Friday, February 19th

I am Lazarus, desperately in need of transformation.

I keep a note tucked into my Bible to remind me of that. The note is actually someone’s shopping list. Onto the back of it is scrawled the name and license plate number of the young woman whose gold Saturn hit me one evening while I was in the drive-through lane of our nearby In-n-Out burger.

I was just sitting there, waiting for my turn to inch forward to talk into the squawk box and place my order. All of a sudden . . . BANG!

I bounded out of my car to check the damage and make sure the scofflaw didn’t just drive off. I was angry. She noticed. In fact, my first words were something like “DIDN’T YOU SEE ME JUST SITTING THERE? WEREN’T YOU PAYING ATTENTION????” She apologized repeatedly.

There wasn’t any visible damage to either car. But I was ticked off enough to demand that she write down her name, phone number, insurance information and her car’s license plate number. Unnecessary, really, since there was no damage. But I was steamed and was going to make a point.

After a few minutes, she returned from her car and handed me a note – her shopping list, presumably the only piece of paper she could find – on the back of which she had written the information I had asked for. Only then did I notice her personalized license plate, which read, “AGAPAY.” I asked her if it meant what I thought. Indeed, her response and the cross hanging from her rearview mirror confirmed that it did.

“Agape,” Greek for the greatest, deepest love that exists anywhere. Agape, the love that God has for me, even when I lose my temper with others. Agape, the love Jesus lifted high as he was being pinned to the cross. Agape, exactly what I didn’textend to this young driver, even though my Lord and my faith require it.

I am Lazarus, desperately in need of transformation.

Only, now I know it.

Ed Klodt