After a fun-filled day with the kids and their grandparents, we returned home to find this in our front yard.
 
 
From down the block, I casually asked Laurinda if she had perhaps left a candle burning this morning. She was sure she hadn’t. As it turns out, a full sized pick-up truck had careened off of 18th Avenue, torn through the stop sign in the yard, and rolled over at the end of our Lincoln Avenue driveway.
Everyone was okay, according to officers on the scene. An ambulance was leaving as I arrived, so I assume that “okay” means no fatalities at least, but maybe some minor injuries.
Just a few things, then I’m signing off for the night:
First, my car was parked last night right where that truck came to rest this afternoon. Thanks be to God, I moved it to prepare for company.
Second, I was struck by the image of the mangled stop sign in my yard.
This was a visual symbol of what happens when a person loses control. In life, the signs for us to stop don’t account for much if we are living out of control. It was especially meaningful to see that the sign was for eastbound traffic, but the person who struck it was travelling south on 18th.
My eight year old noted that “This was a lesson for me not to drive like that.” He’s halfway to his license in terms of his age. I hope he’s closer than that in terms of his wisdom.
Finally, I should point out that the driveway here at the parsonage has a large crack about five yards from the road. That’s the “safety line” that my kids couldn’t ride their tricycles past back when we first moved here.
The truck stopped two feet short of the “safety line.” For someone who doesn’t believe in random coincidence, that fact spoke volumes, especially to my little girl. She relaxed quite a bit when I pointed out that the line hadn’t been crossed.
Still, its a little unnerving to find a truck wrong-side-up in your driveway surrounded by five police officers, four fire fighters, two EMTs, a tow truck driver, and the folks from the neighborhood.
Sounds like life, doesn’t it?
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