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?

Love & Hope — Episode 11:
AUDIO: I need to reject a popular but emotionally dangerous path
Ban on saggy pants: Why do we require laws against looking foolish?
We find meaning in responsibility, not in pursuit of empty pleasures
Why are most fiscal conservatives ignoring Paul Ryan’s actual record?
Political satire works best when exaggerated truth is at its core
Shouldn’t you believe everything you see posted on social media?
If parents excuse cheating, what should we expect from their kids?