Mama Bears Anonymous

Have you ever wanted to chase someone down on the turnpike and physically inflicted pain upon his inconsiderate body. Now, allow me to make this claim before I type another word about my story. I am not a “road rager”. I am usually the one who waits at a stop sign and lets someone else to go ahead of me causing screams of honking horns behind me. I have not always been the meek driver I have worked at being now, but I would consider myself a considerate road dweller. I normally simply refuse to allow another person to ruin my day when they neither are aware nor do they likely care about my screams of insanity. Yesterday, however, was an entirely different story.
So there I was. Rocking along on H.E. Bailey Turnpike minding my own business with my daughter Brenna Grace sleeping peacefully in the passenger seat. We had just made a trip to Oklahoma City for a few things and had stopped by what I fondly call “Fat Freddy’s” for super yummy frozen custard. I had taken Brenna to the doctor earlier that day and she wasn’t feeling well, so the custard had pleasantly filled her tummy with sugary sweetness and she was content in her deep snooze on the way back home. I occasionally glanced over at her during my drive and just smiled thinking, “God, She is so sweet. Thank you for giving me such a wonderful little girl.” It’s funny how I seem to forget that when she is awake from time to time. It’s just that when she is sleeping, all I can see is that little cherubic angel I used to hold and rock to sleep to the lullabies I made up. Innocence. There is just nothing more precious to me than watching one of my children sleep. At that particular moment I was all warm and fuzzy, nostalgic, near misty eyed. It was indeed a sweet moment…and then stupidity swooped in on its ugly broomstick shaped like a green SUV and smacked me back into reality. Imagine my surprise that “stupid” greatly resembled a man behind the wheel with a Dale Earnhardt, Jr. complex and a chip on his shoulder!
So there are many driving injustices I have grown accustomed to during my years of recovery from ranting like a lunatic while driving. I have even grown much more tolerant of little inconsiderate drivers who behave as though the roadways were built for their use alone and think how DARE I venture onto them to inconvenience their driving adventure. The thing I am currently working on is not reacting to those people who speed up frantically to cut you off just before you pass another vehicle on a two lane highway. You know, as thought it did not occur to them that the tractor driving 12 miles an hour might be driving too slowly for their liking before you are 20 feet from passing them. As though the extra 30 seconds it would take them to allow you to pass and get out of the way would make them miss their own wedding or something. I struggle with that. Something in me before my steps of recovery simply wanted to slow down to the exact speed of the car anyone would want to pass and just ride along beside it just to let the guy know he was acting like an idiot. I know, I know! It was juvenile, but that is how my brain worked before I realized it was just stupid to act that way. I’m at the stage in working on that pet peeve that I just maintain my current speed and if they have the space and time to pass before I do then I don’t try to keep it from happening. That was NOT what took place on the road yesterday.
I had cruise control set to the speed limit. I have learned the hard way that it does not pay to speed, but that is in and of itself an entirely different story all together. Speed limit set. Driving with hands at 10 and 2…well, actually, one had was on the cell phone, but my eyes were on the road and I knew the green SUV was beside me. This guy had sped up and passed and slowed down several times over the course of 30 some odd miles. An annoyance I had overlooked time and time again. I hadn’t even thrown him an annoyed look when he’d passed me for the fourth time. We were approaching another vehicle who was driving probably 10-15 miles an hour under the speed limit. I was in the passing lane and Mr. Offensive Driver was in the right lane behind me. Cruise control still set. Phone call ended…hands now at 10 and 2 positions. Apparently this man did not appreciate the fact that I was not slowing down so that the “king of the road” could move on down the road to offend legions of other drivers because he did not cut me off, but rather sped up to within mere feet of the bumper of the slower vehicle, turned to look me square in the eyes as if to say “you had better move, woman”, and proceeded to blatantly change lanes to move me out of his way. His passenger, who I assumed was his wife, had the same wide-eyed look of shock as I did on her face as I had to swerve to the left and slam on the brakes to avoid being broad sided by the lunatic. I nearly hit the concrete wall dividing the two directions of traffic. At that moment all my steps toward recovery flew out the window.
I blared my horn and screamed, “What are you doing, you crazy person?! Oh it’s on, you maniac!” I pointed at him, adjusted my ball cap, and gripped the steering wheel with new purpose. The 10 and 2 positions have permanent indentions now. Not only did he try to run me off the road, once he passed the slower vehicle, he tailgated the car in front of him refusing to return to the right lane. Apparently the car in front of him had seen the commotion and refused to get out of his way as well. When I had safely passed the slower vehicle, who, by the way, was an elderly gentleman who looked terrified by the whole ordeal, I returned to the right lane to pass the crazy “king of the road”. As I passed, I noticed his wife was hanging on for dear life, eyes wide, head glued to the head rest. I pointed at the man and said very slowly so that he could read my lips, “You need to learn to drive,” and drove on. Ladies, now might be the time to inform you that insulting a crazed man’s driving skills at a moment such as that is probably not the best approach. You see, it is now my understanding that some men pride themselves in being the better drivers in the great universe of vehicular mobility, and such profanities as indicating otherwise send them into bouts of vindication of that title of “master of maneuver”. The man promptly changed lanes, wife screaming frantically, and attempted to catch up to me. Either his wife won the argument or he realized he was acting insane because he suddenly slowed down to the speed limit and maintained a two car length space between us. Several miles down the road he signaled to take an exit, and for a split second I considered whipping over into the exit lane and exiting, slowing down so he could pass, and following him to his final destination. In that split second, I imagined jumping out of my car and removing his bowels through his mouth. I thought better of it and stayed the course to home. Blood bath adverted.
Now you may be sitting there thinking, “Veronica, really? …All that intense emotion over something that left you in one piece in the end? You didn’t crash. You knew the guy was dangerous. You really wanted to chase him down and confront him? Really?” The answer, my friend, is a resounding “YES!!!” I could care less that the guy was an idiot and obviously needed a stint in an adult driver’s education class. What sent me into my frenzy was the fact that when the man nearly hit my vehicle in his moment of rage, he nearly hit my beautiful, sleeping daughter who did not feel well and never saw the lunatic coming. In my mind I wanted to protect her, to end this crazy person who endangered her life. Hello! She’s my baby, the youngest of four and my only girl! I was determined to put the man in his place. I’m really glad now that I didn’t exit and follow him, because nothing good could have come from it. I debated even writing about it because I didn’t feel like I had learned anything from it, but as I sat here this morning thinking about the incident it occurred to me, my lesson in it all.
Surely God, with every fiber of his being, wanted to intervene on behalf of Jesus as He was wrongfully accused, viciously beaten, and ultimately gruesomely murdered upon the cross. The crown, the vinegar, the spear…all of it must have made Him feel incredible emotions of hurt and anger. Think about it. I know He knew everything that was going to happen before He set it all into motion, but the actual moment of observation of the actual event must have been incredibly difficult for Him. He had willingly given His son to the world as a living example, a completely pure sacrifice for our innumerable sins. They couldn’t just kill him. They had to lie, mock him, add insult to injury. I am so glad I am not God, because that day would have been a huge day of smiting and we would all be in sad shape on the eternity front. You see, it occurred to me the incredible love that God our Father must have held for us to allow the horrific events to unfold on that day. He even had to turn his head away because it was so painful. Just like many of us who are parents we would literally feel pain if we had to sit back and watch someone hurt our child, so God felt the pain of Jesus. We are wired to protect our children, to stop anyone or anything who threatens their safety. So is God. He simply saw the larger picture and the ultimate purpose for the events taking place and He allowed it to happen. So, looking back on the situation I am reminded that I am indeed fashioned in God’s image, with the same emotions and many of the same tendencies. I am also reminded of exactly why He is in control and I am not. If the world had to depend on me to allow my child to die while I watched, we’d all be planning very, very hot eternal trip. I am also completely overwhelmed by the measure of love God possesses for us…and why? Because we are His children and He will do whatever it takes to protect us, even if it is from ourselves. He sure is a great Dad!
Now, in closing, allow me to say this…Hello! My name is Veronica and I am an insane mama bear! And all the mamas in the house say, “Hi, Veronica!”

Where the Rubber Meets the Road

I have to say that I consider myself an independent woman. Now don’t get me wrong, I do like having a man around to take care of those rather unpleasant chores such as oil changes, lawn maintenance, and most recently, a flat tire. I know HOW to do all of those things, but why WOULD I do them if my wonderful hubba-hubba hubby is willing to do them.
A few weeks ago Chad and I went up to the city for our anniversary for a couple of days. The weekend had gone really well. We were enjoying just spending time together alone. We had just entered the freeway from a service road when an all too familiar vibration rocked the car, and the terrible noise of a flat tire forced a roadside sabbatical from our afternoon adventures. It was a Saturday at about 3:01, exactly one minute past the time most tire shops close. I’m not exaggerating. It was exactly 3:01 when I looked at the clock!! We were exactly 93 miles from home with a 5 year old donut spare tire on which we were supposed to drive no faster than 50 mph.
What to do? What to do? While I searched the internet for a number to a tire shop with Saturday service hours, Chad dutifully exited the car and changed the offending tire. As cars whizzed past at high speeds, I thanked God for a husband who takes care of me. I somehow managed to locate one of our tire shop workers, and was directed to a sister company in the city that would honor our tire warranty. Whew! Travesty averted! We spent a romantic two and a half hours in a Firestone store and were back on the road to fine Mexican dining before making it home a few hours later than expected. All in all, I chalked it up to another unusual adventure in my life.
About a week later, Brenna Grace and I went to the local Wal-Mart to procure the needed toiletries for kid’s camp. We had spent an enjoyable day of mommy/daughter time together, reveling in the lack of testosterone to hinder our shopping adventure. As we crossed the parking lot, heading toward home, the miserably familiar “thwap, thwap, thwap” of a flat tire sent pangs of trepidation up my spine. It was after dark and it was only Brenna and I in the car. I said, “Are you kidding me?!?! Again?!?!” I stopped the car and stepped out to the realization that the SAME tire was flat that had been replaced a week prior. I fell into my “independent woman” zone and began replacing the injured tire with the donut spare, yet again. My little girl stood looking in amazement as I loosened the lug nuts and hoisted the spare into place without struggle. I giggled and told her to pay attention in driver’s education when she is in high school, seven years from now. As I was tightening the last lug nut, a young man stopped to offer his help. “Convenient,” I thought with a laugh in my belly. I thanked him and sent him on his way. We headed home and I crawled into bed even more grateful for my wonderful husband than the day before.
The following morning, or rather, later that morning I pulled into our tire shop convinced my tire warranty would not cover two flats on the same wheel in a week. I was wrong. As the gentlemen flew into action replacing the tire, I took a seat in the waiting area and flipped through a recent copy of “Family Fun”. While glancing at the advertisements in the magazine I ran across a 20% discount code for a resort we were taking our middle school Sunday school class later this summer. I made note of the discount code and finished two more magazines before I was called to the payment counter. Feeling accomplished with the day’s activities, I headed home.
Wednesday, as I conducted my weekly trip to Wal-Mart, I remembered that I needed to get a final confirmation from our church secretary, Mel, for the expenses related to our middle school Sunday school trip. During my conversation with Mel, she relayed the final cost of the hotel rooms…approximately $150 over the amount we had raised for the trip. I was so disappointed. As we ended the call, I was concerned where we were going to get the extra money, and that’s when I remembered the discount code from the magazine at the tire shop. I made a quick call to Mel with the code, hoping the hotel would honor it since we made the reservation without the code. When Mel called back with the new total, I nearly laughed aloud in the middle of the store. The final total was $15 less than the amount we raised. I wanted to do my happy dance, but decided against it since I was in a public venue.
I will now explain the seemingly irrelevant details of my story. Today I sat thinking of Psalms 37, a passage Chad called and told me I needed to read. He does that on a regular basis. I just love that about him! I was temping for our local paint and body shop today, so between calls and estimates I read the chapter in full. Verse 25 says, “…I’ve never seen the righteous forsaken or his seed begging bread.” I love that verse. My steps are ordered by God, so I am never forgotten. He always knows where I am and exactly what I need. I was sitting there just thinking of all the wonderful ways God has provided for my family and it donned on me that the discount code was yet another of his provisions. The kids had worked really hard for the fundraising and they needed that increase of rate at the hotel to be included in our earnings. If I had not had the flat tire after midnight in the Wal-Mart parking lot, I most likely would not have seen that magazine since I had cancelled my subscription at the beginning of the year. It was a magazine that belonged to the tire shop. Romans 8:28 comes to mind…”All things work together for good for those who love God, for those who are called according to His purpose.” He will even turn an inconvenient late-night flat tire into a wonderful blessing for a group of 13 young people! That’s so precious to me. He loves us so much that even the things we encounter that are unpleasant can be turned into something good…all because he thinks we are special, His beloved. So, the next time you are changing a tire after dark, cleaning up paint that your 4 year old spilled on the carpet, or sweeping up the birthday cake you dropped on the floor three hours before the party, God is very creative. His ways are not our ways, and He will show you the silver lining in every dark cloud. I just never cease to be amazed by the methods He chooses to show me that not only does He love me, but, hey, He likes me…and He likes you too!