Nothing to hide…

I’ve always been a bit of a night owl.
Typically, the time that most are settling down for the day, I’m winding up. Spontaneous decisions are often the result of such insomnia.
The same was the case in early may of this year. I was helping some good friends do a little interior work, when we came to the realization that supplies were deficient. 
So at 1:30, I decided to make a Wal-Mart run. Wal-Mart can often be overwhelming depending on the time of day, the outside weather, or the gender of company you keep. (insert laugh here)
I darted in, picked up the necessary items, and only those, and was out the door. Victory was mine! However, that nirvana was abruptly evaporated by blue lights. I was one block from my destination, so close I could throw an egg at the mailbox.
Mentally I began to cite the potential suspicions he may or may not have. D.U.I.? Drug paraphernalia? Speeding? Reckless endangerment? Intextication? I was guilty of none of the above.
As I looked away from the obnoxious ray of light that was deep frying my retinas, the officer approached my vehicle.
“Son, do you have any idea why I pulled you over?” Fighting back a series of unnecessary answers, I kindly told him I hadn’t a clue.
Vehicular protocol has never been one of my fortes.  Hence the reason I was now accepting a citation for expired tags.
The end result. My tags expired in Dec of 2009, it was now may of 2010. Needless to say I wasn’t getting out of this one.
Farewell $180.00.
Good news! The officer told me that if I renewed my tags before July 31rst, they would void the citation fee.
So the next day, despite that I had other plans and this was a major inconvenience, I went straight to the clerks office and renewed my tags. The following week I was informed I still owed the courthouse $180.00.
Befuddled, I made an appearance at the courthouse and pleaded my case. My file was located, my citation pulled, and my instructions reaffirmed. The clerk assured me it was out of her control, I needed to speak with the judge. So I called the judge and travailed with her until I was too winded to continue. “Come to court, Mr. Dowell.” So there it was. I was now going to court over expired tags. Harrumph.
I wish not to bore you with monotonous details of irrelevancy, bear with me.
A few weeks later, oblivious to my approaching court date, I made plans to take a little trip.
I left my house on a Tuesday, destined for Paducah. There I would pick up my dear friend Kyle Morgan and the two of us would head towards Illinois to spend some time with the wonderful Beck family. Two days into my journey, I received an interesting phone call. “Mr. Dowell, you were absent in court earlier this afternoon, you now have a warrant out for your arrest.” My only available response: “Wow…”
I had completely forgotten all about it. I proceeded to inform her that I was somewhere between Paducah and St. Louis, and my options were limited. I’d like to take a moment here to thank all of my wonderful friends who surrounded me that week. Thanks for meeting me with ample laughter and jokes. What would I do without friends to abrasively feed me my own ignorance? Most especially, thank you Mr. Morgan for your words of encouragement. “If you get arrested, you’re on your own.”  I love you guys…Thank you for your loyalty. Moving on.
 Once again, I found myself pleading with the judge. To my benefit, she had forgotten all about previously speaking to me. So I presented my shame as though I had been charged with a felony. When she realized the triviality of my case, she met my pardon by dropping the warrant and rescheduling my date. Needless to say, I was 30 minutes early the second time around.
Led to believe that my court date was nothing more than a brief meeting involving myself and a few authorities, I nearly embraced a stroke when I walked through the double doors of Hades.
My informal meeting had somehow turned into a courtroom stocked with defendants, a jury, and a sweating red-headed citizen struggling for what could be his final breath. Eager to quickly blend in, I slipped into the back row. As I sat there, several more defendants came in late and shared the seat with me, forcing me to sit on the end of the row against the wall. Seemed irrelevant at the time, until it dawned on me. When my name is called, I couldn’t possibly be any further away. My heartbeat regulated, my blood pressure followed suit. Until the calm was shattered by the sound of my name. “Mr. Kyle Dowell, please make your way to the stand.”
I stood to my feet, stepped over what seemed to be a multitude of people, and made my way down to the core of the inferno. During the two hour walk to the stand, my rapid heartbeat and tidal wave of anxiety seemed to have vanished. To begin with, I imagined the stand to be a pulpit. That seemed to bring a little calm to the situation. But I realized while I was walking, that I had nothing to hide. Why was I afraid?  Although my ignorance had intervened, I had no fear because I remained honest by doing everything that was requested of me. As I stood there looking the judge in the eyes, I calmly gave her the basics of my case. Remembering me from before, she was ever so kind as she gave me my options. Unfortunately for me I didn’t bring all of the necessary information I needed. I was offered a pretrial diversion, which I refused. Setting up another meeting, picking out another outfit, potentially forgetting the date, all these factors contributed to my decision. I was ready to be free from this nightmare.

