Jack took a long look at his speedometer before slowing down:
73 in a 5 zone. Fourth time in as many months.
How could a guy get caught so often?
When his car had slowed to 10 miles an hour,
Jack pulled over, but only partially.
Let the cop worry about the potential traffic hazard.
Maybe some other car will tweak his backside with a mirror.
The cop was stepping out of his car,
the big pad in hand. Bob? Bob from church?
Jack sunk farther into his trench coat.
This was worse than the coming ticket.
A Christian cop catching a guy from his own church.
A guy who happened to be a little eager to get home
after a long day at the office. A guy he was about
to play golf with tomorrow. Jumping out of the car,
he approached a man he saw every Sunday, a man he'd never seen in uniform.
"Hi, Bob Fancy meeting you like this."
"Hello, Jack." No smile.
"Guess you caught me red-handed in a rush to see my wife
and kids." "Yeah, I guess." Bob seemed uncertain.
Good. "I've seen some long days at the office lately.
I'm afraid I bent the rules a bit-just this once."
Jack toed at a pebble on the pavement.
"Diane said something about roast beef and potatoes tonight.
Know what I mean?" "I know what you mean
I also know that you have a reputation in our precinct."
Ouch. This was not going in the right direction.
Time to change tactics. "What'd you clock me at?"
"Seventy-one. Would you sit back in your car, please?"
"Now wait a minute here, Bob. I checked as soon as saw you.
I was barely nudging 65." The lie seemed to come easier with every ticket.
"Please, Jack, in the car."
Flustered, Jack hunched himself through the still-open door.
Slamming it shut, he stared at the dashboard.
He was in no rush to open the window. The minutes ticked by.
Bob scribbled away on the pad. Why hadn't he asked
for a driver's license? Whatever the reason,
it would be a month of Sundays before Jack ever
sat near this cop again. A tap on the door
jerked his head to the left. There was Bob,
a folded paper in hand. Jack rolled down the window
a mere two inches, just enough room for Bob to pass him the slip. Thanks."
Jack could not quite keep the sneer out of his voice.
Bob returned to his car without a word.
Jack watched his retreat in the mirror.
Jack unfolded the sheet of paper.
How much was this one going to cost?
Wait a minute. What was this? Some kind of joke?
Certainly not a ticket. Jack began to read:
Dear Jack,
Once upon a time I had a daughter.
She was six when killed by a car.
You guessed it - a speeding driver.
A fine and three months in jail,
and the man was free. Free to hug his daughters.
All three of them. I only had one,
and I'm going to have to wait until heaven
before I can ever hug her again.
A thousand times I've tried to forgive that man.
A thousand times I thought I had.
Maybe I did, but I need to do it again.
Even now. Pray for me. And be careful.
My son is all I have left. Bob
Jack...twisted around in time to see Bob's car pull away and
head down the road. Jack watched until it disappeared. A full
15 minutes later, he, too, pulled away and drove slowly home,
praying for forgiveness and hugging a surprised wife and
kids when he arrived. Life is precious. Handle with care.

A frail old man went to live with his son,
daughter-in-law, and four-year-old grandson.
The old man's hands trembled,
his eyesight was blurred, and his step faltered.

The family ate together at the table. But the
elderly grandfather's shaky hands and failing
sight made eating difficult.
Peas rolled off his spoon onto the floor. When he
grasped the glass, milk spilled on the tablecloth.
The son and daughter-in-law became irritated with the mess.
"We must do something about Grandfather,"
said the son. "I've had enough of his spilled
milk, noisy eating, and food on the floor."

So the husband and wife set a small table in the
corner. There Grandfather ate alone while the
rest of the family enjoyed dinner.
Since Grandfather had broken a dish or two, his
food was served in a wooden bowl.
When the family glanced in Grandfather's direction,
sometimes he had a tear in his eye as he sat alone.
Still, the only words the couple had for him were
sharp admonitions when he dropped a fork or
spilled food.

The four-year-old watched it all in silence.

One evening before supper, the father noticed his
son playing with wood scraps on the floor.
He asked the child sweetly, "What are you making?"
Just as sweetly, the boy responded, "Oh, I am
making a little bowl for you and Mama to eat your
food in when I grow up."
The four-year-old smiled and went back to work.

The words so struck the parents that they were
speechless. Then tears started to stream
down their cheeks. Though no word was spoken,
both knew what must be done. That evening the
husband took Grandfather's hand and gently led
him back to the family table.

For the remainder of his days he ate every meal
with the family. And for some reason, neither
husband nor wife seemed to care any longer when a
fork was dropped, milk spilled, or the tablecloth
soiled.