A tough lesson

We were visiting my oldest daughter in California. While she and her husband went to a concert, we stayed with their children. While the parents had a great time getting away, we had a wonderful night with pizza, a movie, and playing games.

All too soon the weekend was over and it was time to head home. We stopped in Provo to drop off my college-student daughter and then visited another daughter and her family. We enjoyed playing with our five-month-old grandson as we visited. He was happy and smiling, much different from our last visit. He must have forgotten the immunizations shots he had and decided to forgive the injustice he had been subjected to.

We left there, and headed on our way, enjoying the pleasant feelings from the weekend with family. But that didn’t last long. As we reached the south part of Salt Lake City, the warning signals were flashing. “Freeway blocked ahead. All traffic routing off of freeway.”

Soon we found ourselves at almost a standstill. We checked the internet and found that the projected freeway opening was hours away. Then, to make matters worse, my youngest daughter started feeling sick. We were able to get onto an open off ramp lane leading into a mall parking lot. That lane was clear because no one wanted to get stuck in the parking lot. The line of cars there was backed up from one side to the other. My wife drove the van to take her place in the exit line, and I took my daughter for a walk to get some fresh air.

When we returned about fifteen minutes later, our van was only ahead about four car lengths. At that point I made the decision that we would park the van and eat at a restaurant. We finished eating and were sitting in comfort there, watching the line of barely moving cars, when a lady approached us. I was feeling annoyed at this delay that had ruined our evening and was in no mood to visit. In addition, she was dressed in rough denim jeans and an old T-shirt and was quite coarse in her demeanor. But the lady seemed driven to find someone to share the time with.

“You know,” she said, “it could be worse.”

I felt skeptical. How could it be worse?

“You could be the family of the man who was killed in the car wreck,” she said. “We may be late getting home tonight. But their husband and father won’t be coming home at all.”

I felt shame flood over me. She was right. My family was safe, and we still had each other.

“You know,” the lady continued, “I lost my father in a car wreck years ago. He was supposed to go to my recital that night. He didn’t make it, and I was upset at him. Then, after we got home, the police came and told us what had happened. Suddenly, I didn’t care that he wasn’t home on time. I just wanted him to come home. I remember watching for him for weeks, hoping it was all a big mistake and that he would still come. But he didn’t. Just like that truck driver’s family will be wishing for their husband and father, but he won’t be there.”

As she continued to talk, there were suddenly many things more important to me than being someplace on time. Three of them were with me in that restaurant, and I had just spent time with others all weekend. The lady continued to talk, and we mostly just listened. It was easy to tell that this wreck had brought back some painful memories that she needed to share.

As the traffic started to move again, and she prepared to leave, I was sad to see her go. As she left she said, “I should be on my way so my husband will know that tonight I will be coming home.”

As we pulled into our driveway at one in the morning, four hours after we had planned, I was grateful for an angel in rough denim and an old t-shirt that reminded me of what is important in life.

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