When you're waiting in the cold January police station entry way at 2:46 in the morning, cross-legged on the cracking upright wooden bench, picking up your friend; officers don't smile back as they buzz and click the cold doors open.
"I'm just the friend! I didn't do anything wrong." I defend myself to them in an internal conversation.
I'm the car
I'm apprehensive of too-close association as I swoop in to save the day.
... save the morning I guess.
"But if you do not have love..."
Said a man once of my God
"You are nothing but a clanging symbol"
With my head gently resting against the tall back of the wooden bench, I wonder:
When Jesus, God of Love, sat and ate with drunkards, theifs, and shunned,
Did he separate himself from them, saving face with hurtful inner dialog
"My only association with them is to save them"
I think not
In His tired hours
cops don't smile back at him either
But he didn't care because when the door finally buzzed and clicked revealing her
There was only love.
Love that saw tear-smeared makeup and shame filled eyes.
Overtaken by love I forgot the conclusion-making eyes of 3rd shift state troopers
I leapt toward my crumpled friend with my heartiest embrace and squeezed her as
She whimpered "I'm so embarassed"
I get it.
I am not the car
Not The ride
I get to be the love.