This week, I learned again the power of the spoken word, but in the most memorable way.
Interstate 40 runs along the Pigeon River through the mountains between Knoxville and Asheville, but 18 months ago, Hurricane Hellene roared through these mountains and swept away much of the road. One lane is open each way now, and this past Monday I found myself, once again, carefully navigating that stretch, in a long line of traffic. I crossed the state line into Tennessee and pulled into the Tennessee Welcome Center to take a break.
Business done, I rolled down the entry ramp onto Interstate 40 and headed to Knoxville on my way to Lexington, Kentucky. Several miles down the road, I reached for my phone. But no phone! It must have been left, I quickly surmised, back at the rest stop. I slowed down to assess my options.
Abandoning my phone was not an option.
Returning to the Welcome Center to retrieve my phone was my only plan. I had no idea how far it was to the next exit, thinking I might exit, re-enter going East, then exit and re-enter going West to return to the Welcome Center. But a glance at the double lane of stalled traffic on the East-bound side convinced me that would take hours.
I pulled to the shoulder of the highway to consider a plan of action. There was only one. I shifted my gear into reverse and slowly, very slowly, began my three-mile, law-breaking drive back to the Welcome Center. A foot to the right was the steel guard rail; to the left was the rumble strip that reminded me how close I was to the 18-wheelers cruising too close for comfort. And somewhere, I just knew, a Tennessee State trooper was waiting to issue me a citation.
I kept my eyes glued to the rearview camera of my Enterprise car, knowing that to my left, in the East-bound cars across the median, scores of eyes were watching my every move and shaking their heads in disbelief. They were traveling at about the same speed I was, as they merged two lanes of traffic into one to navigate the construction zone. We were all headed East, they moving forward, me moving backward.
I know now that the distance I traveled in this situation was slightly less than three miles, but as I was executing this wildly inappropriate maneuver, it seemed like thirty. I was nervous, fearful of damaging the car and also of getting called out in some expensive way.
It was a great relief when the Welcome Center exit ramp came into view. I carefully backed up that ramp–to me, an entry ramp–stopping twice to allow cars to pass as they left the Welcome Center in the appropriate way. I had a great relief when I pulled into the first parking space. I turned off the engine and sat for a moment.
As I opened the car door, hoping to retrieve my phone, I heard a voice shouting something. I stepped to the pavement, looked across the median to the East bound traffic, and there was a man in a red car, window down, hands waving, shouting loudly, “That was incredible!”
I lifted my arm and waved, thumbs up, a big smile on my face. He said it again, “That was incredible!” The car behind him honked loudly to second his emotion, and from the third car came another hand, waving in celebration and appreciation.
All along, it now seemed, these observers were watching my stunt, cheering me on, and perhaps hoping for my success. Little did I know!
But this I know: their spontaneous celebration of my success changed my mood, altered the way I was feeling about what I had done, drained out much of the guilt and shame of my mildly lawless and wildly careless act and replaced it with a sense of pride … that I had successfully completed a difficult task, right there in front of a line of strangers and, perhaps, a cohort of angles sent, no doubt, to watch over me “in the hour of my deepest need” (to quote Bob Dylan).
Yes, I retrieved my phone from the exact spot I laid it, and I finished my journey West and North. I told this story around the dinner table, and somewhere I suspect those across the median are also telling their version of the story. I wonder if anybody took a phone camera to record anything about it and if so, have they uploaded it to some media platform, and how might I find such a post to document the day we shared what is, in the big scheme of things, a modestly incredible moment.
The moral of this incredible tale is: don’t hesitate to say what you think when you see something unusual, inspiration, or downright incredible. It might just inspire somebody else! Cheers!
This week, I learned again the power of the spoken word, but in the most memorable way.
Interstate 40 runs along the Pigeon River through the mountains between Knoxville and Asheville, but 18 months ago, Hurricane Hellene roared through these mountains and swept away much of the road. One lane is open each way now, and this past Monday I found myself, once again, carefully navigating that stretch, in a long line of traffic. I crossed the state line into Tennessee and pulled into the Tennessee Welcome Center to take a break.
Business done, I rolled down the entry ramp onto Interstate 40 and headed to Knoxville on my way to Lexington, Kentucky. Several miles down the road, I reached for my phone. But no phone! It must have been left, I quickly surmised, back at the rest stop. I slowed down to assess my options.
Abandoning my phone was not an option.
Returning to the Welcome Center to retrieve my phone was my only plan. I had no idea how far it was to the next exit, thinking I might exit, re-enter going East, then exit and re-enter going West to return to the Welcome Center. But a glance at the double lane of stalled traffic on the East-bound side convinced me that would take hours.
I pulled to the shoulder of the highway to consider a plan of action. There was only one. I shifted my gear into reverse and slowly, very slowly, began my three-mile, law-breaking drive back to the Welcome Center. A foot to the right was the steel guard rail; to the left was the rumble strip that reminded me how close I was to the 18-wheelers cruising too close for comfort. And somewhere, I just knew, a Tennessee State trooper was waiting to issue me a citation.
I kept my eyes glued to the rearview camera of my Enterprise car, knowing that to my left, in the East-bound cars across the median, scores of eyes were watching my every move and shaking their heads in disbelief. They were traveling at about the same speed I was, as they merged two lanes of traffic into one to navigate the construction zone. We were all headed East, they moving forward, me moving backward.
I know now that the distance I traveled in this situation was slightly less than three miles, but as I was executing this wildly inappropriate maneuver, it seemed like thirty. I was nervous, fearful of damaging the car and also of getting called out in some expensive way.
It was a great relief when the Welcome Center exit ramp came into view. I carefully backed up that ramp–to me, an entry ramp–stopping twice to allow cars to pass as they left the Welcome Center in the appropriate way. I had a great relief when I pulled into the first parking space. I turned off the engine and sat for a moment.
As I opened the car door, hoping to retrieve my phone, I heard a voice shouting something. I stepped to the pavement, looked across the median to the East bound traffic, and there was a man in a red car, window down, hands waving, shouting loudly, “That was incredible!”
I lifted my arm and waved, thumbs up, a big smile on my face. He said it again, “That was incredible!” The car behind him honked loudly to second his emotion, and from the third car came another hand, waving in celebration and appreciation.
All along, it now seemed, these observers were watching my stunt, cheering me on, and perhaps hoping for my success. Little did I know!
But this I know: their spontaneous celebration of my success changed my mood, altered the way I was feeling about what I had done, drained out much of the guilt and shame of my mildly lawless and wildly careless act and replaced it with a sense of pride … that I had successfully completed a difficult task, right there in front of a line of strangers and, perhaps, a cohort of angles sent, no doubt, to watch over me “in the hour of my deepest need” (to quote Bob Dylan).
Yes, I retrieved my phone from the exact spot I laid it, and I finished my journey West and North. I told this story around the dinner table, and somewhere I suspect those across the median are also telling their version of the story. I wonder if anybody took a phone camera to record anything about it and if so, have they uploaded it to some media platform, and how might I find such a post to document the day we shared what is, in the big scheme of things, a modestly incredible moment.
The moral of this incredible tale is: don’t hesitate to say what you think when you see something unusual, inspiration, or downright incredible. It might just inspire somebody else! Cheers!
Recent Posts
Related Posts
Not Long Enough
We Ordained a Man
I Went for a Walk
Total Depravity