judge?" I didn't say that. I just thought it very loudly.

I knew I was wrong. But was this really the intent of the law? I was in a hurry, but I hadn't threatened anyone's well being. I was well beyond the middle school when he clocked me — headed away from it — probably within 100 yards of the end of the school zone. And I had kindergartners on my mind, for heaven's sake.

But I was guilty. So . . . on the designated Saturday I sat in the near-empty court room. Besides the judge, clerk and representatives from the Police department, there were only five or six of us. Court began and names were called, but no one claimed most of them. Quite a few bench warrants were issued. The few who answered were taking great pains to ex-plain to the judge how they didn't really do what they were charged with doing.

Finally, "Richard B. Davis." I stood up and stepped forward. As I did the Police Chief leaned toward the judge and said, "That's Reverend Dickie Davis." The judge looked at him with a "You don't say?" look on his face, and then turned to stare at me over his glasses.

"Reverend Davis, you're charged with going 41 in a 25 mph zone. How do you plead, guilty or not guilty?"

"Guilty, sir."

The judge looked up at me, looked at the Police Chief with a puzzled expression, and finally said to the clerk, "Enter a plea of guilty."

"Uh, Reverend Davis, do you have something to say?"

"Well, yes sir, I have it written out here and I'll read it out loud if I need to but I'd prefer for you to just read it silently."

He looked at the Chief again, took my paper, and began to read. It told the story of that schoolday morning, just as I have told it to you. When he got to the part where the policeman said, "Tell it to the judge," he glanced at the officer and said, "Cold!" I assured him that I now knew the boundaries of the school zone and asked for mercy in light of my present need.

"Reverend Davis, I'm suspending your fine. Thank you for coming in today. You may go now."

And I did . . . rejoicing!

That episode includes all the major elements of a relationship with God:

• Exposure of sin, sometimes in front of an entire community of people.
• Acknowledgment of guilt.
• A plea for mercy based on nothing but compassion and grace.