It was already raining lightly when I left the office late Friday afternoon. By the time I merged onto the interstate, the gentle summer rain had turned into a gushing torrent of water. Somewhere along I-459 south of Birmingham, I could barely seen the tail lights of the car creeping along in front of me.
Traffic was bumper to bumper in all three lanes of each direction. We inched along dangerously. I was afraid of what I might hit as I kept going forward, but I was equally afraid of being hit in the rear if I didn’t move fast enough.
I simply couldn’t see what was going on — and I was afraid that trying to pull off the road was no better since I couldn’t see anything and others couldn’t see me.
So I moved along blindly — barely moving — as buckets of rain continued to fall from the sky.
And then I saw something that seemed like a faint shaft of light in the sky off to my right. The rain still beat down furiously, but where was that light coming from?

When I’ve done something great, nothing seems impossible to me
I don’t care where Pedro is from, but I’m happy he’s my neighbor
Tribal hatreds around me mean detour on road to personal peace
Looking for truth in random noise? Or is there meaning for me in this?
Hurt people attract others who know what it’s like to feel hurt
The cesspool is deep and toxic, but I’m to blame if I remain there
Your words of kindness can show love to strangers struggling in life
Political corruption led to largest municipal bankruptcy in U.S. history
Goodbye, Courtney Haden