The Exit I Missed (and the One I Didn’t

Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation. The old has passed away; behold, the new has come." — 2 Corinthians 5:17

Let me set the scene.

It’s early. The sun is just creeping up kind of early. Coffee in hand. Lunch packed. Snacks—because we are not reckless. Laptop, bag, the whole routine. I get in the car for my long commute like I’ve done a hundred times.

And I always—always—turn on my GPS.

Not because I don’t know where I’m going.

But because I like to feel like I know what’s coming. Traffic. Construction. Delays. The illusion of control wrapped in a soothing little blue line.

Yesterday?

Didn’t turn it on.

And honestly, that should’ve been my first warning.

I’m driving, fully locked into a podcast—like, emotionally invested—and before I know it, I miss my exit.

Miss it.

But I’m not panicked. I’m mature now. Growth.“No big deal,” I tell myself. “There’s another exit in a couple miles.”

There was.

Technically.

Except a mile up the road, everything stops.

And I don’t mean slow traffic.

I mean no-movement, people-outside-their-cars, something-is-clearly-wrong kind of standstill.

So I call Dan.

My work BFF.

Everyone needs a Dan.

He’s the guy who would absolutely show up on the side of the highway with snacks and emotional support.

He tells me, “You should be moving soon.”

Great. Love that for me.

Traffic finally starts to crawl… and then I notice something odd.

My car… is not joining the movement.

Call Dan again.“It sounds like your car’s overheating.”

Overheating?

Sir. I have not moved.

But per usual, Dan is right.

Now I’m on a narrow tollway, cars flying past me like I personally offended them, and I’m trying to maneuver my slowly dying vehicle onto a shoulder that can only generously be described as “a suggestion.”

It takes me ten minutes.

Ten long, humbling minutes.

Hazards on. Pride off.

Cars are flying past me, honking as they go, and I’m just trying to survive the slowest merge of my life.

I call AAA. They say help is on the way.

An hour later… he arrives.

And I knew immediately this was about to be an experience.

He steps out of the tow truck—a short, stocky man in his 50s—with a gold grill on his bottom teeth that catches the light like it’s trying to testify.

He smiles.

I laugh. I can’t help it.

This is either going to be the longest ride of my life…or the most entertaining.

It turns out—it was holy.

His name is Landon.

Within minutes of getting in the truck, he tells me two things:

1. He thinks he’s very funny.

2. His sister disagrees.

   
   

But that doesn’t bother him, because in his words, “I don’t have much, but I’ve got Jesus, a gold grill, and a sense of humor.”

And I said, “Honestly, that’ll take you pretty far.”

We start talking.

And the deeper we get, the more I realize—this isn’t small talk. This is a story.

Landon has lived a life.

No wife. No kids. No house. No real roots.Just miles behind him and, if we’re honest, some wreckage too.

As we got closer to my area, the mood in that tow truck shifted.

He looks around and says quietly, “I haven’t been here in a long time… and not for good reasons.”

And then it comes out.

The shame.

The regret.

The weight of decisions he can’t undo.

He tells me he woke up that morning not thankful. Didn’t even want to go to work. Struggling with his boss. Just… heavy.

“But God pushed me out the door anyway,” he said.

And then he looks at me and says, “You’re my second damsel in distress today.”

I mean… not the title I was aiming for, but okay.

And then something happens.

We’re driving through neighborhoods he used to work in—homes he helped build, gutters he installed when life was different.

Better, maybe.

And he says, with tears in his eyes, “I messed it up. I had a good business. I did some bad things. I haven’t been back here… until today.”

Three days ago, he made a call to a former boss. It was a favor for someone else, but after everything that had happened between them, he had no idea how it would be received.

And now here he is.

Driving straight through it.

And I don’t know how to explain it, but something in me just… rose up.

I looked at him and said,

“You don’t get to stay there.”

He went quiet.

“All that shame? All that regret? That’s not yours to carry anymore. That’s what the cross was for.”

Because somewhere along the way, we’ve started believing that redemption has limits.

That grace has conditions.

That if we’ve done enough wrong, we have to live the rest of our lives quietly paying for it.

But that’s not the Gospel.

The Gospel is this:

Jesus didn’t die so we could visit freedom.

He died so we could live there.

And sometimes…it takes a missed exit, a broken-down car, and a man with a gold grill to remind you of that.

By the time we pulled up to my house, something had changed.

Not just in him.

In me too.

Because I realized—I like my GPS not just for traffic…but because I like control.

I like knowing what’s ahead.

I like avoiding detours.

I like staying on the path I planned.

But yesterday?

I missed the exit.

And somehow…I ended up exactly where I was supposed to be.

I say all of that to say this:

God does not take us back to places just to remind us.He takes us back to redeem us.He takes us back to fortify us.

How you left something does not mean that’s how you return.

After that conversation, I got home, got everything situated with the mechanic, and I sent Landon a text.

I thanked him.

I thanked him for being my angel that day.

I thanked him for the conversation.

And I told him I would be praying for him—that whatever he’s walking through, to just trust Jesus.

Because it’s not always in our timing.

But it is always in His.

And I believe—truly—that God is creating something new in that man.

And I pray that conversation stayed with him the way it stayed with me.

Because it reminded me of something I think we forget far too easily:

The plans we make for our day are not always the plans God has for it.

My car has never overheated.I have sat on that same toll road more times than I can count.

Nothing about that morning should have been different.

But it was.

And because it was, I met a man with gold teeth, a checkered past, and a heart that still wants to do things differently.

God doesn’t miss opportunities.

Not to reach people.

Not to restore people.

Not to remind us of what He’s done.

Sometimes you’re the one who needs to hear it.

And sometimes… you’re the one sent to say it.

And just like I was reminded of how good Jesus is—

So was Landon…

with the gold teeth.

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Reflection Question

Where are you still carrying shame from a place God has already redeemed—and what would it look like to finally lay it down?

My Prayer

Jesus,

Thank You that You meet us in the middle of ordinary, inconvenient, even frustrating moments—and turn them into something holy.

Thank You that shame is not our identity, and regret is not our future.

Remind us that what You finished on the cross was enough—fully, completely, and forever.

For the places we still carry what You already carried for us, give us the courage to let it go.

For the moments we don’t understand, help us trust that You are still leading, still working, still writing something good.

And when we miss the exits we thought we needed, remind us that You are never lost.

Amen.