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| Other Articles by Effie Caldarola Printer Friendly Version |
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| Vanity Plate Made Me See Bigger Picture | ||
You wouldn't expect grace or theological insight or a moment of inspiration to come to you via the vanity license plate on the car in front of you. But maybe a generous God, and one with a sense of humor, knows that sometimes a busy mom needs any opportunity she can get for inspiration. And wasn't it St. Ignatius of Loyola who told us that we should find God in all things?
It was a wintry day and the sidewalks at our Catholic elementary school were covered with ice. Just moments before I arrived to pick up my two children, the school prankster was heard to remark to a friend, "See those sixth-graders over there? I'm going to slide into them and see how many of them I can knock down."
An impulsive and reckless gesture, to be sure. As luck would have it, one of those sixth-graders was my son and the unexpected impact of the resulting collision sent him to the pavement where he bumped his teeth and loosened his braces. As Mike and his sister climbed into the car, he presented his mouth for inspection.
"Great. This is just what I need today," I thought.
Our orthodontist works on our side of town only certain days of the week and on the other side of town the rest. Naturally this afternoon, with rush-hour traffic building, he was open for business all the way across the city.
Pushing aside thoughts of "What's for dinner?" and the 20 other things I had on my agenda for the rest of the day, I headed to the orthodontist with the two children in tow, hearing the gory details of the sliding incident.
My anger and frustration built. What a pointless, careless thing to do on the part of the offender. And was there damage to the teeth? The teeth I was already paying several thousand dollars to straighten?
When we finally reached the orthodontist's office, Mike disappeared into the examination room, and I flipped through a dog-eared magazine I could muster absolutely no interest in. The good news: the braces could be tightened; the teeth had apparently not been hurt.
We all headed to the car, the darkness of evening already gathering around us, and headed back out into the clogged streets full of people hurrying home from work. My relief that the teeth were OK soon gave way to frustration that night was coming, that the whole evening was in disarray, that dinner would be late.
I felt my stomach tighten; my body became that little knot of tenseness that is the opposite of everything I try to be. Then on the street ahead, I saw the license plate: UR4GVN, it announced to me just as clearly as if the Archangel Michael had climbed into the front seat of the car and delivered the message personally.
Suddenly, I had to wipe away the tears that clouded my eyes. A feeling of release went through my whole body. I was forgiven?
I could forgive the boy who slid on the ice. But could I forgive myself for my impatience and anger? For not being the efficient homemaker with dinner planned out ahead of time? For putting too many things on my "to do" list and then going nuts when it deteriorated into a "didn't do" list?
But I was forgiven.
Who, I wondered, pays to put a message like that on a vanity plate?
Someone who has no idea he made a frazzled mom cry on the way home from the orthodontist.