THE PARKING TICKET

WINSDAY WISDOM Session 36

A parking ticket can be frustrating. This specific parking ticket was from the red-light district of downtown Nashville. It created a firestorm of questions, accusations, suspicion, intrigue, and a blockbuster revelation.

My uncle and his family lived in Gallatin, Tennessee, just 30 miles from Nashville. For several summers, they were like a second home for me. Cousin Kay and I are about the same age. I love the three boys as if they were little brothers.

However, I was unaware of the drama caused by one specific big-city parking ticket. My uncle received a notification of a past due parking fine from the City of Nashville Transit Authority. The description identified his car and license plate. It also noted the location of the parking violation. It was downtown Nashville. In fact, the car had been illegally parked in an area infamously noted as the city’s red-light district.

My uncle sat at the kitchen table reading the violation notice. It allowed thirty days to pay the fine or be subject to a summons. My uncle interpreted “summons” as the possibility of law enforcement officials arriving at his house to handcuff him or one of his family members. He was determined to get to the bottom of this problem.

Uncle K.P. had not been to Nashville in the past year. He would never have a reason to park in that part of the metroplex. He contacted the city. It was no mistake. There were photographs of his car with the license tag registered to him, parked at an expired meter in the heart of Nashville.

The location of my uncle’s car next to an expired parking meter was very specific. It was not parked by the Grand Ole Opry. Not next to the Ryman Theatre or Country Music Hall of Fame. Not near the Johnny Cash Museum or the Nashville Pantheon. It was definitely, undeniably, the Nashville red-light district.

The history of the locale was well-known to citizens and visitors. The two-block area was initially called “Smoky Row.” The red-light designation historically went back to the Civil War times where it became recognized as the place for this country’s first system of legalized prostitution.

In more recent times, the extended corridor east of Broadway was noted for honky-tonk bars and a haven for prostitutes and drug dealers. It was definitely not part of the family-friendly tourist attractions. Any visit to that area would not have an honorable purpose.

There might have been hope that the misdeed could be overlooked in the darkness of the night. However, the crime had surfaced in the daylight. To make matters worse, Dad knew, and he told Mom. Worse is not a bad-enough word to describe the rising cloud of suspicion. A storm of something worse-than-worse had enveloped the house. “Uh-oh! Worser!”

Who was responsible for the parking ticket? Uncle K.P. lined up the suspects. Kay was exempt. Why? Well, she was Kay, his beloved daughter. Besides, she had her own car. Bill David was too young to drive. That left teenagers, Mark and Neil, as the only two suspects for this investigation. They would face some very passionate parental questioning. No mercy.

The grilling examination was intense. The stakes were raised as well as the voice levels. The CIA has banned some of those interrogation techniques. The strong-armed Mafia methods were no match for this shakedown. Gallatin, we have a problem!

These were the facts. Someone had taken the family car without permission. He went on his secret joy ride to Nashville. He drove to the wrong city for some unwholesome purpose. There was an overdue, unpaid parking ticket near a place that was prohibited for under-age participants. A continued lie would only make it worse.

The inquisition continued. The older Mark drew most of the suspicion. The parents felt sure Neil could not find his way around Nashville then or now. His sense of directions was notable confusion. The family often said Neil could not find his way out of a phonebooth. (To the younger generations: Google it. There was a time when there were phonebooths, parking meters, payment by check, and asking for directions from someone not named Siri.)

The voices continued to get more passionate and much louder with the continued interaction. As the accusation continued, Mark and Neil vehemently denied any guilt. They definitely did not go there together. Neither one threw the other under the bus, but they left open the possibility. They were questioned separately. “It must have been him because it definitely was not me.”

Uncle K.P. was convinced one was guilty and possibly both could be incriminated. Mark was suspected of lying, which was worse than the parking ticket offense. Neil might have had a late-night excursion with some friends. The secret run-for-fun had been exposed. Their dad’s face was flashing red. It looked more like the police car lights than the wrong-area-of-town lights.

He would make sure that no one in his family was going to be led away in handcuffs in their small town.

Trust had been damaged. The penalty for the unconfessed violation was steep. Both boys would pay for the overdue ticket. Both would be grounded from driving any car. Maybe forever.

The boys did the time for the crime. They paid their dues. Their transgression would find its way into subsequent conversations regarding privileges and requests. They never confessed. In fact, for the next three years, they declared their innocence. But the damage had been done. The clouds never cleared.

But wait…

A startling revelation would throw new light onto the red-light district parking ticket. New evidence was discovered. It had been hidden away for three years. The cold case would finally begin to unravel.

That is where I came into the picture of this car caper catastrophe. Clueless about the three-year-old suspension associated with this embarrassing family episode, I was able to shed light on the guilty party. I found some important evidence, hidden from the prosecution and defense teams.

It happened at Christmas time when Uncle K.P. and family visited our family home in Oklahoma. They had no expectation that new information would break the case and exonerate the penitent pair.

I interrupted the family festivities with an announcement. I had cleaned out my briefcase the previous month. I discovered an unpaid parking ticket. As I examined the document, I realized the violation had occurred three years prior in Nashville.

The parking ticket occurred when I borrowed my uncle’s car to go to a church conference at the denominational headquarters in downtown Nashville. I could not find any public parking, so I parked several blocks away. The meter expired before I returned from the meeting. I placed the ticket in my briefcase with the intent of paying it when I got home. Needless to say, I forgot about it.

Three years later, I confessed to my uncle that a parking ticket occurred when I borrowed his car.

My revelation brought Mark and Neil out of their chairs. They shouted in celebration of the new evidence which supported their innocence. They yelled at their dad, “We told you we did not do that.”

