The cruiser pulled close, then dropped back and slipped into my lane behind me. Soon after, the red and blue lights on its roof started dancing. I wasn’t sure what I’d done wrong; maybe one of my taillights was out. I eased onto the gravel strip at the side of the dark highway and searched for my ID. I had it handy but my concealed weapons license was in my luggage in the back seat. I tried to remember where my pistol was — it was 5 hours past my usual bedtime and my thoughts were coming slowly.

I rolled down my window, put my ID in one hand and the other hand on the wheel. I remembered my pistol was in the center console, and worked on a way to introduce that topic to the officer. A tapping sound from the other side of the truck caught my attention — the officer had come to the passenger side, away from traffic. Right, that’s how they do it around here. I rolled down the window and recognized the officer as he gave his name. He’s a Christian cop and pastor of his church. I had briefly been involved in his jiujitsu training.

“Hey Tom, you doing OK? You’re swerving, man.”

“Yeah, I’m just — “ I blinked hard and searched for the words.

I reviewed my day: up at 5 am almost a thousand miles away. Anemia-induced fatigue forced me to attempt a nap, which failed for whatever reason. Riding a white-knuckle flight through some of the worst turbulence I’ve ever experienced while trying to hold down my cancer meds which had decided that was the perfect time to start upsetting my stomach. Finally arriving after midnight with a 45 minute drive ahead of me to get home.

Now, 2 or 3 miles from my house, with my friend’s flashlight illuminating the cab of my truck, I took a deep breath. “I’m just desperately tired.” I told him I’d just flown in from Ohio and was trying to get home to bed. “I’m sorry, I thought I was holding it together better than that.”

He said it was OK, and told me to get on home, then followed me to my neighborhood to make sure I made it. I thought about the encounter the next morning while in the shower. He had been so kind. He probably knew or suspected it was me before he’d even turned on his lights. I thought of the ways the encounter could have gone back when I was drinking. I wondered if that had entered his mind, given what he knows about me. I thought about the odds of encountering him instead of any number of other officers who don’t know me.

Ultimately, I decided that God was just letting me know — He’s still watching over me, and He’s not done.