I deserved it.

I got my first ticket on Friday night. Excuse me: traffic citation. I was totally irritated about it, and I even laid awake a couple of nights after, stewing over the whole situation.

It's not that I didn't deserve a ticket. In fact, I'm about fourteen years overdue. I've broken the speed limit daily, run red lights, tailed cars, changed five lanes in two seconds, and rolled through too many stop signs to count (but what's that "California stop" named for anyway?). To beat all, when I was pulled over six months ago, the cop let me go despite three violations and my apparent disregard for protocol: to his utter amazement, I got out of the car and walked around to the passenger side to dig for my insurance card (which I never found). No joke, he was laughing by the time he walked away from my car. I think he was thinking: "Good Lord, thank you for my wife! I got off easy!"

So I knew my time was coming. It's just that I imagined that the ticket would be well justified… and not stupid. I mean, my record is clean and I’m pretty sweet, so a cop has to be justified to finally issue that very first ticket, right? Nope. Not in Lake Arrowhead. Little Snobville Cop was staked out for someone just like me on Friday night.

I was going to visit friends at their beautiful mountain cabin and couldn’t remember exactly which way to turn. Uncharacteristically, I made a full and complete stop at the stop sign, and then proceeded to turn right. That’s when Mr. Cocky Cop pulled behind me, turned on his lights, and then--once I'd parked--swaggered up to my driver’s window and stuck a blinding flashlight in my face. “There’s a sign that says, ‘No Right Turn,’ back there, ma’am, and you turned right,” he triumphantly told me. (It was as if he’d spent his whole day staked out at that corner, practicing that little speech. Despite his cool and cocky exterior, he was jumping for joy inside.)

Okay, so here’s the thing: I didn’t fight it. Didn’t make any excuses. Didn’t cry. And didn’t flirt. Yes, it was dusk, so I could have claimed the sign was illegible. Or I could have pointed to my clean record. Or explained that I was somewhat lost and needed directions. But I just signed that stupid yellow ticket and drove away wondering what that right-hand turn was going to cost me.

Call me dumb, but it was almost a relief to have the inevitable over with. Every day I drive, I deserve a ticket, so it was high time for me to pay.

And then, with a fresh perspective, I was reminded that I've been let off every ticket for every violation I've ever committed, from the day I was born to the day I will die. And I'm talking about my sin violations here. Every lie, selfish attitude, hideous thought, envious ambition, gossipping word, lustful impulse, and failure--every way I fall short of perfection and God's glory--is no longer written up against me... because of Jesus. Because of what He did for me.

He went into the warehouse packed wall-to-wall with my sin citations and paid for every one of them by giving up His life on the cross. I should have been on that cross paying, but He was my perfect substitute. I should spend eternity in hell, separated from the goodness of God, but I no longer have to pay--because Jesus did. On the road of life, I am now considered a perfect driver, because it's actually Jesus who's driving now. When Guilt Cop or Shame Police try to pull me over, Jesus leans out the driver's window and says, "She's with me."

And I'm free to go...