Late one frigid winter night, I received one of those heart-dropping-into-your-stomach kind of calls from my son. He had been in an accident.
He was five minutes from home. I drove out to meet him, and, to my relief, found everyone alive and well. There was, however, an issue to deal with, namely that of a lady who was really upset. According to her, my son had come slightly across the center line, and their mirrors had smashed against each other as they passed. She had already called the police, and they were on their way.
My son and I got into the truck and waited in the warmth. As soon as we sat down, I asked him for his side of the story.
“I was in my lane, Dad, I know I was. I am going to get a ticket anyway, aren’t I? I mean, I am the younger driver, and she has the nicer vehicle, so this is going to go against me, isn’t it?”
I told him that it likely would, but that we weren’t going to worry about that. He was to keep his composure no matter what and maintain a good testimony. Then, waiting there in the darkness, we prayed. We prayed that we would be good witnesses and that both the other driver and the officer would see Christ through all of this.