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?

My reaction to man’s home taught me more about me than about him
These aren’t revolutionaries; they’re nothing but thugs and looters
We’re all broken, but some of us find meaning in broken partners
Random stats after five months
Fear of terrifying future makes heart look to the past for clarity
Galt’s Gulch? I can live without that, but I need my own ‘Akston’s diner’
VIDEO: Was it ridiculous that I had to learn good manners as a child?
Understanding often matters more than solving someone’s problems