Richelle (![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} maci0047) wrote,@ 2008-06-06 14:30:00 |
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How to get out of a speeding ticket... Jesus-style
As you know from my previous entry, Ryan (from Spokane) visited me in the Cities two weekends ago. I took him to many of my favorite places, but the weekend almost started off on a sour note.
On our way to Gasthof’s that Friday night, I drove us through downtown Minneapolis. We were chatting, and I wasn’t paying much attention to how fast I was driving. As we crossed the Hennepin Ave. bridge, I noticed a cop car parked along the right side. I looked down at my speedometer, and noticed that I was going fast. I hit my brakes, hoping that I could slow down in just the right amount of time, but it was too late. The police officer pulled up behind my car, and once I turned onto University Ave., he put on his lights, and I pulled into a parking lot.
Mentally, I was kicking myself. Remembering the humiliation—and the sticker price—of my previous ticket in October 2007, I internally berated myself for not paying closer attention to how fast I was driving. Here goes another $142 down the drain… and the end of a fun evening, I thought.
“Good evening, ma’am,” the officer said as he approached my window, “do you know how fast you were driving?” I answered that I didn’t, that I was conversing with my passenger and watching out for other cars and hadn’t noticed my speed. He then told me I was going 45 mph in a 30 mph zone. I reiterated how sorry I was for going so fast, and that I didn’t know how fast I had been going. The officer asked for my driver’s license and proof of insurance, which I politely handed over, and he headed back to his vehicle.
Immediately, I thought the worst: He took my ID. I’m definitely going to get a ticket. I just got a ticket in October. I can’t afford to get another one! What if my license is suspended?! Ryan held my hand and mostly stayed silent, letting me mentally and verbally vent my frustrations, although he did apologize, saying that he shouldn’t have been distracting me so much through our conversation. He didn’t need to apologize; I should have been watching my speed.
The officer returned to my car, and showed me his radar gun, which had indeed clocked me at 45 mph. “You do know you deserve a ticket for this, don’t you?” I answered yes, and told him that since he had taken my license, I was convinced he’d give me a ticket. He asked if we had come from downtown (no, we had come straight from my house) and where we were headed (Gasthof’s, because Ryan was from out of town and had never been there before). Then, the officer surprised me: “This time, I’m just going to give you a warning. But if you’re caught speeding again, you will get a ticket.” Dumbfounded, I thanked the officer, and so did Ryan, and he gave me back my ID and insurance card and wished us a good night.
After the officer left my window, Ryan turned to me and said, “We have to pray. We have to thank God.” When I asked why, Ryan replied, “The whole time I was holding your hand, I was praying that you wouldn’t get that ticket.”
I probably had a deer-in-headlights expression on my face. I was just speechless. I completely deserved that ticket, especially because I was going 15 mph over the speed limit, and yet I didn’t get the ticket. Wow… God did that for me! I hadn’t even thought of asking for God’s help, but Ryan did. I thought at one point that maybe Ryan had a better “in” with God, that he was a member of God’s special posse or something. Nevertheless, astonishment turned to gratitude as Ryan and I thanked God for sparing me. And then I thought that maybe this is just the tip of God’s love for all of us, just the tip of God’s abounding grace.
As you know from my previous entry, Ryan (from Spokane) visited me in the Cities two weekends ago. I took him to many of my favorite places, but the weekend almost started off on a sour note.
On our way to Gasthof’s that Friday night, I drove us through downtown Minneapolis. We were chatting, and I wasn’t paying much attention to how fast I was driving. As we crossed the Hennepin Ave. bridge, I noticed a cop car parked along the right side. I looked down at my speedometer, and noticed that I was going fast. I hit my brakes, hoping that I could slow down in just the right amount of time, but it was too late. The police officer pulled up behind my car, and once I turned onto University Ave., he put on his lights, and I pulled into a parking lot.
Mentally, I was kicking myself. Remembering the humiliation—and the sticker price—of my previous ticket in October 2007, I internally berated myself for not paying closer attention to how fast I was driving. Here goes another $142 down the drain… and the end of a fun evening, I thought.
“Good evening, ma’am,” the officer said as he approached my window, “do you know how fast you were driving?” I answered that I didn’t, that I was conversing with my passenger and watching out for other cars and hadn’t noticed my speed. He then told me I was going 45 mph in a 30 mph zone. I reiterated how sorry I was for going so fast, and that I didn’t know how fast I had been going. The officer asked for my driver’s license and proof of insurance, which I politely handed over, and he headed back to his vehicle.
Immediately, I thought the worst: He took my ID. I’m definitely going to get a ticket. I just got a ticket in October. I can’t afford to get another one! What if my license is suspended?! Ryan held my hand and mostly stayed silent, letting me mentally and verbally vent my frustrations, although he did apologize, saying that he shouldn’t have been distracting me so much through our conversation. He didn’t need to apologize; I should have been watching my speed.
The officer returned to my car, and showed me his radar gun, which had indeed clocked me at 45 mph. “You do know you deserve a ticket for this, don’t you?” I answered yes, and told him that since he had taken my license, I was convinced he’d give me a ticket. He asked if we had come from downtown (no, we had come straight from my house) and where we were headed (Gasthof’s, because Ryan was from out of town and had never been there before). Then, the officer surprised me: “This time, I’m just going to give you a warning. But if you’re caught speeding again, you will get a ticket.” Dumbfounded, I thanked the officer, and so did Ryan, and he gave me back my ID and insurance card and wished us a good night.
After the officer left my window, Ryan turned to me and said, “We have to pray. We have to thank God.” When I asked why, Ryan replied, “The whole time I was holding your hand, I was praying that you wouldn’t get that ticket.”
I probably had a deer-in-headlights expression on my face. I was just speechless. I completely deserved that ticket, especially because I was going 15 mph over the speed limit, and yet I didn’t get the ticket. Wow… God did that for me! I hadn’t even thought of asking for God’s help, but Ryan did. I thought at one point that maybe Ryan had a better “in” with God, that he was a member of God’s special posse or something. Nevertheless, astonishment turned to gratitude as Ryan and I thanked God for sparing me. And then I thought that maybe this is just the tip of God’s love for all of us, just the tip of God’s abounding grace.
