As yet another driver cut in front of me in a hurry to be somewhere, I was certain the city was holding multiple bad-driver conventions. Again I wished I were the type of person to use rude hand gestures, but I had to be content with complaining about the driver's stupidity to the only person who would listen--me. The reason I was on the road had already soured my mood--a third trip to the cardiologist just to be told the results were inconclusive. Don't people spend eternity in school to become a doctor? With all that knowledge they should be able to figure things out pretty quickly--I'm certainly paying them enough.
So the rude driver situation merely made my attitude grouchier. Looking out my window, I didn't see the mountains; I saw the smog. All the happy songs on the radio grated on my nerves. And the next red light was just one more thing trying to slow my arrival home. That particular traffic light had a long cycle, so I angrily stared out the windshield at the car in front of me.
My gaze fell to the bumper sticker on the left side of the car. It said, "What would Jesus do?" At first I only read the sticker because my eyes landed on it, and that's what literate people do when they see words--they read them. Then after a minute the words made their way into my consciousness. I started to think about my attitude and how I had allowed the events of the day and drive to control me and how I felt. As I thought of my Savior and all He had done for me, I began to feel better, and I was grateful for the bumper sticker for reminding me about what was important.
The light changed to green and I drove through the intersection with a new outlook. But a short distance later I saw the bumper-sticker-bearing car cut off another car. That car switched lanes, right in front of me, and started yelling at the driver of the first car. The two drivers shouted back and forth until the bumper-sticker car turned right and drove away.
I wondered if the driver remembered that he had that sticker on the back of his car, or if he had stuck it on so long ago, that he hardly even noticed its presence. Then I thought again of myself, and my earlier negativity. Had it been so long since I had taken upon me the name of Christ that I had forgotten that I had done so? Was I, like the driver, misrepresenting Jesus? As I pulled into my driveway, I determined to replace my spiritual bumper sticker, and to keep replacing it, so that I would not forget again.