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It was near the end of the school year in LA (Lower Alabama) and the weather had turned unseasonably hot for mid-May. As I was driving home from the county school I’d substituted for that day I noticed a box turtle working to make his way across the hot pavement of the county road. I steered my car to pass over him, wondering if he would ever make it to the side of the road before being run over or boiled to death in his shell. Without hesitation I pulled into the next driveway, turned the car around and headed back for the turtle. He had made pitiful progress, slowly, painstakingly making his way step by heated step toward the side of the road. I stopped, got out of the car, picked up the turtle and moved it into the grass on the side of the road he was headed toward.


I returned to the car and continued my journey home thinking about that turtle. He had no idea who or what I was, let alone what I was trying to do for him. He had no idea of my intended purpose to help him. Perhaps in his little mind and with what awareness he had of life and living things, I could have been god. I shivered at thinking of how similar I was to that traveling turtle; how immeasurably insignificant I am compared to God’s creation and God Himself. Why did I stop the car and move the turtle to the side of the road out of harm’s way? I pondered on this question; where would I be now if God were too busy to turn aside and save me? I drew great comfort in knowing that, like ...

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