Tainted Grace

On February 22, 2020, I got a text from my dad: Call me.

My dad never sends me texts like this. It felt weird. I wasn't sure what was wrong. It couldn't have been that urgent since he texted and didn't try calling me numerous times to reach me right at that instant.

I was at dinner with some friends so I sat in my car in the parking lot afterwards and called him back. He told me he'd received a postcard in the mail saying there was an unpaid $300 fine for a speeding ticket from 2010. I told him I'd been stopped by an officer that day for speeding, but I didn't receive a ticket. I definitely would have dealt with it if I had received a ticket. We hung up and came to the conclusion that it was a scam for someone trying to get money.

When I got home that evening, I went online and looked up my driving record. Sure enough, that alleged unpaid speeding ticket was listed there dated 10 years prior. It was not a scam, but it was not accurate. Unfortunately, it was Saturday evening, and I had to mull in this false accusation until Monday when I could call the offices.

On Monday, I called the office first thing in the morning to try and get this straightened out. Nobody picked up their phone. I couldn't get the phone to ring. I called at least 3-4 offices trying to reach a person to speak to regarding this. Apparently the town was small enough where all of the administrative positions were located in one building. And yet nobody would pick up the phone. Finally, about two hours later, the phone line went through and I got a hold of someone. She told me if I wanted to dispute it, I'd have to write a letter to the judge and fax it over.

Did I mention I was 34 weeks pregnant at the time with a toddler to watch during the day?

My dad came over later that morning to show me the postcard he was mailed. I told him I needed to write a letter and fax it over to the court since I wasn't going to be driving an hour and 15 minutes to go to court. Thankfully, he stayed and entertained my daughter for an hour while I wrote my letter, back in the day when you could see people and not be afraid of spreading a deadly virus.

The day of the alleged ticket, I was driving two friends back to Dallas with me that afternoon for the weekend. I messaged one of them to ask if he/she remembered the incident. I was even careful in the way I asked the question so there wouldn't be any bias in the answer.

"Do you remember that time in college when I drove you back home?"

"Yea."

"Do you remember me getting stopped for speeding?"

"Yes."

"Did I get a ticket?"

"Nope! You didn't. I remember thinking you were very lucky."

I don't expect friends to remember much anymore, much less something from 10 years ago, because I've been let down so many times by people whom I thought were close to me. So the fact that this friend remembers this particular incident is quite special to me. 

I drove to the library that afternoon to fax the letter over and made it home in time to teach my first lesson. There was no way they could possibly accuse me of this ticket, because I had some of the strongest things going for me:

- I had a friend with me in the car 
- I wasn't told I was getting a ticket
- I didn't sign a ticket or any piece of paper

But I still ended up waiting three agonizing days to hear back. 

On Thursday afternoon, I finally got a call. They "looked through my file and the judge dismissed the ticket." I don't know what was in my file or how they somehow came up with this ticket 10 years after the fact, but I can guarantee you there was no signed ticket in my file. So how in the world they came up with this case, I have no idea. I. Have. No. Idea.

10 years ago today, when the officer handed me my license and registration back without a ticket, I felt a sense of relief but also sadness. As I started up my car again to resume driving, I began crying, and the car was silent for a long while. I cried because I knew I'd been shown grace by an officer. For nearly 10 years, I always remembered this fondly with a special respect. Now, I just remember the trouble I went through to dismiss a case that never existed in the first place.

What a shame.

Teddy

This is Teddy.



Today is Teddy's 17th birthday. She's been through a lot with me these last nearly two decades, and she wasn't supposed to be mine to begin with.

Our Sunday school teacher at church motivated us with a point system. We would earn points for memorizing Bible verses, completing worksheets, and participating in class. The points could be used to trade for prizes at the end of the semester. I didn't particularly care about earning points so I didn't make an effort to do anything extra aside from going to class on Sundays because I had to go to church.

On the Sunday when we were trading in our points for prizes, the teacher pulled out an array of toys, games, and trinkets, and displayed them on the table. He called up the students first with the highest points earned that year to choose their prizes. After everyone with points had chosen their prizes, he was still left with a lot of toys and gifts on the table. He piled them all back into his bag but then changed his mind and pulled them back out again and set them on the table. He started calling us up one at a time to go pick something, not because we had earned the points to get a prize, but because he deemed us worthy of choosing one. He called me up to pick a prize and said I paid attention in class and didn't disrupt the class during lessons.

I timidly walked up and picked one of the few remaining teddy bears from the table and brought it back to my seat. From the very beginning, there was something so charming and so cute about this little bear.

Over the years, this bear has seen it all - the good days and the bad. Her wounds and scars are just a sampling of the experiences we've endured together. Her nose is no longer perfectly smooth and shiny, but chipped in small places from years of play and some abuse. There's a furless line running down the front from every time she's been through the washing machine, each time growing a little longer until it reached from her neck seam to the leg. She's missing toes on her left leg because the threads have pulled out. Her stuffing and beads are all mashed up and in the wrong places now. Both of her legs have been torn through years of ransom tug of war with my mother, and of course, I'd always have to let go through tears when I heard the seam rip. And my mother always sewed it up because she knew how I loved the bear.

I actually ran into my old Sunday school teacher at our church about a year ago. I mustered up the courage to walk up to him and say hi. He vaguely remembered that class and some of the other students. I told him about the bear he'd given to me and how I still had it. He met my husband and was a bit surprised at how early we'd gotten married.

Even now, 17 years later, weathered and worn, she possesses this same charm and cuteness. Happy birthday little bear. I've not forgotten that you were given to me through grace.