Beth Patch

Why is this man so angry with me? I wondered. He had just pulled in and parked head-to-head with me at the grocery store. Now he was pointing his finger, scowling, and shouting—though I couldn’t hear a word. My windows were rolled up. I shifted into reverse, backed out of my space, and drove away. A glance in the rearview mirror told me the rest of the story: he stood in the space I’d just vacated, both arms raised in exasperation that I wasn’t there to receive his tirade. “Thank You, Jesus.