Then they told me and the rest of the family the whole parking ticket story. The unpaid violation notice from the City of Nashville. The accusation. The interrogation. The judgment. The punishment. The cloud of distrust. It was a wild, crazy, sad but often funny story.

My uncle confessed he had misjudged them, but he offered little remorse. He just smiled and declared the false charges made up for all the stuff the boys did that he did not know about.

Now my mother insisted on clarification for why I was in that vicinity. As Ricky Ricardo from I Love Lucy often said to his wife, “Lucy! You have some ‘splainin’ to do.”

I had no idea that the downtown area was anywhere near a renowned red-light district. That’s my story, and I’m sticking to it!

Have you ever been falsely accused? Have you ever paid the price for someone else’s violation? I imagine you have a story to tell. I have a greater story. It is not an entertaining story about my parking ticket being paid by falsely accused cousins. This story is life-changing to its readers.

The most important thing in life is to love the Lord your God with all your heart, all your soul, all your mind, and all your strength…and love others as yourself (#1 Textbook).

That is the greatest commandment in life. All of us have come short of expressing that love all the time…to everyone. The meter of opportunity has expired on many occasions. The violations have piled up. So many trespasses, that we have forgotten about most of them. BUT GOD…

But God, being rich in mercy because of the great love in which He loved us, made us alive together with Christ, even as we were dead in our transgressions…unresponsive and undeserving (#1 Textbook).

We were spiritually dead. We were unresponsive. Doing right was not in our playbook. Not if it cost us something we wanted. We went where we wanted and parked where we wanted for as long as we wanted. We partied with the other wrong doers as if we belonged in the wrong city. Guilty with no remorse. We were going the wrong direction in life and headed for the wrong destination in the next life. But God…

But God showed His great love for us by sending Christ to die for us while we were still sinners (#1 Textbook).

The innocent Jesus took our place and our deserved punishment. He was falsely accused. He was arrested and led away with his hands bound, while we warmed our hands at the red-light fire of His enemies.

We did the crime and Jesus experienced the consequences. He suffered physical pain, emotional torment, and spiritual agony.

The physical pain included the horrific torture of scourging. Jesus stood with his hands tied to a post. A skilled military professional used a whip made of leather cords wrapped in pieces of bone and metal. Its purposeful design inflicted as much pain as possible as it cut into the body and ripped out pieces of flesh with each lash. The goal of scourging was to cause the maximum amount of pain and loss of blood. 

Jesus would later be beaten and bruised on His swollen face and body by fists and hard objects. A crown of thorns was rammed onto his head, causing blood to run down his face. His weakened, beaten, battered body still had to make the long trek up the hill carrying a heavy cross.

Crucifixion was considered the most painful execution possible. It was a death reserved for the worst of the worst. The vilest. The lowest. The most despicable. The most hated. The most humiliated.

His hands were nailed to the horizontal wood, then his feet fastened to the vertical bottom. The hanged position was designed to cause slow suffocation. The end result would feel like being water-boarded as the criminal struggled to gasp for air. Sheer, unadulterated agony. A long, slow, tortuous death.

The emotional trauma made it all the more distasteful. Jesus was rejected by the religious leadership. He was rejected by the government. He was rejected by the crowds who had previously adored him. He was abandoned by his closest friends. He was disowned by most of his family.

There was sustained stress and monumental pressure. His name was dragged through the mud. His reputation was ruined. His face was spit upon as bystanders hatefully called him vulgar names. The lowest of the low looked down on him in disgust.

The spiritual agony would be beyond our comprehension. He felt alone, ashamed, betrayed, abandoned. He battled the unleashed forces of hell. He sensed He was forsaken. While knowing He was doing God’s will, He saw no heavenly help on the horizon. Jesus looked to where He had always looked for strength and comfort and assurance only to see absence. He could feel the presence of evil. And death! The voluntary mission to save the world would mean physical, emotional, and spiritual death. There was no one else to save us.

What happened? On the cross, God treated the perfect, loving Jesus as if He had lived our sinful, self-centered lives in order that throughout eternity God might treat us as if we had lived Jesus’ perfect life of loving God and loving others.

Jesus paid the price for all our tickets and transgressions. It was not a mistake. It was a voluntary act of loving first and most. “No one takes my life from me. I gladly lay it down for your spiritual welfare.”

Jesus carried our griefs, our sorrows, and our troubles. He was wounded, bruised, beaten, and executed so that we could go free. The guilt of us all was placed on Him (#1 Textbook).

Our Brother gladly accepted what we deserved. The hateful accusations. The mocking ridicule. The brutal interrogation. The derogatory condemnation. The embarrassing shame. The horrible punishment. The excruciating execution.

Years later, you and I would receive a notification letter that we are the guilty parties. However, the letter also contained good news. BUT GOD…But God paid the debt for all the ticketed violations. The slate is clean. There is no condemnation. Not now. Not ever.

When was the last time you told Jesus thank-you? This parking ticket is just a reminder!

Do you remember why Jesus stepped into your penalty box?

A great exchange took place. In love, Jesus gave His life for your life. In gratitude, you give your life to Jesus.

How? Why?

It is no longer I who live, but Jesus lives in me. The life I now live, I live by faith in Jesus. Jesus lives in and through me because He loved me and gave Himself up for me (#1 Textbook).

Jesus lives inside you to lead you to others He intends to love through you.

Jesus loves first and loves most. Imitate Him and walk in love just as He loved us (#1 Textbook).

Who will be your love target this week? Do not let the meter expire on the opportunity.