Sore Legs

On Friday, my sister was planning on swinging by to pick me up so we could pick up Jack from his dad's house and head over to Chuck E Cheese's. She and I talked when she was about 15 minutes away--"Be ready to go in 15 minutes so we're not late picking him up, okay?" I was thinking in my head, Okay, I've still got to walk Kobe, but I should be able to do that in just under 15 minutes and I can get back in change. That'll work. "Cool, I'll be ready!"

So Kobe and I headed to the park and when we were at the street to cross to the park, we saw a car that was having some issues. It was stopped and this young man--maybe a few years younger than I--was standing outside the driver's side of the car, car door open, trying to push the car himself while maneuvering the steering wheel. That plan clearly wasn't working, and I saw him slump back in the car and punch the car's ceiling.

As I'm seeing this unfold, I'm thinking of two seriously competing issues: my sister with her incredible penchant for being on time and utter annoyance if you're not (Mom: "She was running EARLY? Who runs EARLY?!") and that classic story you hear from the pulpit at church. You know, the one where the students of the religion class--I believe it's a religion class on the life of the Savior--head to the classroom to take their final, only to find a note on the door saying the final's going to be administered in another room across campus, and to not be late or they'll be denied the chance to take the final. All of these "obstacles" and "tests" are dotted along the way to the other room, a crying baby, a student who fell off his bike and is injured, etc. Those who stop and help those along the way pass the final; those who don't, fail. (Note: anyone know the source of the story? and even if it's a Mormon myth, it was still going through my head!)

Suffer the wrath of Nicole for being late, or fail this "religion final?" I thought I'd give the latter a whirl, so I offered help if he wanted it, told him I'd tie my dog up to the stop sign ("You can put him in the back seat if you want"), and off I pushed while he tried to steer. Luckily, his car was smallish and we started making some progress. Even more luckily, another saw our plight and stopped to offer pushing the car with his car till we got where we needed to go. Even better! So while we're being pushed, the young man said to me, "Thank you so much for stopping. Maybe 10 cars have passed me in the last few minutes, several of them have passed by several times, and you're the first person to stop." It was at that point that I was grateful for that BYU religion final story that guilted me into this choice. Extremely grateful. Sweet kid. Also, Kobe really liked him, giving him a few big, fat juicy ones on the poor kid's face.

We made it the half mile or so to where he needed to go, and Kobe and I jogged as fast as he'd let me (it was hot!) back to the house. Gratefully, *I* was not the one running late, so I actually got a few minutes to catch my breath before Nicole arrived. But as I caught my breath, I was very grateful for a story (or perhaps a Mormon myth) that circulated enough for it to be running through my head, guilting me into doing the right thing. Hey, sometimes our motives aren't always perfectly pure (guilt or fear versus love), but it's still great when we end up at the same place.