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.”