A few years ago, country singer Kenny Chesney topped the charts with a song entitled, “The Good Stuff.” It was a reference to going into a bar one time and telling the bartender he wanted the “good stuff.” The wise bartender told him, “If you want the good stuff, you can’t buy it here.” He eluded to the fact that good things are the wonderful things in life that are the most precious. The song tells of young love that grows special over the years and how we should value what is most important.
It was late one summer night outside Burleson, Texas. I had just stopped at my fiancé’s home she shared with two friends just prior to us getting married. It had been a long day. I was the news director of a little radio station KPAR in Granbury, Texas and my days always started early 5 am. It seemed I never could spend enough time with the girl I was going to marry within a few short weeks. As we said our goodnights, she kissed me for luck and I hopped in my Caprice Classic Coupe to head back to my apartment in Keene.
Tonight was no different; I was tired. In fact as my mother used to say, “If my fanny were metal, you could see sparks when I walked” it was dragging. The prairie roads were long and straight and during the daylight hours you could see miles ahead of you with no difficulty. It may have been because the roads were so familiar or maybe I just wanted to get home to my bed; but I was driving far too fast. As I was traveling at 70 miles per hour, a reflection, almost imperceptible could be seen in the road. It looked like it was a pair of eyes belonging to a small animal. I knew it couldn’t be a deer, so I decided to slow down anyway less I splat a cat on my newly washed car.
What started out as a slight slowdown, turned into skidding tires and extreme heart palpitations. The minute reflection I now gazed upon was NOT a small cat, nor was it an animal of any kind. It was a reckless farmer backing up a two ton flat bed truck in the middle of the road; he was doing it without lights. He must have missed his turn. Anger bubbled up inside me as I witnessed this hapless no common sense driver backing up with nary a light or reflector on the truck. The truck was black and every reflector was missing or broken save a small partial piece hanging on by it’s last screw. It was this broken piece the size of a half dollar, that saved my life in a split second. My focus shifted at that very moment on what could have been. That little piece of red, was the sole reason I was later able to walk down the aisle six weeks later to marry my sweetheart.
When you hear me talking about God’s interventions in my life, you will be enlightened. When I talk about my life and the “good stuff”, you’ll now understand better why I refer to it as a reflection.