Red= According to how long the light has been red or if any other traffic is visible (especially law enforcement) determines whether or not we should actually adhere to this transportation suggestion.
Yellow= Speed up in order to prevent a few minutes of inconvenience that may exist for the time it takes for the light to cycle back to green.
Green= Squall the tires of the GMC as if we are trying to get the fastest restart time at the Talladega Speedway.
These are the rules of the road according to my wife. Anytime I play conservative for the safety of our family, I get degraded with comments such as: “come on grandpa,” “if you weren’t driving 5 miles per hour under the speed limit you would have made it through the light,” and the best “there is a funeral procession somewhere traveling at a higher rate of speed than we are currently moving .”
What if the rules of the road resembled the game played out on elementary playgrounds all over the country? You know the one, red light means you stop, green light means you take off. The first student to make it to the goal line following the cues of the teacher becomes the winner. If you continue to run when the light has turned red, you could be forced to return to the starting point. I was always so eager to finish first that I would try to get a few extra steps in after the light had turned red. Our teacher would play a sick game with me as to get my hopes up that I would finally be the winner. Just as I would be ready to dive head first over the finish line and receive all the accolades that come along with being rewarded the gold medal of the recess games, she would tell me “son you haven’t stopped on red one time the entire race, go back to the starting line.” If you ain’t cheating, you ain’t trying, right?
On one of the most traveled roadways of the area, I recently witnessed one of those instances that had me scratching my head long after the events had unfolded. A traffic light had turned green and maybe I was accustomed to the whiplash that normally occurs when riding shotgun with the bride, but the vehicle in front of me didn’t budge. I looked to left and to the right to ensure that travelers from the other directions were not following the red-light guidelines set forth by the woman of the family. No ambulance, no hazard lights, a tow truck wasn’t visible, random livestock weren’t crossing the major roadway and ice hadn’t formed on the highway ahead.
Things got worse as people started to scream their tires as they passed our vehicles. Of course, I was trapped because the parade of cars that had grown impatient surely wouldn’t stop to let me change lanes. Momma wouldn’t have approved of the verbal obscenities coming from the mouths of these fine upstanding citizens. Even a few hand gestures appeared, I had to explain to my child how this behavior could be punished with jail time.
After what seemed like the amount of time it takes to boil water while watching the pot on the stove, the vehicle slowly crept through the intersection. Imagine my joyous demeanor when the light flipped to red just before I could continue through the crossing. With horns a blazing from the patrons behind us, there wasn’t any need for my show of frustration. But with the extra time at the light I began to think. I realize the potential dangers in thinking on my part.
All signs are telling us to follow through the intersection as the light is giving us direction. But we sit at the crossing in life with little faith that the path will lead us to our destination. Outside sources tell us what could go wrong or how we should follow the world’s idea of what “makes sense.” We often want the traffic signal to turn green. Then we want God to physically push our foot down on the gas pedal. Finally, we want those people around us to clap their hands and pat our backs with external approval.
All of a sudden, an audible voice whispers from above, “Come on Grandpa.”