Jack took a long look at his speedometer before slowing down: 73 in a 55
zone. The flashing red in his rearview mirror insisted he pull  over
quickly, but Jack let the car coast.  Fourth time in as many months.
How could a guy get caught so often? When his car had slowed to 10 miles
an hour, Jack pulled over,  but only partially. Let the cop worry about
the potential traffic hazard.  Maybe some other car will tweak his
backside with a mirror.  He slumped into his seat, the collar of his
trench coat covering his ears. He tapped the steering wheel, doing his
best to look bored, his eyes on the mirror. The cop was stepping out of
his car, the big pad in hand.    Bob?  Bob from church?  Jack sunk
farther into his trench coat.  This was worse than the coming ticket.  A
Christian cop catching a guy from his own church.  A guy who happened to
be a little anxious to get home after a long day at the office.  A guy
he was about
to play golf with tomorrow.  Jack was tempted to leave the window shut
long enough to gain the psychological edge but decided on a different
tack.  Jumping out of the car, he approached a man he saw every Sunday,
a man he'd never seen in uniform.
"Hi, Bob.  Fancy meeting you like this."
"Hello, Jack." No smile.
"Guess you caught me red-handed in a rush to see my wife and kids."
"Yeah, I guess." Bob seemed uncertain.  Good.
"I've seen some long days at the office lately.  I'm afraid I bent the
rules a bit-just this once." Jack toed at a pebble on the pavement.
"Diane said something about roast beef and potatoes tonight.  Know what
I mean?"
"I know what you mean.  I also know that you have a reputation in our
precinct."
Ouch.  This was not going in the right direction.  Time to change
tactics.
"What'd you clock me at?"
"Seventy-one.  Would you sit back in your car, please?"
"Now wait a minute here, Bob.  I checked as soon as I saw you.  I was
barely nudging 65."
The lie seemed to come easier with every ticket.
"Please, Jack, in the car."
Flustered, Jack hunched himself through the still-open door. Slamming it
shut, he stared at the dashboard.  He was in no rush to  open the
window. The minutes ticked by.  Bob scribbled away on the pad.  Why
hadn't he asked for a driver's license? Whatever the reason, it would be
a month of Sundays before Jack ever sat near this cop again. A tap on
the door jerked his head to the left.  There was Bob, a folded paper in
hand.  Jack rolled down the window a mere two inches, just enough room
for Bob to pass him the slip.
"Thanks." Jack could not quite keep the sneer out of his  voice.
Bob returned to his car without a word. Jack watched his retreat in the
mirror, bottom teeth scratching his upper lip.  When Bob vanished inside
his car, jack unfolded the sheet of paper.  How much was this one going
to cost? Wait a minute.  What was this?  Some kind of joke?  Certainly
not a ticket. Jack began to read:

Dear Jack,
Once upon a time I had a daughter.  She was six when killed by a car.
You guessed it-a speeding driver.  A fine and three months in jail, and
the man was  free.  Free to hug his daughters.  All three of them.  I
only had one, and I'm going to have to wait until heaven before I can
ever hug her again.  A thousand times I've tried to forgive that man.  A
thousand times I thought I had, Maybe I did, but I need to do it again.
Even now.  Pray  for me.  And be careful.  My son is all I have left.
Bob

Jack shifted uncomfortably in his trench coat.  Then he twisted around
in time to see Bob's car pull away and head down the road. Jack watched
until it disappeared.  A full 15 minutes later, he, too, pulled away and
drove slowly home, praying for forgiveness and hugging a surprised wife
and kids when he arrived.