Good morning church family,
“Did you know your license is suspended?” the officer asked using a tone so cool and conversational, he might as well have been asking me if I knew that my shoe was untied.
“No. I mean. . . I don’t know.” The officer was standing just a little behind where I was sitting behind the wheel so that I had to crane my neck to look at him. Attempting to look in his eyes, all I could see was my sad reflection in his jet-black sunglasses.
“Why don’t you shut the car off – okay boss?” the officer said; peering into the car. “Stay inside the vehicle. I’ll be right back.”
I turned the engine off and threw the keys in the cupholder. The hot, muggy Florida air came pouring into the car. Beads of sweat immediately began forming along my hairline and at the back of my neck. In the rearview mirror, I could see the officer sitting in his patrol car typing on his onboard laptop. The strobing blue lights and the glare of the sun made it hard to make out any expression on his face. “I’m cooked,” I whispered to the cars zooming past me on the freeway.
“Okay, Mr. Boberick,” the officer said with a foreboding sigh as he approached my drivers-side window again, “I’m writing you three citations today. One for the speed, of course. It’s a $281 ticket. Twenty-two over is way too fast out here. You gotta slow it down.” I craned my neck again to try and look at the officer as he spoke to me. He was gently slapping the packet of citations into his open hand. “I’m also citing you for not showing me proof of insurance and for driving with a suspended license. Now, I’m. . .”
“Like I said,” I interrupted, while trying to shift my weight in the seat to better face the officer, “I’ve got insurance. I tried to pull it up on my phone but I don’t get enough service here.”
“You can offer proof of insurance to the court and they will likely reduce the fine. Now, like I was. . .”
“To the court?” I said; frustration welling up in me. “I’m going to have to go to court over all this?”
The officer drew his hands together in front of his belt buckle, the pink citations clutched tight against his uniform. His eyes were looking straight ahead and down the freeway. I could hear his toe tapping on the gravel in the shoulder. I let out a frustrated sigh and fell silent. The officer then continued: “Are you finished talking, Mr. Boberick?”
Shaking my head, I shifted my weight back toward the front of the car and slammed my hands on the steering wheel.
“Okay. Now, Mr. Boberick, I’m seizing your license today. You’re not going to be able to drive until you clear everything up with the DMV. Now, I’m cutting you a break, okay? This is a misdemeanor but I’m not going to arrest you. But, given your record and driving history, I have called a tow truck.”
“It doesn’t matter,” I said, sweat now pouring down my face and dripping off my nose, “there’s no one I could call to come get it anyway.”
“Well, here are your citations, sir,” the officer said, reaching forward with the tickets. “All the information is in the packet. Please gather up any personal effects you may want and arrange for someone to come and pick you up.”
As the officer returned to sit in his air-conditioned car and wait for the tow truck, I looked blankly out the windshield. Truth was, the only person I might be able to call to come pick me up was my work but they’d just as soon fire me as give me a ride; being late again for my shift was why I was speeding in the first place. My mom and dad live only a few miles away but there was no way I could call them either. Ever since my dishonorable discharge up in North Carolina and all my trouble with Meghan and the baby and everything, they made it pretty clear not to come around begging for anything.
“D—-t!” I yelled; slamming the steering wheel with my open hand and accidentally causing the car horn to chirp. I shot a look into the rearview mirror and saw the officer’s sunglasses staring sternly back at me. I raised my right hand and waved for him to disregard and he gratefully returned to his computer screen.
“I don’t think there’s any kind of bag in here,” I said; muttering to myself. I looked over my shoulder and into the back seat but didn’t see anything but a bunch of take-out trash and a sweatshirt. I popped the trunk and got out of the car.
The only bag I could find anywhere in the car was a plastic grocery bag that was holding a bunch of straps and tie-downs. I dumped the straps into the trunk and started filling the bag with whatever valuables I could find. I fished all the coins out of the cup holders, collected a couple of random gift cards out of the center console, and grabbed my Garmin out of the glove box. I didn’t need the GPS device but I thought I might be able to sell it. There really wasn’t much else of value in the car. I stood in the shade of the popped trunk and started taking my house keys off the ring. Feeding the last ring around the loop, my eye spied a couple of DVDs in the back of the trunk. With plenty of room in the grocery bag, I reached for the videos to take them with me. But upon lifting them out, another thing caught my eye. There, as crisp and clean as the day it was issued to me, was my Navy New Testament. Seeing it there on the floor of the trunk, the heat’s ringing and all the buzz and busyness of the freeway seemed muted it for a moment. I tossed the DVDs back down and picked up the Bible. I didn’t remember packing it when I left Fayetteville, but something encouraged me to take it with me.
I set down the grocery bag and took the bible in both hands. Opening the front cover, I was surprised to see a personal note written there. The note was signed by one of the chaplains on base; a Captain Starnes. I couldn’t remember ever meeting this particular chaplain but I had a vague recollection of him addressing my battalion from time to time. The note was neatly written in cursive and said: “This book is more important than your helmet, boots, rations, or gun. Guard it best by stowing it in your heart and mind. I’m praying for you.” And then under his name, he wrote what must have been a reference to a Bible verse of some kind. It simply said, “1Peter 5:6-7 – page 288”.
I flipped through the pages of the book and found the passage Captain Starnes had noted for me. The eagerness I felt in my heart took me by surprise. “Humble yourselves, therefore, under the mighty hand of God,” it began, “so that at the proper time He may exalt you, casting all your anxieties on Him, because He cares for you.” I read and reread the passage. There was something about what was being said in it; offering hope, truth, and a way out for me.
I placed the Bible in the grocery bag and shut the trunk. Walking back up to the front of the car, I tossed the car keys onto the front seat. Looking back at the officer, I noticed I had his attention. We exchanged thumbs-ups and I mouthed, “Thank you.”
I turned and began walking down the freeway. I saw an off-ramp just over the rise.
We’re looking forward to gathering together tomorrow morning to worship the King, share in the fellowship of the redeemed, and have a couple logs thrown on the fire of our faith! It’s going to be a blessed time for the Lord has prepared the blessing. May the Lord, mighty God, bless and continue to keep us!
- Pastor Tate