Several weeks after this entire uproar, I found myself struggling with a few personal issues. I complained to God, as I often do. Rather than answering me with simple words or unadorned expressions, He gently replayed my legal scenario in my mind’s eye.
I’m learning that God, in His infinite wisdom, often gives us the clearest answers through our ignorant mishaps.
Every anguish, every distress, every tribulation. They are all temporary. The shame is rested on me if I allow transitory circumstances to impede my progression in the Lord.
That being said, I’ll further that point by stating that my anxiety is self inflicted. Not because I necessarily deserve every trial I face, but rather, because I fail to rely on the unwavering  promise that God is mighty to deliver. He has given counsel and instruction for every situation. How dare I labor under the delusion that my complications are too great for Him to unravel. I have the elixir, the antidote if you will.  The alternatives are often inconvenient. The solutions are commonly contrary to our preferences. Rarely do we ever want to obey the advice of God, simply because it rubs against our adamic flesh. Even still, God has provided us with a way of escape regardless of the situation.
Now then. Who’s to blame? Right here. Perpetrator? Guilty as charged.
The day will come, when the Kingdoms of my intellect will crumble. I’ll face a greater trial where diversions and postponements will be futile. The journey of life, from the seat to the stand, from the cradle to the grave, will be nothing more than a splotch in the history of redundancy.
It later occurred to me that as I walked to the stand, my shadow was cast on multiple individuals who were being charged with accounts much larger than my own. My concern was not on them at the time. I focused on one thing, and that was me and my case. Allow me to step out of the courtroom and into reality. This is no longer about my paltry expired tags.
This is about the helpless casualties of life’s afflictions. In hindsight, I desire to make different decisions in my personal reality. I hope to walk a bit slower and have compassion on those who are shackled with heavier chains of circumstance. Mercy is my only discharge. I vow to give it as freely as I’ve received.
When I walk through the big double doors of eternity, I yearn to be anxiety free. If I can grasp the concept of the divine alternative, I will have nothing to hide. As I stand before the cherubic jury, I hope to be terror free. And when I look into the eyes of my compassionate Father, the supreme judge, the artisan of life’s canvass, I desire to hear these four words: “Well done my child…”
I don’t want to fear, I don’t want to swallow lumps or sweat profusely. I want to painstakingly look Him in the eyes, knowing I have nothing to hide. Knowing that I have done all that was requested of me. And finally, knowing that the same arm of mercy that brought me to such a place, would also grant me access into His eternal Kingdom.
At that moment, I’ll be a free man. No more guilt, no more shame, no more fear or anxiety. There will be nothing on my tongue but praise and adoration. You won’t find me here. I’ll no longer be characterized by the wounds of yesterday. But I’ll be identified by my new name, redeemed. You’ll find me somewhere in the Kingdom singing at the top of my lungs!
The tune may not be precise, and the rhythm may not be established, but the message will be crystal clear. My heart will bleed the words: “Worthy! Worthy! Worthy is the Lamb that was slain! Slain to receive power, and riches, and wisdom, and strength, and glory.
Blessing, and honour, and glory, and power, be unto Him that sitteth upon the throne, and unto the Lamb for ever, and ever, and ever…amen…”

 

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