Tender Mercies

Several years ago I was driving down a two-lane country road near my house. I was on the way to work and by this time I'd driven down this same road literally hundreds of times. I've now worked in the same office for 12 years and change, taking the same route nearly every one of those nearly 3000 days, both to and from work. So, you can imagine that I was very familiar with the intimate nuances of this particular road.

Pageland Lane cuts off of one of the main roads in our town, and stretches for about four miles before connecting with another main road on the other side. For me, it's a shortcut, allowing me to bypass a lot of traffic that goes through the battlefield. Around here, any shortcut, even if it only shaves seconds off your time, is priceless.

After turning off the main road, you first encounter a small rise before going downhill on a straight stretch that lasts almost a mile. The road bends after that, going through some dense woods, over a creek and past one of my favorite ponds and several cow pastures. It concludes after a sharp dip and another short, straight section.

I've seen countless people pulled off to the side by police officers on this road over those 12 years. As is true anywhere, the police have their favorite places to hide. Just past that initial rise there is a small road that turns off and goes over to an old Civil-War era house. That turnoff lies behind a little bluff, behind which the police like to lurk.

There's another hiding spot a couple of miles down, a little closer to the end of the road, where a cop actually pulled me over many years ago. I was passing a school bus and he got me going 54 in a 45. He let me go with a warning, but I've slowed down since that day and, knock on wood, haven't been pulled over since.

This particular day dawned beautifully, just as all days seem to around here in Autumn. The air was crisp, the leaves were a crescendo of color and a light zephyr caused them to quiver as if they were shivering in the cold.

Canada geese swam around on the pond, patiently searching for food and running off anyone else that dared inhabit their space. It had rained several times in the two or three weeks prior, so there was plenty of water to hide the small frogs and fish that made the pond their home. I always liked driving past the pond, for there was always something new to see.

The speed limit on this road is 45 throughout, but today I was going about 53. As I neared the first of several tight turns, a nearly audible voice spoke my name. "Stefan," it said, "you need to slow down."

It only spoke once, for I understood what it meant. There were police ahead and I was going to get a ticket. I slowed to 44 mph and rounded the second turn where I expected to see a police cruiser waiting to nab the next unsuspecting lawbreaker.

Instead, a deer scampered out in front of my car and into the woods on the other side. A large dump truck bore down from the opposite direction, and that's when it hit me. There's no police cruiser. It was the deer.

If I'd continued at my too-high rate of speed, I would have hit that deer and pushed him into the other lane where he would have been hit by the dump truck. The truck would most likely have sent him back into my lane and maybe through my windshield.

Yesterday, I came to work an hour early. I lay in bed at 5:30am, awake and wishing I weren't. The alarm wouldn't go off until 6:30, but instead of lying there awake for another hour, I decided to get out and get ready for the day. After showering, dressing, praying and packing my lunch, I left the house at 6:10am.

It's dark here at 6am, so I flipped on the headlights and off I sped. I was nearly to the turnoff for Pageland Lane when a voice in my head spoke my name. "Stefan," it said, "you need to slow down."

Having been in nearly the exact situation several years before, I slowed down immediately, and from my left I saw a deer run out in front of me and into the woods on the other side.

I'm not the sharpest knife in the drawer, nor am I the most righteous. I try my best to be a good man, but sometimes I still come up short. I don't now all of the ways of the Lord, but one thing I do know without the least shadow or hint of doubt. The Lord is there and He sees me. He knows my name, as I am His son. He loves me and He watches over me and my precious family. I've felt His tender mercies on more than these two instances and I am very, very thankful.


"The Lord is good to all: and his tender mercies are over all his works." Psalms 145.9