The Hollywood freeway (101) in Los Angeles is a marvel of congestion. The flow of traffic is almost always at a crawl, usually with no discernible explanation (i.e., no visible collision or lane obstruction).
On Sunday, I found myself semi-parked on the 101 on my way home from church. As I inched toward my destination, I saw two cars stopped in the No. 2 lane. One of the cars - an old, beat-up hatchback - started moving toward the right shoulder of the freeway; someone was pushing it. In the meantime, L.A. drivers behaved like L.A. drivers: hop-scotching between lanes in search of an opening that would allow them to zoom past. With bated breath, I waited for disaster.
The hatchback reached the right shoulder in safety. The person who had pushed the hatchback - an African-American man in military fatigues - hustled back to the sedan still parked in the No. 2 lane, waving his apology to cars that had slowed or stopped for him. He jumped into the driver's seat of the sedan, switched off the hazard lights and drove on.
I was stunned. This man could have driven around the hatchback like every other driver before him. Instead, he put his car and his person at risk in order to move the hatchback and its driver to safety. (Incidentally, by moving the hatchback out of moving traffic, he also did a lot of other drivers a big favor.) He didn't wait around for thanks or reward. He helped because he could, because someone - albeit a complete stranger - needed help. In the span of a minute or two, he taught me more of neighborly love than any Bible study or sermon.
Thank you, sir, for your unadorned service. May the Lord keep you safe.
