Contact Me

If you enjoy my blog and would like to contact me, you may reach me at this email: dena.netherton@gmail.com

Some of my stories are published in:
A Cup of Comfort Devotional for Mothers and Daughters (Adams Media, 2009)
Chicken Soup: What I Learned from the Dog (2009)
Love is a Flame (Bethany House, 2010)
Extraordinary answers to Prayer (Guideposts, 2010)
Love is a Verb (Bethany House, 2011)
Big Dreams from Small Spaces (Group Publishing, 2012)

Monday, December 21, 2009

Bruce and I are in San Diego for the holidays, visiting our daughter, son-in-law, and new grandbaby. We had the nicest drive out from Colorado. I-70 was in its glory, with snow-covered mountains and trees, but no snow on the roads.
With very little traffic in Utah we sped along in our Highlander, making excellent time through the deserts and canyons, enjoying listening to our eclectic IPod collection of Rachmaninov, Hovhaness, Mo-town, Toto, and Bob James.
Past Richfield, Utah, there's a stretch a few miles east of the junction of I-70 and I-15 where wise drivers watch their speed and make sure they don't go above 75. That's because they've seen what happens to unwary motorists zooming down the pass. A highway patrol officer, hiding on the median, pulls over skads of cars each day. It's one of the best speed traps I've seen, and I've driven in nearly every state in the USA.
So, on this Saturday, December 19th, as I approached that suspenseful stretch of interstate, I set the cruise control to 75, then waited for the first foolhardy traveler to pass me. Sure enough, here came a little, black sportscar, first no more than a speck in my rear-view mirror. Judging by the way he whizzed past, he had to have been going at least 95.
I said with some smugness, "you're gonna get a ticket."
Then, because I have a sin nature, I started hoping that the guy in the little black sportscar would keep going 95 so I could see the highway patrolman do his thing.
There's one last big curve before the road straightens and drops at about an 8% grade just before the junction. I lost sight of the speeder around the curve and held my breath, as if I were watching the last few seconds of a Hitchcock flick.
As I'd hoped, the highway patrolman was waiting at the bottom of the hill. Have you ever seen those nature programs where the trap-door spider shoots out of his hole and grabs the unsuspecting bug? This guy was even faster.
I laughed with glee as I passed the sportscar and the squad car, parked on the side of the road.
What vindication. What justice. The driver of the little black sportscar thought he could thumb his nose at the posted speed and get away with it. Hah! For once there was a policeman when I needed one.
After I recovered from my glee it occurred to me that God is probably not pleased with my hypocrisy. There are an awful lot of verses in the New Testament that remind people like me that I shouldn't be judging the driver of a little black sportscar. He was caught in the very act. But how many times have I done the same and simply been lucky enough not to be seen?

Next week we'll be heading home, going the same route through Utah. I'll be praying for good weather, safe roads, no drunks, no hidden highway patrolmen. . . and especially, for a gentle attitude.

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