Cavalier Driver

(originally submitted by me in part as 'A Blue Cavalier in Colorado Snow' on Faithwriters.com weekly challenge)

I'm a Georgia native; had lived there my entire life. In 1995, my job took a turn, and we opted to move to beautiful Colorado so I could stay with the company. In Atlanta, there was a January ice storm delaying take off. We arrived in Denver to sixty degrees and sun. We quickly learned how Colorado weather could change when the moving van came a week later to 8" of snow. Our cars arrived a few days after the furniture.

We had decided not to get a Colorado Cadillac, a Jeep, because we might not need it. Contrary to what some may have heard, the Denver area is not a rough place to drive when it snows. They have equipment and materials to take care of the roads. Working throughout the night, they put down sand and salt, helping avoid vehicle spinouts.

One morning, after scraping the windshield, and having a ‘yahoo' moment on the ice beneath the snow, I headed out for my 6 am shift. The snow plows had not yet made it to the secondary streets. In Georgia, we stay at home when there is ice on the roads, but in Colorado, you go about your daily routine, unless there is a blizzard. This storm was just a few inches, so I a snow day was not in order.  

I stopped at the light from a side street to a state road.  It turned green rather quickly.  A pickup truck with an eager driver had to stop.  He was not happy I interrupted his forward progress.  How did I know this?  He gave me the one finger wave to fly away.  

Having driven the same route for several weeks, I had learned to use the cross-walk signal at the top of a fairly steep hill to gauge the need to stop at the traffic light. The hand started flashing at the crosswalk not long after I turned onto the road. Slowing down, I prepared to stop. 

With horn blaring and lights flashing the 4x4 pickup raced by me. The driver was banging on the steering wheel and if his window were down, I'd most likely got my ears burned with his language.  I guess he had somewhere important to be, left late, and an encounter with a bundled up female driver in a front wheel drive blue Cavalier with Georgia plates was not in his plans for the morning. Sure enough, the traffic light turned red. The truck driver slammed on his brakes. 

Now I may be from Georgia, but I'm no country bumpkin. I know 4-wheel drive is not 4-wheel stop. I know moisture freezes when temperatures are in the low 20's. I know the laws of nature make ice an excellent accelerant when black and beneath tires. I know to slow down and tap brakes when road conditions are dangerous. The truck driver either didn't know or forgot about these things. 

The pickup came to a stop against the curb after promenading through the intersection. The axles broke. Both wheels on the driver's side buckled under the truck. I managed to stop at the light without sliding on the ice. 

The driver got out of his pickup, slamming the door and gesturing, frantically. Kicking his vehicle as if it were to blame for now being damaged, the man turned red in the face. To say he was angry would be too light a word for his actions. I think he needed a tranquilizer or at least less caffeine to start his day.

I placed my forehead on the steering wheel, trying to hide my smile.  My shoulders are shaking, not from cold or fear, from the laughter bubbling out of me. I'm not talking nervous giggles here. Deep bellyaching, eye-watering laughter that can be contagious if others are around. Recognizing the irony of the situation with the Ray Charles classic "Georgia on my Mind" blaring from the radio, I laughed; probably looked like a crazy woman but I couldn't contain myself.

I managed to rein in my sarcasm. My manners required my mouth to remain shut.  My faith commanded a prayer for the driver's safety. I wanted to share a smile with the man who undoubtedly had a lousy day in full play. I decided he wouldn't like it. As I drove by, I tipped my horn and waved.  Honestly, I wished the guy a better day than his morning had been going. I believe one good turn deserves another, but you know what I ached to do? What the bad guy on my shoulder urged me to do? What I had to force myself not to do?  

Reach over and roll down the window. In my best velvety Southern belle voice say, "Excuse me, sir? I'm new around here. Would you kindly show me again how to do that?"

Ivory Joy

We were blessed to grow up near my grandparents.  We could stand on the porch and talk to them on their porch if we spoke loudly.  They were on the opposite side of the road and up a few hundred yards from us.  We made a path through the field on our side of the road so we could get to them with limited asphalt time.  Filled with red top clover, the sweet fragrance surrounding us as we walked, any flower scent takes me back to those childhood summers.
  
Wash days were one of our favorites, and if we were at their house, bonus.  Gran'ma had a wringer washing machine.  Wooden crates turned on end held washtubs set on top.  The larger ones had rinse water, the smaller some Argo starch stirred in.  The drain from the washing machine was a garden hose stretched across the yard to the fig bush.  All of this was on the front porch where we'd play until the washing finished. 

Once the laundry was hung on the line to dry, the machine unplugged and rolled back to its spot, Gran'ma would open up a nearby wooden cabinet.  Excitement took over as she passed out empty dishwashing liquid bottles, usually Ivory or Joy.  Our mission, should we choose to accept it, was to clear out the rinse water using those bottles.  Dipping into the tub and watching the bubbles rise as the water rushed in, we grinned.  Then, the gauntlet was thrown by one of us putting the top on and squirting another.  Water fight!  All was fair in fun and, there's no crying in squirt battles!  Peals of laughter and a bit of surprised squealing filled the yard as we raced around in play.

When I think of that time today, I see the white bottle with its blue and white label.  The Ivory bottle always reminded me of a bright summer sky with clouds white as snow.  Living near the Rockies now, we get snow.  The clean, pristine shine reminds me of several things, including those summer fun days of play.  The passage of Isaiah 1:18 comes to mind, "Though your sins are like scarlet, they shall be white as snow…"  I feel clean, renewed.

More often, I recall the yellow one with the green and red label, Joy.  It reminds me of the sunshine, of the laughter.  In vivid clarity, I replay summer days running in abandon with my siblings, unfettered delight bubbling out of us, filling us with such bliss.  Joy was so carefree and spontaneous when we were kids.  Now we get bogged down in the busyness of being an adult, placing gladness in a hidden compartment where it only comes out when the circumstances are right.   We feel weighted with responsibility and tired.  When I start feeling this way, I take a moment and remember those summers of my youth.  I pray and find the joy of the Lord is my strength, just as told in Nehemiah.  Otherwise, I'm too spent to do anything.

Joy is Jesus Others Yourself.  It is a quiet evening with praise music in the background while my pencils and crayons play with my Bible study understanding.  It is that feeling of warmth throughout my body, waiting to bubble over in luxury or to settle peacefully around me for a good night's sleep.  It is serving the Lord at church, the smiles of the children, the worship songs, the message, the 'amen' at the end of prayer.

It is not circumstantial.  It is not fleeting.  It is not spontaneous.  It is not happiness.  It is in a heart filled with love for the Lord and all His people, eager to be about His business to advance His kingdom.  Joy is that bright yellow bottle filled with the living water of Christ to be showered on others while reveling in some of it myself.  Let's play!