I’ve had a few days to reflect on the events of the last 7 weeks without the 800 lb gorilla visitor that has for so long hung over out heads.
I was expecting last week’s court appearance to be something on the magnitude of World War III. I expected the man who nearly killed us to not only have no remorse but to take some perverse pleasure from his acts. I was expecting his attorney to basically accuse me of causing the events of the night and to have to defend myself from a vicious onslaught by someone whose job it is to get their client off by whatever means necessary. I was expecting a liberal judge who would bend over backwards to make sure the man got every every break he could give and then some.
Being a realist is hard work…
When I finally saw who he was and what we were up against I really wasn’t sure what to think. What emerged from that torn up vehicle that night was an 800 lb gorilla. The man was at least 10′ 7″ and covered from head to toe with vile serpentine tattoos. He stuck his tongue out at us for good measure as if to add insult to injury. He’s what lurks under your bed. He lives in dark alleyways. He tosses unsuspecting women fruit and says “Of COURSE it won’t kill you”.
What was entering the courtroom was a mere mouse of a man. I don’t mean that in a derogatory way. I mean that in a “turned on the light” way. I have pity for mice (at least those that are smart enough not to take refuge inside our house or gas grill). An ancestor of mine once wrote a somewhat interesting poem about them and their plans. Mice are nobody’s epitomy. They have little pride, can scarcely help themselves and are often devoured by prowling animals. That was what was standing in front of me.
I felt pity but, more than that, I had an answer to the biggest question from that night. At the end, when he got out of what was left of his car, he was walking up to us and the 911 operator had told us to get away. He was behind the car. A small turn of the wheel could have ended it right then and there. Everyone I talked to, even the policeman who took our statement, had said if it had been them he would have had at least 1 bullet in him. But as I went to back up there was only one thought that ran through my mind. If you’ve not experienced God speaking to you before then imagine turning around and seeing a giant burning bush and it speaks to you. Mine was saying “don’t hit him”. No explaination. No elaboration. Just a single clarion point. I didn’t have to hit him to get out of that driveway but it made no sense in my rear view mirror.
And now I had my answer. In this strange mouse of a man I saw what a Jewish Carpenter saw. He wasn’t worthy of hatred. He wasn’t even worth the effort to remove from the room. Upon turning the lights on the gorilla vanished and here was someone who needed help himself. Someone who made a rather bad mistake and, much to his credit, admitted it. In a day and age where personal responsibility is a rarity it was a breath of fresh air. It was the first step toward help and suddenly jail time really didn’t matter. The man needs prayer, not jail. The money we’re out is irrelevant. We’ve had to walk this far by faith and it seems a bit silly to suddenly wonder where we’re going to get the money to fix the bumper (although I wouldn’t mind knowing that myself). There was some purpose God had for this man and we weren’t random victims in the wrong place at the wrong time anymore, we were blessed people put in his path because God isn’t through with this man. He could have easily done much worse had it not been us he had run into. We were never in any real danger. Harming us was outside God’s will.
When I walked out of the courtroom I saw the Hound of Heaven watching him. He winked at me as if to say “Ya done good”.
That has to be the best 5 minutes of sheer terror I’ve ever lived through. Kinda makes me want to grab Erin, jump in the car and go “Let’s go again”.
On second thought I enjoy being married a lot more 
