Forget about the big ones which lead us far astray, such as the one we once firmly held about the world being flat. What about the small ones which cause unnecessary pockets of distress in our day? Or in someone else's day?
A good friend of mine who leads a prayer group (and does many other worthy things with her spare time) had a highway experience the other day that she cannot ever forget. It opened her eyes wide about her own capacity for jumping to conclusions, and, even more, caused her to see she held within her. as most of us do, a vast pool of anger-- something none of us like looking at. It also showed her the lightning speed at which our mindbuttons can trigger that pool.
It had been a tough day, tough by anyone's definition. And she was a little late for an appointment; thus her mood was now moving in the direction of jumpy. Steeped in slow traffic, her eyes were busy darting from the road to her watch and back again. Not being late was important.
As she neared a traffic light, the car right behind her suddenly honked its horn. Irritated, my friend narrowed her eyes and shot forward after the light turned, assuming she had a prankster behind her, or worse, someone trying to pick her up. (My friend has one of those winner faces that does in fact attract attention.)
She steered firmly through the traffic ahead, and the second car, still following, honked again. This time my friend began to feel a surge of hostility. She glanced back slightly, saw him waving at her out of the corner of her eye, and promptly increased her speed. But the car behind her kept pace, and honked a third time. And a fourth. My friend was now feeling outraged. Who was this idiot? Her mind was working full steam now: she began dreaming of clever and cutting remarks to make if the two cars ended up side by side.
But even more was cooking inside her mind: the present situation reminded her of other times when she had been unduly pestered in life; she found herself recalling unjust treatment at the hands of employers. teachers, government officials, annoying neighbors. Memory after memory raced through her thoughtbank, and now she noticed her stomach had begun to hurt.
She was late, overtrafficked, angry, and she had a fool behind her trying to flirt. The car honked again. She gritted her teeth and moved ahead. Under her breath she was calling him unceremonious names.
And as she closed in on the next traffic light, the car behind now slid over to her left and she found herself side by side with her tormentor. This was her chance, then, for a scathing and killer comment. She took a deep breath.
The driver leaned over to the passenger window, rolled it down and cast a huge smile in her direction: "Wanted to let you know I love your license plate." he said, and, holding up his hand, he flashed the peace sign. Then the light changed and he sped off.
She was stunned. The steam from her anger whooshed out in one quick puff and evaporated like mist under a noon sun. She sat there for a moment, still as stone, rigid with embarrassment.
Then the cars behind her honked her awake; she came to and drove forward. She spent the next three weeks feeling heartsore over this mistake, over the unjust anger she had visited on the unknown driver who loved what he read on the back of her car.
My friend's license plate, which she had gone to great efforts to secure, spells out in large bold letters: B P E A C E.
Send comments to Elsa Joy Bailey
And when you're finished shopping and browsing in the marvellous
London Mall, stop by and visit my homesite: