Reflection on my blue streak

I wish I could say that something really fantastic or exciting happened today, like the $5 dollar car was pimped by X-Zibit or I finally got my cracked windshield fixed, but unfortunately, nothing that exciting has happened in the past 24 hours. However, I almost did meet THE MAKER today when a teeny tiny man (I could tell he was teeny tiny by his Napoleonesque stature and his stubby arms) driving an enormous Chevy Suburban nearly plowed into me as he was merging into traffic at an alarming, nay, reckless speed. I managed to swerve and lay the hand that is attached to my 5 foot 10 inch Amazonian body onto the horn and avoid meeting my Heavenly Father. Most days I am ready to go. Today, however, blissful eternity on streets of gold was the last thing on my mind as I was trying to beat rush hour traffic to get to Target. I know, I know.

Napoleon crossed the other two lanes of traffic and drove on his merry way as I caught my breath and said a little prayer thanking Jesus that The Rev. would not be made a widower today. I also said a prayer asking forgiveness for the blue streak that came out of my mouth as while I was blaring on the horn and swerving. I don't think God excuses cussing when one's life dangles in the balance. Sanctification is a 24 hour, ongoing process. The Sanctified Pastorschick would have called on God or a guardian angel or some heavenly body to help her, the unsanctified Pastorschick would have cussed a blue streak and imagined beating up the little Napoleon at a SoCal Waterloo. Let's say the unsanctified Pastorschick momentarily won.

What bothered me, though, was the thought of having someone else in the car with me. What if I had my "not even a twinkle in The Rev.'s eye" offspring with me? Or The Mother? Or worse, The Mother-in-Law? Or worse yet, The Rev.-in-law? I think then it would be better if I did go home to Jesus than have to live through that mortification.