Heavy rain filled the Sunday night’s darkness. What the black of night did not obscure from vision, the dense raindrops did.
Heavy rain filled the Sunday night’s darkness. What
the black of night did not obscure from vision, the dense raindrops did.
Leah and I travel this road every Sunday evening. We
turn east from 171 North onto 28 East. We can drive it by memory,
knowing every bump, bridge, tree and turn. But this night …
Leah is not with me to help with passenger-seat driving.
In the 27 years I have been driving Louisiana
highways and byways, our state government has promised repeatedly to
put “a high priority” on making four-lane the militarily-significant
Hwy. 28 that links England Airpark and Fort Polk. The road often is
filled with convoys of military vehicles, making the two-lane highway
dangerous for them and other motorists. After almost three decades of
constant promises, they have maybe a sixth of the 45-mile stretch of
highway four lanes.
As I turned off 171 and came to where they were
working to make a section of the road four lanes, a new, large barrier
stood in the road with a monster “Detour” sign pointing left.
I went left. I knew the rural road led to Simpson,
and from Simpson, one can swing back southeast to 28. It is about 20 or
so miles out of the way, but who am I to question barriers?
As I drove northeast when I really wanted to go
east, I wondered why they had closed only the eastbound lane of the
four-lane.
Maybe it was a wreck. Maybe it was military exercises. Maybe it was water over the road.
The oncoming traffic on this road upon which I had
detoured was very sparse. And no other drivers were following me.
“Certainly, it could not possibly be that the detour
was only to the other side of the four-lane?” I asked myself.
Certainly not … certainly, I would not be foolish enough to misread the situation.
Trying to remain positive, I thought, “Well, at least I will be able to see some countryside.”
Wrong. It was still pitch-dark, still pouring rain,
still no vision outside of the headlight beams. Besides, conditions
demanded full attention on the road.
I tried blaming the construction company working on
the road for poor signage. I tried to blame the rain-and-darkness
combination. I tried to blame Leah for not being with me.
It did not work. Finally, I admitted – “I goofed.
There is nothing redemptive in this situation but time alone, and I
have had enough of that on this night.”
So, I just had to push through and endure the
consequences of my mistake – and try to see some humor in it. So, I
just laughed at myself and promised never to tell anyone.
Finally, the rural road had circled around to 28
again. I had only spent 20 more minutes of my life on this night’s trip
than was necessary.
As on that dark, rain-filled night, life gives us
detours. We do not like them; they spend our precious time and give us
little in return.
But regardless of what causes them, they happen. We
can curse them, hate them, blame them on someone. Or we can say, “Well,
Lord, here I am. I see nothing redemptive in this, but knowing you can
make it worthwhile, I commit it to you. Make it worth our while.”
And he will.