Grief Gears Turning, Fifth Image

My green Car of Grace spinning out on the highway on the top of the Crowchild Trail overpass that crosses over Bow Trail. Miraculously, the lovely sportscar I side-swiped in my impatience only has a dent on its front fender, no one is injured, and I didn’t go over the guard rail or get hit by any of the on-coming traffic that my car is now facing. And the nice police officer who arrived at the scene only gave me a ticket for making an unsafe lane change, when he could have also ticketed me for not having my license on me. However, my brilliant plans of getting out of debt with gazelle-like intensity are way-laid: I’m way too shaky to go to work for a relief shift, so I’ll make no extra money this pay cheque; my car has some ugly new dents in it to broadcast my shame as an unsafe driver; and soon my insurance company will no doubt find it expedient to increase my monthly car insurance payments. Well, there it is: The Sign of Aravis from C. S. Lewis’ A Horse and His Boy. I got a good lashing for my wrong-doing, but at least now I know God still cares and is engaging with whatever I’m doing.