The blue and red lights flashing in my rear view mirror weren’t noticed until I heard a short warning that sounded curiously like a siren. Glancing up, I realized indeed it was a siren. It was for me.
Stopping immediately, I could not imagine what on earth prompted the officer to pull me over. Did I forget to turn my lights on? It was getting dusky. Did I speed through town? I was coming out of Clintonville on a side street.
My heart pumping out of my chest, I waited for the officer to approach my car.
“Good evening. Where’re you come from tonight?”
“I was at a garden party. With a church group. I drank water.”
(Goodness gracious sakes alive, did I really say that?)
He didn’t blink an eye.
“Where are you headed?”
“Home. To Leopolis.”
“There was a four-way stop you just ran a little way back. Busy day; you were distracted? A little tired?”
“Actually, I’m retired, and I wasn’t that busy today. I have no excuse.” (Seriously, must I always tell the truth?)
He managed a smile, asked me for my driver’s license and proof of insurance and walked back to his squad car with a promise it wouldn’t be long.
I had time to think. I remember the road-block signs up along Greentree Road in Clintonville had distracted me, yet I’d driven that road many times and absolutely know there’s a four-way stop right there by the high school.
Praying for favor: “Please God, we don’t need a fine because of a stupid, really stupid mistake that never should have happened, and yet I surrender to any sort of punishment for what was really an inexcusable mistake.”
Because my thoughts were going back and forth faster than a ping-pong ball, I resorted back to one of my favorite verses, “Let the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart be pleasing to You, oh Lord, my Rock and Redeemer.” It calmed me down.
Presently, the officer came back to my car. I couldn’t quite discern his expression. He fingered a piece of paper and began explaining.
“You have the squeakiest, cleanest record I’ve ever seen. I wouldn’t want to mar it by giving you a citation, so tonight I’ve just written you a warning.”
I exhaled and, to my credit, remained quiet.
He continued, “But that being said, if you run a stop sign in the future, you’ll need to attend a mandatory eight-hour class and if you do not, you will be served a severe fine.”
“Oh, rest assured officer. First off, I won’t ever run a stop sign again, and if I do I will most definitely complete the class. As to my record, I did get stopped one time in 1975 for a speeding ticket. I was on my way to my first job after high school and I got pulled over by a state patrolman and my heart was pumping just as fast as it is now.”
Honestly. Just shut it, Kay. I mean, word salad, anyone? Why on earth do I feel the need to explain myself? In my defense, I was extremely nervous and when I’m nervous I talk fast, and a lot.
This man was incredibly polite and kind and respectful. And had a sense of humor. He listened patiently and intently with a soft grin spread across his face, which encouraged me to continue.
“Before you let me go, officer, I want to tell you my husband and I pray for all you guys in law enforcement. We back you 100% and appreciate all you do to keep us safe. So thank you very much.”
I wasn’t piling it on with any false humility. I had waited to tell him we pray for him after receiving the verdict. I honestly would have thanked him either way, fine or no fine. Whenever we see the men and women who keep us safe at sporting events or concerts or in airports, we always thank them and tell them that we value their service. And it’s the truth.
“Well,” he said with a tender smile, “I appreciate hearing that. Thank you, ma’am, and you have a good night. Drive safe, and next time, how about you stop twice?”
“Oh, I will.”
We both left laughing, and I literally crawled home. In the twilight of the evening, there were deer out all over the place. My only thought was I need to get home in one piece, and I can’t wait to tell my husband what happened.
My son texted me after he heard the news: “I’ll be seeing your mug shot around town.” All three children asked if I cried my way out of it.
I cry. I am a crier. I cry when I’m mad, sad, happy, hungry or grateful. I tear up during a commercial, a movie, a brilliant sunrise, a stunning sunset, a baby’s birth, a wedding, reading a good book, when I’m praying, when I’m talking, when I’m quiet — I cry.
I keep my eyes as squeaky clean as my driving record.
(“Let the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart be pleasing to You, oh Lord, my Rock and Redeemer.” Psalm 19:14)
Kay Reminger was born and raised on a dairy farm, and she married her high school sweetheart, who happened to farm for a living in Leopolis. Writing for quite a few years, she remains focused on the blessings of living the ups and downs of rural life from a farm wife’s perspective.
