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BEFORE THE LIGHT TURNS GREEN





The other day we pulled up to a red light. A Ram truck rolled in beside me.
And before either of us had moved an inch… my brain had already introduced itself. “Oh… you’re one of those guys.”
Amazing, isn’t it? The light was still red. We hadn’t exchanged a single word.
He hadn’t cut us off. Hadn’t honked or done anything remotely annoying.
He was simply existing. And somehow I’d already decided who he was.
Apparently my imagination has a Ph.D. in jumping to conclusions.
Somewhere along the way I’d created an entire profile for a complete stranger.
Probably drives six inches off the bumper in front of him. Thinks every yellow light is merely a suggestion. Has opinions on absolutely everything… whether anyone asked or not. And if he happened to be wearing wraparound sunglasses?
Well…
The case practically prosecuted itself.
Poor guy. He didn’t even know he was on trial.
The embarrassing part? He hadn’t done a single thing. He was just driving.
Meanwhile, I’d already written his autobiography.
I’ve spent the last few years trying to become less judgmental. Not because I’ve perfected it.
Because I’ve finally realized how exhausting it is carrying around a courtroom in my head.
Every stranger becomes a defendant. Every first impression becomes evidence and every assumption becomes a verdict.
Some days I think I’m making real progress.
Then a Ram truck pulls up beside me… and apparently the judge inside me comes out of retirement.
The funny thing is…
We all have our own version of the Ram truck.
Maybe yours isn’t a truck at all.
Maybe it’s the person driving the Tesla.
Or the beat-up car with three different-colored doors.
Maybe it’s the man covered in tattoos.
Or the woman wearing pajamas at the grocery store at three in the afternoon.
Maybe it’s the neighborhood.
You drive through one where every lawn looks like it was trimmed with tweezers and suddenly everyone is successful.
Happy. Financially secure.
Perfect marriage and kids.
As if anxiety checks Zillow before deciding where to live.
Then you drive through another neighborhood that’s struggling… and your mind quietly writes a completely different story.
Different scenery. Different assumptions. Same bad habit.
Here’s what keeps humbling me.
The people I’ve been most wrong about…
…are almost always the people I was most certain I had figured out.
The intimidating man turns out to be gentle.
The quiet woman becomes the funniest person in the room.
The person I assumed had everything is privately falling apart.
The person I overlooked quietly becomes the most generous.
It’s almost impressive how confidently wrong I can be.
Maybe that’s because we don’t actually see people.
We see fragments.
A truck.
A house.
A tattoo.
A bumper sticker.
A suit.
Then our imagination races in to finish a story we were never qualified to write.
We don’t see people.
We see stories.
Then we mistake the stories for people.
Maybe becoming a better person isn’t about never judging.
Maybe that’s a battle most of us will fight for the rest of our lives.
Maybe the real victory is catching ourselves sooner.
Replacing certainty with curiosity.
Trading assumptions for questions.
Remembering that every stranger is carrying something we cannot see.
A diagnosis or prayer.
A celebration or dream.
Maybe grief.
None of those things can be seen through a windshield.
These days, when I catch myself writing a stranger’s biography before we’ve even made eye contact… I usually smile.
Not because I’m proud of it.
Because I’ve learned that growth isn’t the absence of old habits.
It’s noticing them before they become convictions.
And I’ve learned something else.
God must have a tremendous sense of humor.
Because every time I think I’ve finally graduated from Judgment University…
He hands me another pop quiz.
Usually at a red light and in a Ram truck.
I’ve spent years asking Him to make me a kinder man.
I used to think kindness meant speaking more gently.
Giving more generously. Forgiving more quickly.
I’m beginning to think it starts even earlier than that.
It starts before I ever say a word.
It starts with the stories I choose not to tell myself about people I’ve never met.
Because maybe the stranger beside me never needed a different truck.
Maybe he never needed to change at all.
Maybe… I was the only one in that intersection who did.
And thankfully… the light was still red. ❤️

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