ROAD OUT! ALL TRAFFIC MUST EXIT

ROAD OUT. ALL TRAFFIC MUST EXIT

Watching an online chat of some frustrated younger servants of God made me realize that my generation actually shares something with them. Because of the Coronavirus, both of us know what it's like to long for "good-old days." Not long after that chat this little allegory unfolded in my thoughts. 

Perspiration glistened on Walt’s forehead.

“Road out. All Traffic Must Exit.”

Cautiously he followed the hastily made exit marker to a county road. He had driven through this area often, but always on the highway. That made a big difference.

It was late, it was dark, and the tall corn on either side of the narrow road concealed the landscape. Unresponsive directional devices fueled his growing desperation for some sign of human life.

By the time he found the sign (a collection of black-windowed buildings bathed in yellow loneliness from scattered street’s lights) he realized the human life had gone to bed. Even the pizza shop, the tattoo store, and the only service station were closed.

His heart raced as he turned to retrace his route. Would the county road follow the highway past wherever the damage had been done? How far would it be before he could feel the familiar highway beneath his wheels. How many miles before he could truly feel he was heading home?

The answer to those questions was the dark fear that the county road had changed. He couldn’t have missed the place where he had to leave the highway – but somehow he must have. A knot gripped his stomach.

“Hey Dad!”

The voice of his son startled him. So did the sudden appearance of the boy’s face on the windshield.

“Congratulations! You got through. You’re going to love this! We can actually see each other when we call.”

During the boy’s exuberance the car glided to a stop.

From the passenger side Walt's daughter gave him a nudge and explained, “We worked on it together. He’s going to be a pro in no time.”

“Good for you,” his son smiled.

Walt let his hands slip down to rest on the steering wheel – what should have been the steering wheel. He looked down and studied his clammy hands resting on a keyboard. For a moment he just stared. Then, after a deep breath, he looked at his daughter and said, “Will we ever get back to the highway.”