Don't encourage the taxi drivers!

Let me tell you, it's a big mistake to express appreciation for any action that a taxi driver may make . . . even if it's a sigh of deep thankfulness that the hole you just shot through with fax paper thin room to spare on both sides did not actually close up and hasten a very painful death. I was reminded of this as I hopped a taxi from the center of town to our home this morning. When I have business in the center I often take a taxi because there is utterly no place to park in the center and it just proves much easier to take a taxi there and back rather than drive around for a hour trying to find a place to wedge the Peugeot into.

So on the way home, by chance I got Michael Schumacher's brother-want-to-be as my driver. He was determined to reach Taftalige 1 in record time. He was swerving and darting here and there, slamming on the brakes, stomping the gas, and then I made the mistake of letting a long gust of air out of my lungs all at once, that I had been holding for several blocks because of the stark terror I was experiencing. The Schmacher evil twin took that as a sign of admiration, when in fact it was a sign of desparately needing oxygen after holding my breath through three blocks of near misses. So consequently he doubles his efforts to reach my neighborhood at a new world record pace.

Now I have already been having a really bad week . . . nothing is going the way that is should, everything is taking three times as long to complete as it should, and those who are supposed to be assistaing me in various capacities, seem to have decided that I am public enemy number one and are seemingly doing all that they can to foil me, rather than facilitate me. Ever had a week like that? I have them so often it must be a spiritual gifting of some type, but I digress. As the taxi-F14 driver-pilot screamed down the highway narrowly missing a grandmother on a bicycle on one side and a Lada on the other, it occurred to me that this would be a perfect way to die this week. It would be the capstone of a week gone mad with distractions from hell and everywhere in between.

But then I relaxed and thought, no my life is in His hands, and not even the lunatic driving this car can change that. What can separate us from the love of Christ? Nothing, nothing at all.