Confession Time

I gotta confess…

                            I’m not a patient driver.

I’m pretty sure that’s Ivey’s least favorite thing about me. (Well, that or my early morning singing to wake her up. She’s not a fan of that either.)

Last night in our small group Bible study we were discussing finding “margins” in our life—time or resources that we could use to invest in others. Part of that discussion was to identify what resources we value most.

For me, that is my time. I value time to myself, time with Ivey, time with friends, and time to do what I want—which usually degenerates into mindless Netflix time and/or Facebook perusal.

Usually I can hide my love of time, but it’s pretty hard when I’m driving. If people are slow, indecisive, and, well, stupid, I lose all patience pretty quickly. It’s not unheard of for me to yell, throw my hands up in frustration, mutter various unholy phrases, and demonstrate my unfortunately well-developed sin-nature.

Last night I was reminded of one such incident recently that (should have*) taught me a lesson in being nicer.

I was driving home from work and was talking on the phone with Ivey. We enjoy our phone conversations, and it’s a great way to decompress after a long day of work.

It was the home-stretch of my drive. There was only a mile or two between me and Netflix and my wife, and I could taste the goodness of our dinner her kisses as I drove.

Then suddenly traffic stopped. This was not a major road, and traffic does not usually stop on this stretch. There was a truck blocking my view of the cars ahead, but I looked to the side and could see what was happening. Ahead and to the right was a gas station next to a stop light.

The light was green, but traffic was stopped as some “good Samaritan” had paused to let a car in the gas station pull out on to the road. Except the car was not moving quickly, and was taking FOREVER to pull out.

“Gosh,” I sighed into the phone. “People are so stupid!”

“What’s happening?” Ivey asked.

“Some idiot is stopped up ahead to let a car out, when—if they’d just driven on—all the traffic would be passed and the car could get out and we all could have made that green light! But oh great! The light is turning, so we’re all forced to just sit here and wait!”

There was silence on the phone for a moment. “Where are you?” Ivey’s voice was curiously cold.

“On Front Street near Trollinger.”

“Babe?” The word was said in a way that made it hard to tell if it was a question or a statement.

“Yes?” I sensed the danger over the phone line now.

“That’s me stopped to let the car out.”

I think most husbands (except those annoyingly perfect ones) will intuitively understand the feeling of the blood draining from the face as time slows and every option for a safe explanation is thoroughly vetted in the nano-seconds that have turned into excruciating minutes of silence.

“Well,” I stammered. “At least… I was… you…”

“Yes?” said Ivey, allowing me time to dig myself deeper.

“There’s no coming back from this, is there?” I winced.

“No. No babe, there isn't.”

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And that’s the story of how my wife got me to agree to getting an indoor dog!

Just kidding, we already had a dog. But it is the story of how I (should have*) learned my lesson to stop being so possessive of my time while I’m driving.

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*I say should have, because I’m thick-headed and continue to demonstrate less-than-Christ-like behavior in this area. I’m working on it.