I am about to publish my first non-fiction E-book:
Christian Principles - Food for Thought. It's a collection of more than fifty devotional talks I have given to a Baptist men's group over the past five years that focuses on applying God's word to our daily lives. I'll let you know on this Blog when it's available on Smashwords.com, Amazon.com, and BarnesandNobel.com. In the meantime, here's one of the included devotionals. . . . Oh, and the good news is that this book will be free.
Here Come Da Judge
O.K., here’s the
situation. You’re toolin’ down the road in the middle of nowhere, enjoying the
scenery, singing along to your favorite country songs and not paying attention
to how fast you’re going. The music is so loud that you don’t hear the siren at
first - not until the police car gets 100 feet behind you. You look up at your
rear view, then down at your speedometer and say “Uh Oh. I’m in trouble.” The officer pulls you over - gets out of
his car - puts on his Smokey hat - pushes the sun glasses up on his nose - adjusts his holster in case he has to make a
quick draw - and saunters up to your car with ticket book in hand. He looks
just like the troopers in all the bad movies you’ve ever seen. [John Goodman
comes to mind here.]
He tells you in his
southern drawl “Step outta the car.” You
ask “Don’t you need to see my license and
registration?” to which he replies “We
don’t do things that way around here.” After patting you down he says “You were going 90 in a 55 zone. I’m gonna
have to take you in.” You know with all the tickets you’ve ignored over the
years you’ll lose your license over this one, so you take a chance and say “Isn’t there some kind arrangement you and me
can come up with” hoping you can buy him off for a couple hundred dollars.
He gives you a stern look and says “Now
you’re really in trouble. Turn around and so I can cuff you.”
He puts you in the back
seat of his squad car, slams the door, gets in the front, turns his lights and
siren on, and speeds away at 90 mph. Things don’t seem quite right to you,
especially when you realize that the car had no city, county, or state markings
on the door. So you ask him where he’s taking you and he says “You don’t need to know that.” After a
half hour of winding through cypress trees, swamps, and gators he pulls into a
small town that looks like it’s a hundred years old – or two, or three. He
pulls up in front of an old court house, pulls you out of the car, and takes
you to a cell in the basement. “How long
will I be in here?” He says “Well the
Judge should be around in a few days.”
You look around the cell
and see something out of all the bad movies you’ve ever seen – again. Scratches
on the wall to keep track of how long others have been here – some of them with
several months of marks. There’s a window with bars, but no glass. You notice
how warm it is in here and look around for an air conditioning vent, but there
are none. Two days later a deputy comes down to handcuff you and take you up to
see the Judge.
You see a big stack of
papers in front of the Judge. “Son, you
have quite a stack of violations here – speeding, failure to stop at a stop sign
– you have 63 of those – too fast through school zones, 2 leaving the scene of
the accident charges, 12 for parking in front of fire hydrants, 146 parking
meter expiration offenses . . . I could go on for another half hour - but you
get the picture.” “But your honor, I
never got caught for most of those. How can they be on my record?” “We have a
record of everything here, son.” “But how can that be? Even computers
can’t have a record of things I didn’t get caught at?” The Judge says “This is a special court, son. We know
everything.”
“So, now
that you know we have a record of everything, how do you plead?” You’re
confused – this is moving too fast. “Wait
a minute, here! Don’t I get a lawyer.” “Oh, I almost forgot about that part.
Bailiff, call in the Lawyer.” A tall man in a white, double breasted suit
and straw hat steps in and sits down beside you. Now things are looking up! You
lean over and ask Him “Can you get these
charges dismissed.” He says “No,
that’s not my job here. Just wait.” The judge repeats “How do you plead.” You look at your Lawyer and He just shrugs. You
really have no other choice, since they’ve got the goods on you. “Well, I guess I’m guilty, your Honor.” “You
GUESS you’re guilty?? Look at all the evidence I have here. Are you guilty or
not?” You figure if you admit to it all and throw yourself at the mercy of
the court the Judge might go easier on
you. “Yes Sir, I am guilty as charged of
everything against me.”
The Judge says, “Time for lunch, we’ll have sentencing after
a two hour lunch break.” You turn to your Lawyer and ask “Is this where you negotiate for a shorter
sentence?” “It’s still not my time in
these proceedings. Wait.” So you spend the next two hours back in your
steaming hot cell wondering how many days you’ll get sentenced to in this
place. When you get back into the courtroom the bailiff says “All rise. The court is in session for
sentencing.” You look at your Lawyer one more time and he shakes his head,
so you go up in front of the Judge. He says, as he riffles through your record,
“Well, I see no attempt on your part to
set things right on all these violations, so I sentence you to be locked up in
the basement cell.” You wait for the rest, but the Judge is stacking up his
papers like he’s ready to leave. So you ask him “How long your honor?” “Indefinitely”
he replies. “You can’t do that – it’s
unconstitutional!” And then you hear some really scary words from him. “The constitution has no meaning up here,
son. I make all the rules.”
As you’re being led out
you turn back to the Judge and ask “Isn’t
there anything that can be done, your honor.” He says “Well . . . there is one thing that will get the charges dismissed”
and looks over at my Lawyer. The Lawyer wakes up from his snooze when the Judge
clears his throat and asks “Is it my turn
now?” The judge says “You’ve been my
Son all your life, been through an uncountable number of cases with me, and you
still have to ask ‘Is it my turn now?’ You know the plan. Of course it’s your
turn.” So your Lawyer stands up and says “Your honor - I would like to volunteer to serve this man’s sentence for
him.” You intervene “Wait a minute,
that’s not fair. He hasn’t done anything wrong.” The Judge agrees “That’s right, His record is totally clean.”
“So why should he have to stay in that sweltering basement and serve my
sentence?” “Because he volunteered.
He knows how miserable it is down there, but he cares about you enough that
he’s willing to pay for your crimes.” You look at the Lawyer – He nods at
you and whispers “It’s O.K. That’s what
I’m here for.”
You can’t believe
someone cares about you so much that he would do this, but he seems willing, so
you say “Alright your Honor, I’ll agree
to let him suffer for me.” The bailiff comes over, puts the handcuffs on
your Lawyer, and starts to lead Him away. “Can
I have one last word with him your Honor?” You lean over to your Lawyer and
say “How do I repay you for this? Can I
send a check or something?” He chuckles and says “Son, there’s now way you could ever pay for this.” “Why not?” “Because
it’s a free gift, and you don’t pay for gifts.” As they lead him off you
say “I didn’t even get your name” but
He’s already going down the steps. You look at the Judge and ask “He’s your Son, what’s His name?”
“Around
these parts we usually call Him Jesus, but sometimes we call Him by His middle
name, Christ.” “What’s His last name?” “Oh,
it’s the same as mine – Yahweh – God in your language” The bailiff takes
your cuffs off and the Judge says “Son,
you’re free to go. I declare you Not Guilty.” As you approach the door the
Judge calls to you “Don’t worry son. I’ll
set Him free in three days.”
